The Face of God

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One morning, listening to Sheila Walsh sing “Open the eyes of My Heart, Lord,” I was pulled up short. Over and over she sang, “open the eyes of my heart.” The myriad repetitions began to wear on my brain. It doesn’t take much. I wanted to shout, “Stop, Sheila! You’ve made your point!”

Sheila, I thought, Jesus is your sound engineer, there in the booth turning dials and flipping switches. Jesus is the gofer guy who brings you coffee between sets. He’s the beggar outside the studio door, the harried CEO, dressed for success hurrying to his next business corporate takeover. He is the punk kid on the corner trimming his nails with a switchblade. He’s the drug dealer, furtive in the abandoned storefront; the pop star arriving in a limo and her driver. He is the face of your husband and children, your family and their families. He is the wild-haired president and the oriental despot tossing missiles around the Pacific. He is the Supreme Court Justice and the black gang member, the illegal immigrant and the upstanding mayor. He is the single mom working two jobs to keep three kids clothed, housed and off the streets.

“Mary did you know you kissed the face of God?” Sheila did you know you saw the face of God in every passerby, in every good and evil, righteous and immoral person you pass?

Sheila, do you see the face of God in the mirror?

Do I?

“Doing it to the least of these, you do it to Me.”1

12/23/17

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