Seeing the Man, not the Mob

I have returned from a week in the beautiful Rockies of Colorado. Though it included its normal share of family tension, overall it was a peaceful, beautiful and enriching time. One accomplishment was reading G.K. Chesterton on St. Francis. It was my first real exposure to both men beyond their one line quotes. Hopefully it shall not be my last encounter with either one.

Chesterton writes to an audience that he assumes is cognizant of both the basics of Francis's life (I am not) and the basic treatment of him by contemporary authors (0 for 2). Despite these handicaps, and the fact that Chesterton can be overly rambling for my taste, the book is indeed full of rich nuggets. One such find was this:

I have said that St. Francis deliberately did not see the wood for the
trees. It is even more true that he deliberately did not see the mob for
the men. . . . He only saw the image of God multiplied but never
monotonous.

Francis had a love for the individual (whether it be a little bird or a "little" man). In this way he very much was an imitator of Christ. I too often see "the mob" and this is especially true after 5+ years living in the impersonal city of Washington, D.C. On the Metro, one avoids eye contact and any acknowledgment of another's humanity. Sadly, that mentality had already overpowered any divine inspirations by the time I reached the Denver airport.

Walking briskly along the moving walkway towards my gate, I spied a group of 5 early 20ish guys laughing as they blobbed together motionless, blocking the entire path. Clearly, these punks were not aware of the universal "walk on the left" rule for such airport contraptions. (Or, if aware of the rules, they seemed to have no intention of obeying society's norms.) These were the thoughts that went through my mind as I coldly approached and without breaking stride said, "Stand to the right." The sea parted, with some snickers, and one of them said, "Sorry, brother." The statement wasn't dripping with sarcasm, and the tone was such that it may have even been a genuine apology. It was hard to tell how the words were intended, but the words stuck with me.

Unlike Francis I had not seen a child of God, just an annoyance that did not merit even the word "please." Perhaps they were YWAM missionaries about to set out from the Colorado base. Perhaps they were just slacker kids on their way to Vegas. Regardless, these were my brothers. The example of St. Francis did not change my actions on that day, but I can hope and pray that the future will be different. A world that is mainly just a mob to my eyes is a sad world indeed, but Francis saw wonder and value in every Sister Daisy, Brother Sparrow, and Godly-image-bearer who walked the earth.

Oh, and the destination I was so hurriedly trying to reach---it was on the other end of the terminal. (It pays to double check: B29 and B39 are quite different destinations at DIA.) I was headed the wrong direction in more ways than one.