You Look Good

You Look Good The Dover Church
November 20, 2011 –Thanksgiving Sunday Scripture: Luke 17:11-19

To paraphrase the gifted phrase master, Yogi Berra, “it was like deja vu all over again.” I was at my 25th high school reunion and there was Jimmy O’Neill, whom I hadn’t seen in 20 years, shaking my hand and grasping my shoulder, eyeing me up and down to get a really good look, and saying, “Wow, Max. You look good. I mean it, Max. You really look good.”
“You too, Jimmy,” I told him, smiling and laughing along with him. Jimmy was an old high school pal of mine. We had sat next to each other in homeroom, played basketball and had plenty of fun together. I could still see a lot of the tall, skinny, curly haired leprechaun looking kid I had known all those years ago. I was not lying. He did look good.
The deja vu experience went like this: While both of us could see the two kids we once were inside the middle aged men we had become, I had to admit that we also looked exactly like what we had become. Jimmy, still the smiling, Mass going former altar boy guy, had grown into a big, burly, Irish state trooper with 20 years in. About my size in his dark gray detective's suit, it was not hard for me to imagine Jimmy gaining the respect of both the good guys and bad guys he came across in the line of duty. Jimmy was a “statey.” He fit the classic profile and looked the part.
And there I was, the Congregational minister in my own dark gray suit, shaking hands, chatting with folks, listening to stories and doing just about what I do on any given day. Apparently Jimmy had a harder time imagining me on the job. “Wow, Max. You became a minister? Where did that come from? You were pretty crazy back in the day, but... Jesus, a minister. You can get married right? I mean, you're not a priest, not that there’s anything wrong with that…” I thought I fit the classic profile, but maybe not.
“Yeah, well...it's a long story and yes I can get married and yes I did get married,” showing him my pictures.
Jimmy congratulated me and ended with…“but you look good Max. I really mean it.”
One after another, old classmates told me that I looked good, that they really meant it, that I had hardly changed at all, that they weren't kidding me. I have to admit that my feelings started to slide from initially flattered to less certain to a little put off. Their refrain of “I really mean it” kept clanging on my brain. “Why are they all saying that they really mean it? Do I look bad? Have I aged badly? Are they just trying to be nice? Or did I look bad as a kid and they are surprised how I turned out?”
All of us have things from our past which we prefer remain in the past. I was the Class Clown of 1981. That night I just couldn’t be sure if all the compliments were referring to the apparent arrested maturity of my appearance, or the persistent immaturity of my personality. “Is this some joke that they agreed beforehand to play on their old Class Clown?” “Hey, everyone. When Max shows up, let's all tell him how good he looks. Just keep smiling and telling him how we really mean it. Everyone say exactly the same thing. At the end of the night, we'll all turn and yell... “Hey, Max you look good. We really mean it… NOT!” It'll be a riot.” Reunions give out these little awards for this, that, and the other thing. When it was announced that I was the “least changed,” I was certain the zinger moment was at hand. Going forward for my prize, a foggy pocket mirror as it turned out, I was outwardly smiling and inwardly cringing. But the moment came and went with only applause and warm wishes. I guess they really meant it.
While I don't spend a lot of time mirror gazing, I am not without vanity. You may laugh, but that night my vanity had me leave my glasses in the car. The hotel ballroom was dimly lit, the wall mirrors were far from the bar and tables, and I struggled. rather than just enjoying the warmth and compliments of my old friends, I found myself trying to catch glimpses of myself in those distant, dim mirrors for verification. I could see the people I was talking to, but I could not see myself very clearly in those mirrors. I have noticed that my life gets pretty ironic from time to time. That night I couldn’t see what they were seeing. Why did I doubt?
I share this little story because it points to a very serious spiritual problem all of us struggle with: insecurity about our identity, self-worth, and purpose. Like me, gazing around somewhat myopically for a glimpse of my appearance, all of us look here and there for some reflection of ourselves to give us confidence and purpose, some idea of who we really are and what we ought to do. All of us trip over the present from time to time while we are looking over our shoulder at the past, either wishing we were still back there or wondering why things went the way they did. All of us want to believe that we are special with something special to bring to life, but we also doubt. Sometimes the people or the events of our lives have sown this doubt. Sometimes there is just too much contradictory input from the outside. Am I good? Good enough? Am I worth loving? Compared to what?
If you have been coming to church long enough, I am certain that you have heard at least two things. First, God loves each of us and all of us unconditionally like beloved children, created in God's own image. Not the ideal you. Not the you you used to be. Not the you you think you ought to be or the you your parents told you to be. No, the you who you are and always have been. As the confirmands learned on retreat, God loves you and there is nothing you can do about. It's a gift. Enjoy it. And second, God has given each of us and all of us unique gifts, gifts which only we have and gifts which we can only begin to appreciate and enjoy when we share them with others.
You've all heard that before, right? But how many of us really believe it? I mean really believe it, not as some rose colored glasses fairy tale in our heads, but believe it so much in our hearts and spirits that we are just bubbling over with confidence, hope, and creative love, bubbling over so much that our confidence, hope, and creative love just spills out into the world, which only increases our joy?
Take our lesson for today. I imagine those former lepers getting together later on at their reunion and telling each other how good they look, how they really mean it. And they would all be speaking the truth from the heart. After all, they all had been lepers, outcasts from society because of their very visible infirmity. And now they are healed. Only one, however, knows something more. The one who had seen the hand of God in his salvation lived a life of praise and worship, whereas the others had just moved on. That distinction may not seem all that important to you. What difference does that make? Just being better is good enough, isn’t it?
I don’t think so. In fact, I know it’s not. I think that most of us at one time or another see our lives as either the result of our individual agency, as in we did it all ourselves, pulling it off in spite of this or that, or just luck. As long as that is the case, it's hard not to be haunted by go doubt and apprehension, knowing in our hearts, even the most successful and beautiful of us, what frail creatures we are, how capable we are of making mistakes, and how fickle luck can be. Take the healed lepers in our lesson for this morning again. All are healed but only the one is well, "get up and go on your way. Your faith has made you well." says Jesus.
I know the difference between the nine and the one because I live it myself, Lord have mercy. Many days I run around in apparently good shape, looking to the priests of the world to tell me that I am well, driven by a nagging sense of deficiency and incompleteness. What's next? What's more? What's missing? And then there are the days, or even just moments in days, when I praise God that I already have more than even Warren Buffett with all his billions could ever buy me: a few people to love and be loved by; my physical health, which may not be what it was but which is probably better than it will be; my mental health and acuity, which also may not be what it was but which is probably better than it will be; the knowledge that I can marvel at the extraordinarily abundant and overwhelmingly manifold beauty of the entire universe in the sunlight shining on one golden maple leaf; the knowledge that I can actually feel the beginning of creation in the warmth of the sun on my face; the knowledge that with every breath I breath, every bite of food I chew, every drink of water that passes my lips, I am intimately and vitally connected to every living thing that ever was and ever will be, as well as the author of life itself, God our creator. Can you see the qualitative difference? Without this faith I am a self contained, independent, often sadly miserable unit, the me thinking that the joke may be on me going forward to receive my reunion award. With faith, I am transformed into a vital, excited, Christ's joy complete in me part of the very glory of God. Those of you who know me well enough have seen both. Which me do you prefer? More importantly, you all know yourselves best. Which you do you prefer? I tell you in the name of Jesus Christ, "you look good. I really mean in." Don't just believe it. Be living it and you'll be the you you prefer.