To See the Other

When Jesus entered Peter’s house, he saw his mother-in-law lying in bed with a fever; he touched her hand, and the fever left her, and she got up and began to serve him. Matthew 8:14-15

(picture from “Catholic 365)

When I read this passage recently, I was struck by the two words “he saw.”  When I asked Peter’s mother-in-law about her experience with Jesus seeing her, she happily told me about it and then asked if she could tell her story on my blog.  But, of course!  The following is her story in her own words.

He saw me, St. Matthew records. When Jesus entered my son-in-law Peter’s house that day, he didn’t avert his eyes when he saw this aging old body stashed on a bed in the corner. I wasn’t a pretty sight, to be sure.  But Jesus saw me, and I want to add to Matthew’s narrative by saying that, when Jesus saw me, he didn’t just glance briefly at me.  He looked in such a way that I knew he really saw me.  Saw me as a person who was feverish and hurting and untidy, yes, but also saw me as a person with a rich life history, a person with hopes for wellness in body and in spirit, a person longing to continue to contribute and be of value to my world.

Matthew goes on to say that Jesus then came over and touched my hand, and that with that caring, powerful, healing touch, the fever left me, and I was able to get up and do what I had always done for years—serve my family and my guests. 

What Matthew may or may not have understood was that Jesus’ seeing of me was actually very much a part of my healing.  Day after day as I lay on that bed with people coming and going through our busy house,I sensed that those people only saw an old woman, “poor thing,” and I noticed how quickly they looked away.  But when Jesus looked at me, I felt a new wholeness, even in my sickness.  My spirits lifted.  My heart was warmed.  There was a healing in those eyes as they looked at me.  Yes, I still had a fever, but it wasn’t the only important thing about me.  Jesus’ recognition of me gave me a renewed sense of self-worth, a hope of greater wholeness, a peace and strength in remembering that I was more than my fever.

I tell you my story today, centuries after this blessed event, because I want to remind you that your seeing of others can be so very important to them, just as Jesus’ seeing was for me.  Knowing you see and value them can strengthen their self-esteem.  Can give them new hope in themselves.  Can enable them to know they are not forgotten by others and by God. 

I know.  It isn’t always easy to see “the other” who may be a difficult person or a person facing difficult times.  Your culture tends to venerate the beautiful, the successful, the productive.  To stash the rest away in some corner where they won’t be bothersome.  But I hope my story will encourage you to see more clearly the hurting among you: the sick, the homeless, the immigrant, the depressed teen who’s struggling with his identity, the single mother trying to make ends meet.  To see them for more than their labels.  To see them for the deep and rich mystery that they are.  You can’t solve all their problems.  You can’t heal all their ills.  You don’t have Jesus’ eyes, and your seeing will not have the power of the eyes that saw me, but I can assure you that your seeing others who are in need will help them feel a little more whole, will help them gain some new strength, will offer them a hope that is often so elusive. 

A final note.  Your seeing others may even help them (and may help you as well) to sense, even if at times in a rather imprecise and undefined way, that the Christ who saw me is also seeing them, seeing all of you, as Emil Brunner so beautifully says, “with the gaze of everlasting love” that gives them an “eternal dignity.”