We're Not So Different

I stood in front of a group of women today who were well-dressed and had just eaten a nice luncheon of lasagne and some sort of gooey chocolate dessert. We gathered in a church that was warm and comfortable, and we hardly remembered that it was hovering somewhere around 40 degrees outside. Friends sat together at tables and talked about Christmas, and family, and shared blessings with one another. It was all good, and as I looked out across the faces in front of me I thought about another group of women. The women that I had come to talk about seemed so far away, and so very different from us...and it was very easy to believe that we had nothing in common with them. But nothing could be further from the truth.

The women in the Psychiatric Hospital I visit in Azerbaijan are women like us. Some are young, and some are old, and some are in between...like me. Some have lots of energy, and some just hobble along because they are tired, or sore, or battling arthritis and creaky bones. Some women put on make-up every day, and some women prefer not to mess with it. Some women like to primp, some don't. Some women like to talk, others just listen. They have good days, and bad days. They have hopes, and dreams, and wishes and opinions. They want to know that someone believes they have worth and value. And they all really want to be loved. Isn't that what we all want?

Women in Ethiopia, Azerbaijan, China, Peru and all across the globe are not so very different from me. Sometimes it's easier to believe that we are worlds apart because if I believe that then it becomes easier for me to turn my eyes away from them. If I walk through the front door of the women's ward of the psychiatric hospital and convince myself that I have absolutely nothing in common with these women then I can out the back door and not give them another thought. But it hasn't quite worked out that way. The first time I walked into the hospital, these women amazed me. One young patient was standing in front of a mirror decked out in the same dress she wore every day. She was putting on lipstick. "She does this every morning," said our friend who works in the hospital. "She gets all dressed up and made up just in case her father decides that he wants to come and get her. He put her here because his new wife didn't like her. She wants to look pretty in case he comes back for her." In her face - all painted with eyeshadow and blush and lipstick - I saw the yearning for love, and the hope that it would find her. We are not so different, really. I would be devasated if someone I love dumped me in a psychiatric hospital. I would probably paint my face every day also.

I haven't been able to get these women out of my head...or my heart. I see myself in them. But I also see something else. Jesus told us that when we stop long enough to do something for the least of these - those who have been thrown-away, dumped, forgotten - then we have done it unto him. Jesus resides with those who we would like to believe that we have nothing in common with. Jesus comes to those who we might think are the least like us. So when we recognize him in these people, and determine that we are going to love them, and serve them and make the world a better place for them, then we see Jesus with a clarity that can be blinding.