See and be seen

If we squint or look sideways through half-opened eyes, we see only half of reality, half-truth and our soul no longer sees the grand picture, the whole of things.

And if we close our eyes to the beauty and love that surrounds us, as well as to the ugliness, suffering and pain, we live in darkness (inspired by the writings of Eugene Peterson).

Three recent experiences brought the above home for me. Last Sunday, while making our weekly after-church run to Walmart, I found myself in the cheese aisle standing next to a tall, thin, dignified man holding his infant daughter. Next to him stood his wife holding the hand of their son. For some reason, I looked directly into his eyes. He looked back. We both smiled.

There are no words to describe that moment of encounter. It left me in awe of his and his family’s beauty, but also feeling strangely unguarded and vulnerable. We had looked into each other’s souls for a fraction of a second, and everything about the cheese aisle (and the whole world) became different.

The second experience took place at church, where I had been avoiding, for a long time, a person who has seemed distinctly different from me. They always sat in the front pew, embracing a teddy bear. Recently, I found myself sitting in the pew directly behind them. I happened to have next to me my small black bear knapsack (a gift from my husband two decades ago, and on its second zipper). This person I had been avoiding turned around, looked directly at me, and said, “You and I are just alike!” Startled, I asked, “Really? How?” They replied, pointing to my knapsack, “Because we both love our bears!” Now, each Sunday, my new friend and I can greet each other, and our bears can greet each other, too.

Compared to the rapturous open-eyed moment in the cheese aisle, and the side-eyed but ultimately revealing encounter in the church pew, the third experience is more ongoing. It is the temptation, faced with daily images of pain, sadness, poverty, injury, division, injustice and unbearable loss in our families, communities and world, to close my eyes. I do what I can, we all do what we can, but it is never enough. There is so much darkness. But I know that if I close my eyes, the darkness will be all the more profound. It will win. I must keep my eyes open, see the suffering, and offer whatever balm I am able to, trusting it may make a difference.

Seeing. Being seen. Simple, yet complex. It takes only a brief moment of our time. But can we cast our eyes away from the TV, our cell phones, our social media accounts, our texting to look, to behold the other? Does really seeing another person feel like an interruption in our lives? You know the feeling of thinking you are having a conversation with someone, and then realizing they are watching their cell phones while pretending to engage? Do I ever do that to others? Am I afraid to cast my eyes up to the person I am talking to lest they see me, see into me? Do I avoid eye contact walking down the street, in the grocery store, at the post office, in church, clutching my non-seeing armor around my personhood? Missing the personhood of the other who is an image of God like myself?

Matthew 6:22-23 reads: “The lamp of the body is the eye. If your eye is sound, your whole body will be filled with light; but if your eye is bad, your whole body will be in darkness. And if the light in you is darkness, how great will the darkness be.” It is a beautiful reminder to keep our eyes wide open.

The Psalmist in Psalm 139 reassures us that we are seen. Lovingly. Unconditionally. Always and forever. Open your Bible, and your eyes, to this Psalm in its entirety, and know the loving gaze of God.

Tucson faith leaders, we would like to include your original sermon or scriptures of encouragement. Sermons must be written by the person submitting them, not borrowed from another source or writer. If you are a faith leader from any religion or denomination, please contact Sara Brown at sbbrown@tucson.com.