I was supposed to be meditating upon the most amazing act of redemptive and sacrificial love ever displayed: the crucifixion of Jesus. But as I made my way to the front of our church auditorium for communion at a Good Friday service, my crazy brain was totally distracted with worries that I looked like Quasimodo (the “Hunchback of Notre Dame”) hobbling down the aisle on my gimpy, still-healing knee.
As it happened, I was the last person in line to get to the communion table. In our church, we take the communion elements, a little cup of juice and a wafer, back to our seats. By the time I got mine, I was all alone doing my Hunchback two-step down the aisle. That was embarrassing enough, but what happened next was even worse.
When I finally arrived at my row, I was faced with a crazy etiquette dilemma: If you have to traverse down a full row with sparse legroom, is it better to face the unfortunate folks you are climbing over or should you scoot by with your backside in their faces?
I thought my mom had valiantly tried to cram every bit of Amy Vanderbilt’s etiquette book into my uncooperative brain as a teenager, but I don’t remember learning anything about this. And I couldn’t for the life of me recall how I’d handled this situation so many times in the past. But I couldn’t just stand there—I had to commit—so I forged ahead, facing the folks in my row to spare them a panoramic view of my derrière, and I began to stumble over them to my seat in the middle of the row.
It was ugly. With a communion wafer in one hand and my little plastic cup in the other, I couldn’t steady myself as I tried to shuffle sideways down the row. My ample feet and knees got tangled up with every other foot and knee in my path. It’s a miracle I didn’t baptize anyone along the way with the contents of my communion cup.
My husband, who was working in the sound booth, thought it was hilarious when I recounted the incident to him later. I didn’t think it was so hilarious, but it was humbling, and I apparently need humbling on a regular basis. (Yes, I have more stories. Don’t get me started.)
Why doesn’t God spare His children such indignities? Maybe because He knows we tend to think we’re “all that,” and until we learn we’re not, we can’t fully experience the amazing grace and strength He wants to give us (see James 4:6), or learn to love others selflessly.
Jesus’ command to “love your neighbor as yourself (Mark 12:31)” has been twisted to mean we should prioritize loving ourselves so we can then can love others. Sounds good, right? But if we read the whole passage and consider all the teachings of Jesus and other New Testament writers, it’s pretty clear that when Jesus issued that command, He knew we already love ourselves.
There may be things about ourselves we don’t like, but most of us spend plenty of time and energy trying to fulfill our desires and needs. We don’t usually need to be told to do that.
God knows that with our eyes overly focused on ourselves and what others think of us, we’re doomed to insecurity, disappointment and frustration, and we miss out on so many good things He has for us. That Good Friday service was a prime example. Being so aware of myself and so unaware of Jesus caused me to waste a poignant and potentially life-changing experience.
How many others have I missed because I was too much on my mind?