students of jesus

You see this person everyday, and every day you look at this person with a critical eye. Evaluating. Assessing. Judging. This person you see, the one you so critically assess, is you.

Mirrors have a 5,000-year history, but in the last 200 years, our reflections have moved into our homes and become silent members of the family: mirrors in every bathroom; a full length mirror in the closet; a mirror in the entryway; lighted mirrors in the visors of our cars; and now, cell phones with a camera pointed our direction.

Have you ever watched someone else look in a mirror? Never mind how the face contorts to apply make-up or fix hair, have you seen that last look we give ourselves before moving on? We check ourselves over, looking for defects. We use our serious face. It’s nearly a scowl. We subject ourselves to a harsh stare.

Nearly all the time: when we look in a mirror it’s to examine—and critique—ourselves: the hair, the make-up, the wrinkles, the age. But in the examination we also see that critical look on our face, the look that communicates judgment and criticism. Before we leave home, we have stared ourselves down in the cold light of judgment. Is it any wonder that for the rest of the day we hear our own critical voice inside our head critiquing all our actions? It's how we started the day.

The ancients had no such daily struggle. Only the rich owned mirrors. The poor rarely paused, like Narcissus, to gaze upon their reflection in still water. Ancient mirrors distorted color and proportion: they saw through a glass, darkly. Can we imagine the Apostle Paul as a vain man, checking out his bald head, large nose, and scarred face before setting out to proclaim the Kingdom of God? No. His ears heard the Spirit; his eyes saw the nations.

We face a subtle tension in our daily preparations. Before we leave home we have already turned a critical gaze on at least one person: ourselves.

Some years ago I decided to be a little nicer to the guy in the mirror. Silly as it sounds, I decided to practice the discipline of a simple smile turned upon myself. Not the foolish happy-talk daily affirmations of motivational speakers—I merely smiled at one of God’s good children, who happened to be me. Imagine the atmosphere in our home if I turned a critical eye to my wife before she left the house. What if, instead of a hug and a kiss for each child, I sent them off with a stern, judgmental look?

A true story: I once asked a woman if she ever smiled at her reflection in the mirror. Startled—horrified—she said no. Yet, is the Father any less loving toward us than we are toward our children? Are we not the objects of his pleasure? In our awkwardness and even our rebellion, are we not his own? Who are we to judge any of God’s children, even ourselves?

What if our final look in the mirror each morning ended with us smiling at ourselves, reflecting on God's great love for us, and his approval? We just might hear his voice, whispering, “This is my beloved, in whom I am well-pleased.”