When many of my generation were living in Canada, I was part of a literary club in Southeast Asia. It has been fifty years and time has eroded the reasons for our club. It could have been the scarcity of books, the economics of a soldier’s pay, or our attention to other matters. Regardless, we had our own way of sharing reading material. Someone would get his hands on a book. After consuming the first 50 pages or so, he would tear off the section and pass it to the next reader. The first section and subsequent sections would continue through the group of readers. I chuckle in recalling the pointed discussions that occurred when a less motivated reader got in the middle of the chain. Even through you had little control over the subject or author, it did not matter much.
This is how I found Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird. To this day an idea from the novel sticks with me. That is, you don’t really know a person until you actually see them. How many people do we work and even live with that we truly do not know simply because we do not take the time to see them.
While I do not know if this is true, I have no reason it doubt it. When a person blind from birth gains sight, the individual must learn to see. Witnessing a dog run behind a chair is perceived as the dog disappearing rather than an object blocking the view of the dog. Frankly, I am not consulting snopes.com to disprove this. The idea conveniently illustrates our need to learn to see others.
When we judge based on appearance, we are looking at the stratum corneum, or dead skin cells, on the surface of the person’s body. Below this thin layer we are all the same. Physically, emotionally, spiritually- we are like the facets of a diamond. The slightest movement or change in light displays a new and different quality of the human gem.
When I returned from overseas, I was dismayed at both the criticism and ignorance about Vietnam. The upheaval bothered me to the extent that I cut my leave short and reported to my next duty station. Through the years the hostility of others unknowingly became my hostility. Last Christmas a gentleman helped me to finally see this. On Christmas eve I was sitting alone in church meditating on Christ’s birth. Unexpectedly, a veteran sat down beside me and began talking about his experience in Vietnam. I responded by saying that I don’t talk about it. Not discouraged, he offered some insight that I had not previously considered. The encounter was, and remains, a special Christmas experience.
The Focolare Movement stresses that we love everyone we meet as Jesus loves us and we work for unity among all people. Lord, cure my blindness.
