It’s the small things.
Sometimes I wonder what it looks like to follow Jesus; to be the kind of person who sees what he sees, cares about what he cares about, and does what he would do. Too often I relate following Jesus with keeping the rules of the Bible, but in doing so I become a Pharisee and become the kind of person who most often opposed Jesus and was opposed by Jesus.
So, what does it look like to follow Jesus? Well, I read this story in the book Leaving Egypt: Finding God in the Wilderness Places by Chuck DeGroot which I think gives a little glimpse.
I was in a restaurant with some friends a few years back. It was apparent very soon after we were seated that our service would be brutal. As we sat down, one couple immediately rose from their seats. I made eye contact with the woman as she grumbled under her breath, tossing two bucks on the table for a half glass of iced tea. A guy at the table behind us tapped my friend’s shoulder and said, “Good luck getting anything to wat today. One waitress…and I think she’s the cook too.”
Looking distraught, the waitress returned with four salads and was greeted with applause from the booth beside ours. “Can I get a refill?” someone shouted from the other side of the restaurant. With a big sigh, she stepped to our booth, and, taking her pad from her apron, said, “I’s sorry guys. What can I get you to drink?”
We waited fifteen minutes for two Diet Cokes, a raspberry iced tea, and a water.
Very quickly I realised that we were forming a new bond over our difficult experience. Two of my buddies had also joined the chorus of praise and lament. “Hooray!” we’d shout if we saw her coming even remotely close to our table with food. “Aawww…” we’d cry, as she’d head instead for another customer. We all joined in—expect for my friend Jamie.
“You see that manager over there?” he said. We hadn’t noticed, having lost ourselves in the collective pity-party. A guy in a suit was leaning against the bar, looking up at a television tuned in to ESPN. “He hasn’t moved in a half-hour.”
Jamie is one of those guys who spots injustice like a mother hears her child cry in the night, a guy whose seriousness about injustice immediately retunes our own conscience. Suddenly we saw what Jamie saw—a waitress who was about to lose it in a sea of grumpy customers with no thought of anything but their appetite.
Then Jamie called her name.
“Rachel!” She was clearly surprised. She’d been referred to as “Ma’am,” “You,” “Miss,” “Sweetie,” “Stranger,” and probably other unmentionables in the past hour, but not by her name. Not with dignity.
“I’m sorry…” she exclaimed, clearly waiting for another verbal lashing. But Jamie interrupted. “Rachael, it looks like you are having a rough day. Is that your boss?” he said, pointing toward the bar.
“Yes…and I completely understand that you want to talk to him. I’ll get him right away.”
“No, wait a moment, Rachael,” Jamie said as she attempted to call her manager. She returned dutifully. “Don’t be sorry, Rachael. I’m sorry. I’m sorry he hasn’t done a thing to help you. I’m sorry you’ve had to put up with all of us today. I just wanted you to know that.”
Rachael took a deep breath in and then released it, losing a hundred pounds of emotional weight in the exhale. “Thank you,” she said, walking away like a pardoned prisoner.
What forms of injustice do you need to see today? What are you going to do about it after you see it?