"Nations, cultures, arts, civilizations--these are mortal, and their life is to ours as the life of a gnat. But it is immortals whom we joke with, work with, marry, snub, and exploit--immortal horrors or everlasting splendors." (C.S. Lewis, The Weight of Glory)
Imagine that the narrative of Genesis were true, and that the people we see around us everyday were really intended to be like God -- brilliant, different, intelligent, and beautiful -- not the stressed out, crude, ordinary beings we think we're surrounded by.
I'm looking at this woman across from me at Burlap and Bean. Short dark hair, black workout jacket, seems to be typing something important into her computer. Is she really a fallen goddess? I wonder if she knows? I've been raised to think that she's just an animal, an intelligent animal at best.
Are we animals or are we little gods? If she was in line to get coffee in front of me, would I play survival of the fittest to get what I want (at the moment being coffee), or would I smile widely and honor her the way I would royalty, the way I would immortality.
"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 can 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 other of these destinations."
We may not realize it, but every day we carry the weight of our neighbor's glory.
Have you ever had someone carry yours for you? My sister recently gave me a present she had gotten while she was visiting Oxford. It's a short story by modern artist Yoko Ono titled "The Invisible Flower." I opened to the first page and started reading about a young girl who sees a rose in a field where the conditions are too cold for them to grow. She runs to get a closer look, but when she finally gets there, she can't find it. She looks everywhere, wondering if what she saw was real. When I finished reading, eyes watering, my sister looked deeply into them and said, "Yes. You did see it. The dreams that you once saw haven't stopped existing just because you've forgotten them. Keep going."
That day, my sister saw me in my current state, with all my half written endeavors, scatterbrained forgetfulness, and invisible flowers, and she brought me closer to glory. I would be lost without the people in my life who see with eyes like this, and who treat others with the dignity they were created for, not necessarily the dignity they deserve.
On this point, I couldn't agree with C.S. Lewis more. "Next to the Blessed Sacrament itself, your neighbor is the holiest object presented to your senses."
