Let’s say that you are meeting a friend for lunch, but you happen to arrive at the restaurant a few minutes late. You assume that your friend may have already taken a seat, so you begin surveying the crowd. Your eyes quickly scan across the room—first, one direction, and then the other. Finally, you spot your friend and walk over to the table.

What I have just described is a fairly common experience. But have you ever wondered how it works? How is it that we are able to look across a crowded restaurant and recognize so quickly, and so precisely, the face of someone we know?

We certainly don’t have that ability with everything we see. For example, can you imagine recognizing a particular Granny Smith apple in someone’s shopping cart that you had just seen in the produce pile? Evidentially, apples do not appear as distinctive to us as faces do. But why?

Psychologists and neuroscientists have long debated the biological origins of our incredible ability to distinguish faces. Some theorize that we are hardwired with a so-called “face place”—a small cluster of specialized neurons, located in the region of the brain that controls vision—which responds with particular sensitivity to the human countenance. Others argue that we are able to be more discriminating with faces simply because we have more experience looking at them. After all, it’s probably been a while since you had a “face-to-face” with a Granny Smith apple!

Because I am neither a neuroscientist nor a trained psychologist, I am happy to let them continue debating the matter. However, as a theologian, I would like to raise a different question. If we are so adept at recognizing faces, why do we seem to have such trouble seeing the image of God in one another?

I believe that the key to improving our vision in this regard is love. Have you ever noticed that when you truly love someone that person becomes more beautiful to you? The blemishes and imperfections that stood out before like a billboard now begin to fade away, hence, the age-old axiom—“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”

What Christ asks is that we see everyone that way. Mind you, He didn’t say it would be easy. It takes practice and patience. It requires forgiveness and mercy. But given that we already possess this incredible ability to recognize faces, maybe it’s not too much of a stretch for us to look a little deeper, and begin to recognize that we are all children of God.

No doubt many of you have heard the story about the pot roast. A young daughter is learning from her mother how to make a pot roast. “First, we cut off the ends of the roast before putting it in the pan,” the mother explains.

“Why do we do that?” asks the daughter.

“Well, that’s just the way I was taught,” says the mother. “I think it has something to do with cooking the meat more evenly.”

But the question sparks her curiosity, and so later she calls her own mother to inquire about why the ends of a pot roast need to be removed before cooking it. Her mother has no idea, but thinks that perhaps Aunt Mabel might know. Aunt Mabel tells her that she had always been taught that it was because the ends of a roast are mostly fat. But she isn’t sure, and suggests contacting Grandma Peggy.

Thankfully, Grandma Peggy has the answer. It had nothing to do with the fat on the roast, or cooking the meat more evenly. The problem was that the family only had one roasting pan, and the reason you cut off the ends was so that the meat would fit properly in the pan. And thus began a tradition that had been handed down from one generation to the next.

“We’ve always done it that way” is a refrain sung in many congregations. Most of us have fairly strong opinions about everything from how we should worship to how we should do evangelism. Of course, the challenge is that we are ministering in a changing world, and what speaks to one generation may not communicate as effectively to the next.

That is not to say that the church must immediately jettison all of its beloved traditions. Nor is it to suggest that we start changing things just for the sake of change. Obviously, there is great value in passing on our cherished beliefs and practices to the next generation.

But if we are doing things only because “we’ve always done it that way before,” we may run the risk of continuing to cut off the ends of a roast, so that it will fit a pan that the family no longer even owns!

The comedian George Carlin doesn’t often provide a preacher with material that would be appropriate from the pulpit, but something that he wrote shortly after his wife died a few years ago struck me as worth sharing.

According to Carlin, the paradox of our society is that we now have taller buildings, but shorter tempers … wider freeways, but narrower viewpoints. We spend more and acquire more than any generation prior to us, but somehow seem to enjoy it less. We have more conveniences, but less time … more knowledge, but less judgment … more medicine, but less wellness.

We have been to the moon and back multiple times, but have trouble walking across the street to visit a neighbor. We talk too much, listen too seldom, and hate too often. We’ve increased our possessions, but reduced our values … we’ve done larger things, but not necessarily better things.

Carlin goes on to observe that it’s the simple things in life that make a difference—saying “I love you” (and meaning it!) … speaking the truth (and acting on it!) … mending a broken relationship … making a new friend …and doing what we can, with what we have, where we’re at.

Always remember, Carlin concludes, that life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away.

The story of how Peter and Andrew became disciples goes something like this: As Jesus was walking along the Sea of Galilee, he spotted the two of them casting their nets into the sea. And he said to them, “Follow me, and I will make you fish for people.” Immediately they left their nets and followed.

It’s a wonderful story, but it’s probably best not to take the image of “fishing for people” too literally. After all, images are supposed to spark our imaginations, not chain them down. And the image of “fishing for people” will get you into trouble if you press it too hard.

Obviously, no fish wants to get caught—and the same goes for people. We aren’t in the business of “hooking and landing” unsuspecting congregants. We don’t need to discuss what bait to use, or strategize about what the youth are biting on this year.

The reason Jesus uses this image with Peter and Andrew is because they were fishermen. In other words, he starts out with what they knew and understood best. They may not have had a clue about discipleship, but by framing it in fishing terms, Jesus reassures them that they will be able to do it, because it’s not that much different from what they have already been doing.

If they had been construction workers, he might have said, “Follow me, and I make you builders of God’s house.” If they had been farmers, he might have said, “Follow me, and I will make you growers of people.” If they had been bankers, he might have said, “Follow me, and I will make you investors in heavenly things.”

You get the idea. The image could have been anything. The point is that Christ meets us where we are already are, and then invites us to follow.

Christian psychologist David Meyers, in his book The Pursuit of Happiness: Who is Happy—and Why, cites an interesting statistic—between 1957 and 1990 the per capita income in this country more than doubled. However, the number of Americans who reported being “very happy” remained the same—roughly, one-third. In other words, having more money and possessing more stuff did little to satisfy our deepest yearnings or fulfill our deepest needs.

Along these same lines, a recent survey showed that the number one experience now sought by Americans is no longer having “a loving relationship with someone else.” That was the top answer for many years. But it has been replaced—believe it or not—by “winning the lottery.”

Please don’t misunderstand: I’m not against playing the lottery from time to time as a recreational activity. (Although I once read that the odds of actually winning are about the same as a poker player’s chance of drawing four royal flushes in a row, all in spades—and then getting up from the table and meeting four strangers, all with the same birthday!)

My point is that more and more people seem to think that winning the lottery will automatically translate into a life of happiness and bliss. Actually, just the opposite is true. Surveys show that most folks are “less happy” after winning the lottery than they were before.

Jesus is very clear about this matter. Only God can bring us a life of joy and abundance—not money, or success, or fame, or beauty—only God. And the odds of achieving happiness by turning to God are guaranteed.

I’ve been reading Charles Grodin’s book If I Only Knew Then … Learning from our Mistakes. It is a wonderful book, in which Grodin asked various people from the worlds of entertainment, sports, business, and politics to reflect upon their greatest mistake in life and what they learned from it.

One of the reflections that I like the best is from the author Gil Schwartz. I’d like to share a brief portion of it. Schwartz writes:

“There are all kinds of mistakes: little ones that slip off your back like water from the feathers of an arctic gull, midsize errors that seem to disappear for a while, then pop up like a mole from an unexpected hole in the tundra of everyday life, big ones that make you stop for a moment and wonder where all those precious brain cells you were once so proud of might have gone.

And then there are the mistakes that are more than simple missteps of one size or another: acts that in themselves reveal yawning flaws in your character and make you wish that time in its haste would stand still, turn, and give you one critical moment back. These are the mistakes that can only be learned from. Knowledge gathered does not erase the mistake, for in its essence it is something done that cannot be undone. Hopefully, however, some insights may be gained, some sour, bitter slice of wisdom that, in future, can be drawn on to minimize the chances that one may stray so far from the light again.”

I love those opening paragraphs, because they lift up the truth that even in our weakest moments, there is still strength to be found, wisdom to be gained, and of course, God’s grace to be received.

Even though I do it for a living, I think that talking about God is one of the most challenging things we are called to do. In the first place, we are limited by our perspective. Our trying to describe God is a little like a fish trying to describe water. But even more significant, when we talk about God, all we really have is words—and words will always fall short of capturing a full understanding of the Almighty.

Still, words can help to point us in the right direction. For example, if there is one thing that we can say about God with absolute certainty, it is that the Creator wants to have a relationship with us. We hear this word in the story of Adam and Eve. We hear it in God’s covenant with Abraham. We hear it through the prophets. And obviously, we hear it most clearly in the person of Jesus Christ.

The problem is that, while God has continued to speak of this desire for a relationship with us, we haven’t always been in the mood to listen. Jesus ended many of his parables with the phase, “Let anyone with ears to hear listen!” But we have a lot of trouble with that, don’t we? When God speaks, most of us become selective listeners. We hear what we want to, and then tune out the rest.

Which may be why at the end of his life, Jesus spoke very few words. If you take all of the gospels together, he spoke only seven times from the cross. On the one hand, he was probably trying to conserve his breath, since crucifixion is actually death by suffocation. But on the other hand, I believe that his willingness to die for us speaks louder than anything he could have possibly said.

There is an old African-American spiritual, “He Never Said a Mumbalin’ Word,” that goes like this—“They crucified my Lord, and He never said a mumbalin’ word … They nailed Him to a tree, and He never said a mumablin’ word … He bowed His head and died, and He never said a mumablin’ word.”

After centuries of speaking to us, heaven went silent on Good Friday afternoon. But then again, what more could God have said? Christ’s outstretched arms on the cross speak volumes—and no additional words are necessary.