Mistaken for Jesus

My friend Terry Jackson recently shared a story with me, and, as I had a really busy week at work, I have asked her if I could share it on my blog. It is from an unattributed source and edited slightly for length and content.

A few years ago a group of salesmen went to a convention in Chicago. They had assured their wives they would be home for dinner on Friday night. But they were cutting it close on time, and in their rush, with tickets and briefcases, one of the salesmen inadvertently kicked over a table which held a display of apples. Apples flew everywhere. Without stopping or looking back, they all managed to reach the plane in time for their nearly-missed boarding.

All but one. He paused, took a deep breath, and experienced a twinge of compassion for the girl whose apple stand had been overturned. He waved good-bye to his buddies and called his wife to explain why he was taking a later flight. Then he returned to where the apples were all over the floor. He was glad he did. The young girl was blind. She was softly crying, tears running down her cheeks in frustration, as she helplessly groped for her spilled produce. The crowd swirled about her, no one stopping to help.

The salesman knelt on the floor with her, gathered up the apples, put them back on the table and helped organize her display. As he did this, he noticed that many of them had become battered and bruised; these he set aside. When he had finished, he pulled out forty dollars and said to the girl, "Here, please take this for the damage we did. Are you okay?" She nodded through her tears. He added, "I hope we didn't spoil your day."

As the salesman started to walk away, the bewildered girl called out to him, "Mister." He paused and turned to look back. She continued, "Are you Jesus?" He stopped in mid-stride, before saying, "no" and slowly making his way to catch the later flight. The question burned and bounced about in his soul. Do people mistake us for Jesus? That's our destiny, is it not? To be so much like Jesus that people cannot tell the difference between him and his followers as they live and interact with a desperate world that is, like the apples, battered and bruised, and often, like the blind girl run over in the rush of everyday tasks, unable to see to his love, life and grace unless we show them.