Do You See His Face?

NOTE: I wrote and scheduled this post before the uproar commenced in Minneapolis a few weeks ago. It seems like there are deeper, heavier things to say now on the topic of seeing the face of Christ in our neighbors, but I’ll let this story speak for itself as a reminder to do what we can at all times, in all situations, in compassion and grace for every soul we encounter who is in need, as Christ, who died for all, would have us do.

It was busy, as Costco always is at noon on a Thursday.

“Lunch or shopping first?” I asked my girls.

“Lunch!” they chimed in unison.

We wove our way through the lines of people waiting to have their receipts checked at the exit, through the crowded food court with its perimeter of loaded shopping carts, and up to one of the self-serve kiosks. The girls hovered beside me, giving me their orders—a chicken bake for one, pizza for the other. I added my own salad and three sodas, took out my debit card, and tapped the payment screen. Done. The girls scampered away to find a table.

As I took the receipt and turned to leave, I noticed the people at the kiosk next to me. They were older, probably mid-seventies. He was standing, and she was sitting on a motorized cart. In his hand, he held a sheaf of papers. The top sheet had a barcode on it, which he was trying vainly to scan. They were both clearly distressed.

“It won’t work,” he said to her. “It should work.”

I surreptitiously glanced at the paper. It was a temporary Costco membership credit card, the kind they give you when you sign up the first time, to use until your real card arrives by mail.

“Can I help?” I asked, holding out my hand.

Looking surprised, he handed me the papers. I tried multiple times to scan the barcode, but to no avail.

“Did they tell you this would work at the food court?” I asked.

He looked frustrated and nodded.

“Do you have a regular debit card you can use for now?” I asked.

He shook his head.

“We were scammed,” he said. “Our card was stolen.”

My heart fell. I know that older people are easy victims of fraud in our internet-based culture. But this wasn’t the moment for asking detailed follow-up questions. It was growing louder and more crowded in the food court, and I could sense their desire to just have this scenario end. I didn’t blame them.

I looked at the payment screen. The total was three dollars and some change. I smiled. They were clearly having hotdogs for lunch.

My debit card was in my pocket, where I’d placed it when I noticed him struggling to scan the barcode on the temporary card. I pulled it out, leaned over, and tapped the screen. I turned to them and smiled.

“Have a wonderful day,” I said.

The man began fumbling for his wallet. “I can give you some money,” he said.

“That’s not necessary,” I said. “Just enjoy your lunch.”

They both looked bewildered, maybe a little overcome.

The man reached out and rested his hand on my shoulder.

“God bless you,” he said.

I handed the receipt for their order to the woman. Her eyes held mine for just a moment.

“God bless you,” she said.

The girls were waiting for me at a table on the other side of the food court. They had our food and a stack of empty drink cups.

“What were you doing?” they asked. I explained about the couple. As I did, I was scanning the crowded food court, looking for them. I hoped someone would make room at an end table for the woman on the motorized cart. As I watched, I saw them approach a table where a young woman sat eating. The man spoke to her, and she smiled, nodded, and slid over to make room. I relaxed.

“It was just three dollars,” I said to the girls. “But that also isn’t the point. The point is to see people. To take an opportunity to help someone when it’s presented to you and you can. I could, so I did.”

I’m not tooting my own horn, here. It was just three dollars. But what sat on my chest throughout that lunch and at intervals during the rest of the day—what is sitting on my chest now as I’m writing about this—was the question of whether or not, if I hadn’t seen that couple struggling, someone else would have stepped in. It was a crowded food court, with countless people milling around, but was anyone really seeing? And how many times have I failed to see someone in need standing right next to me?

We are charged to remember that everyone, young or old, weak or strong, happy or sad wears the face of Christ. It’s easy to forget this. I was thankful to be reminded, in the middle of a crowded Costco food court, on an ordinary Thursday.

“When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, then he will sit on his glorious throne. Before him will be gathered all the nations, and he will separate people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats. And he will place the sheep on his right, but the goats on the left. Then the King will say to those on his right, ‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you clothed me, I was sick and you visited me, I was in prison and you came to me.’ Then the righteous will answer him, saying, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you drink? And when did we see you a stranger and welcome you, or naked and clothe you? And when did we see you sick or in prison and visit you?’ And the King will answer them, ‘Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers, you did it to me.’”

(Matt. 25: 31-40)