A Stare

Andrew, my four year old, loves to come right up to my face and stare into my eyes.

It always makes me pause when his little body, his little head, his little face climbs onto my lap to get as close as he can.

And yet, it is his brown eyes probing deep into mine that sparks a reaction from the depths of my being.

What is it about a son’s desire to look into their father’s eyes? What are they seeking? What are they desiring?

And maybe more importantly, what is the father’s response?

Being a father has brought to the surface a lot of feelings and emotions. Feelings and emotions that otherwise might not have come.

It brings joy of life. It brings fear of not being the father that my boys need and desire. It brings excitement of seeing the world again through a young boys eyes. It brings shame for the times that I have not been present both physically and emotionally and have allowed my own wounds to be passed onto to them. It has brought a purpose beyond myself. It has brought me to confront my own deepest emotional fears, anxieties, and pain.

Andrew’s stare always demands a response. A response that has deep emotional roots. A response that causes me to either stay engaged and glare back into his eyes or quickly look away and get up due to the anxiety that I feel.

Either way, the stare initiates a reaction.

The other day I was contemplating on another stare.

There are a couple of great scenes in The Passion of the Christ that depict Jesus staring into the eyes of those who around him. The woman who is standing next to King Herod and looks away when Jesus turns toward her. Peter who runs away in tears as Jesus looks into his eyes after he had denied Him three times. And even Barabbas, the one who was released at the beckoning call of the crowd, couldn’t bear to look into the eyes of his Savior without looking away.

The stare of Jesus creates a response.

How often my shame, fear, or pride causes me to quickly turn away and thus project my emotions onto others. For it is easier to do so.

My shame and guilt gets projected onto “others” faults or shortcomings. My fear of not being “good enough” in the eyes of the One who glares into my soul causes me to turn away to the mercy that awaits. And therefore my pride makes me believe that I don’t need a “something” or “someone” to tell me how to live my own life. And it is here that I am enslaved to my own ego and narrow understanding of truth.

The daily stare of Jesus forces a response. A response rooted in my free-will.

Maybe in the end it is all grace.

The mixed emotions that are ignited due to Andrew’s stare allow me to see what I might not have otherwise seen… even the shadows. And it is precisely due to these recognized shadows that the eyes of the One filled with mercy turn towards my soul.

And in both cases, maybe the stare is an invitation. An invitation to stare back. An invitation to look back and be present…all of me, the parts that are in the light and the parts that lie in the shadows.

“It will do us good, today, to enter into our hearts and look at Jesus. To say to him, ‘Lord, look, there are good things, but there are also things that are not good. Jesus, do You trust in me? I am a sinner.’ … Jesus is not afraid of this. … However, he who drifts away, who had a dual face; who lets himself be seen to be good to cover the hidden sin. … When we enter into our heart, we find many things that are not good, just as Jesus found in the temple the dirty affairs of trade. … We can continue our dialogue with Jesus: ‘Jesus, do You trust in me? … So, I will open the door to You, and You can cleanse my soul.”
-Pope Francis

The Road to Perdition is one of my favorite movies. It is the story of a young boy and his father, who happens to be a mob enforcer, and their travel together seeking vengeance against a mobster who murdered the rest of their family. After the boy comes of age and witnesses “what” his father does for a living, the movie ends with his father getting killed. Yet it is within the final moments of his life that his father shows who he is, a protector of a child who didn’t want him to follow in his footsteps. A father who was sorry.

As for the son, the question of whether his father was a good man or a man who had no good in him at all…his answer was always the same, “He was my father.”