I first came to Elim nine years ago, in early 2011. I had been dating my wife (then girlfriend) for over two years and would be proposing to her later that year. The months following my first trip to Elim were a whirlwind of forming new relationships, meeting new people, attending a community group, and trying to figure out my place at my new church.
Looking back, I’ve noticed a pattern to the relationships I formed. Nearly every person that I now count a dear and respected friend was, early on, someone I couldn’t stand. They were always (from my perspective) some combination of annoying, disrespectful, weird, or some other gripe I conjured up.
This led to . . . well, not returning phone calls. Deleting messages. Ignoring people walking right toward me on Sunday mornings. Figuring out ways to cut conversations short and being terribly annoyed when Hannah suggested inviting certain people over to our home.
All this time, I actually thought I was obeying Romans 12:16: “Live in harmony with one another. Do not be haughty, but associate with the lowly. Never be wise in your own sight.” By spending time with certain people, I thought I was associating with the lowly. I thought I was being humble.
Fortunately for me, God is very patient in correcting petty, judgmental, self-absorbed jerks.
(I would like to use much stronger language in my self-assessment here, but this is a church blog. Use your imagination.)
The words of C. S. Lewis were helpful in correcting this attitude problem. His book The Weight of Glory (p. 15) says the following:
It is a serious thing, to live in a society of possible gods and goddesses, to remember that the dullest and most uninteresting person you talk to may one day be a creature which, if you saw it now, you would be strongly tempted to worship, or else a horror and a corruption such as you now meet, if at all, only in a nightmare. All day long we are, in some degree, helping each other to one or another of those destinations. . . . It is in the light of these overwhelming possibilities, it is with the awe and circumspection proper to them, that we should conduct all our dealings with one another, all friendships, all loves, all play, all politics.
There are no ordinary people.
Stumbling on these words came as a gentle slap to the face. In a moment, I realized how blindingly arrogant and uncharitable I had been in my treatment of certain people. And I suddenly realized how odious my attitude had been—indeed, still is sometimes. It’s dishearteningly easy to value people on the sole basis of how much I enjoy talking to them.
The best people and greatest friends I’ve met came not from finding the one person I clicked with, but from meeting someone whom God revealed to me as a being created in His Holy image, full of God’s own dignity and value and wonder. Those boring and uncomfortable people I once eschewed for my preferred friends have since blessed me with more kindness, wisdom, and patience than I once thought possible.
I’m a better person, indeed a better Christian, because God was gracious enough to open my eyes to the wonder of other people.
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