Blessed are the...Annoying

  

I think of myself as a generally tolerant person. Somewhere down the line I cultivated a moderately high sense of empathy that has always left a sensitive spot in me for the judgments, complaints, and offhanded quips that my friends offer every day. Normally this works to my advantage, because most people enjoy the empathetic friend's company far more than the complaining earpiece.

This is how it works most days, and I enjoy the moral security this attitude brings towards my fellow man or woman. This is how it works most days, yes, but life as a minister to students at community college means most days are special days.

Enter Hannah.

Hannah is less than comely, a blush of freckles on cheeks that seem to press her eyes just too close together, but fortunately her overstated fashion sense doesn't diminish the pretty black-red hair that curls and waves as she walks. She is a performing arts major here to take a stab at the ranks of the PCPA, the closest thing to a prestigious arts collective on the central coast. In her words, she will be famous some day. I see the problem with her ambitions as soon as she opens her mouth.

She will not tolerate talk of religious conversion, or even spirituality for that matter, but these, we Christians on campus, are nice people who offer something most people wont: free friendship. After an overlong description of the reasons why one of our friends on the basketball team is a perfect human specimen, and how Valentine's Day used to be her favorite before Jim went away (or Tim, or Dylan, God knows), and how she hates most things about this part of Santa Maria, and how the last "authentic" Mexican food made her sick and she wants her money back, I begin to tire. I had probably offered very little in the way of commentary up to this point, and not even the courteous (read empathetic) nod. I simply stare at her with my smile slowly fading, silently praying that she will stop talking to me.

It is circumstances like these that humble me to the point of exasperation. I wish I could say that there were encounters with Hannah that redeemed my view of her; perhaps a moment of sincere reflection on God or a vulnerable insight into her discomfort with religion. Though my instincts dissuade me, my suspicion is that there is not much more to Hannah than what is effortlessly and indiscriminately expressed to everyone caught listening.

Perhaps it is harder to swallow then, the true love of the God I serve, who offers more than I could to Hannah. I hear his words from Luke 6:

Ask yourself what you want people to do for you; then grab the initiative and do it for them! If you only love the lovable, do you expect a pat on the back? Run-of-the-mill sinners do that. If you only help those who help you, do you expect a medal? Garden-variety sinners do that. If you only give for what you hope to get out of it, do you think that's charity? The stingiest of pawnbrokers does that.

"I tell you, love your enemies. Help and give without expecting a return. You'll never—I promise—regret it. Live out this God-created identity the way our Father lives toward us, generously and graciously, even when we're at our worst. Our Father is kind; you be kind.

You see, my pious empathy is often selfish, granting me security and self-worth when it is convenient and grants me the benefits of a supportive community. Jesus himself surrounded himself with many people who couldn't be trusted themselves. My training in urban ministry prepared me to interact often with people who are used to competing for attention, who don't play at conventional etiquette or even ethics to get what they want. Do they still deserve any less love? Our strong notions of deserving often motivate our actions. I will reciprocate to my community if they meet the requirements that I deem distinguish them as deserving. Such an individual is as fictional as the worthy poor man or the honest rich man.

With Jesus' words ringing from my ears down into the wells of my selfish heart, I am reminded to see through his eyes, eyes that illuminate my own neediness in Hannah, my own annoying stabs at attention, my own grasps for affection. Her dignity is restored then, because as I see myself in her eyes, I also see Jesus, the true vessel of our human worth. I go forth today eager to embrace the conversations that challenge me, to interact with Hannah again, and love her for it, not just in spite of it.