I t h a s b e e n fifteen years since my last formal picture was taken. These years have brought many changes to my face . . . little changes that include wrinkles, a receding hair line, glasses and graying hair. The little changes have combined and produced a middle-aged face. For two years my wife, Margaret, has insisted that I have another picture taken. I have balked and procras tinated. Aside from the fact that I am not photogenic, it is difficult for me to sit self-consciously still in a posed position. A mix-up at the airport finally convinced me that it was time to stop procrastinating. Two college fellows sent to meet me never found me. You see, no one got off the plane who looked like the picture they had seen. That did it. I capitulated and went to Jasmin Studio in down-town Palo Alto. As the photographer seated me in a swivel chair, I remarked apologetically, “ I’m falling apart ■— sort of coming unglued, I’m afraid. Do you think you can take a picture of me that we would dare print?” The photographer silenced my concern with the com ment, “ I have never seen an ugly face.” With studied care he positioned me so as to get that picture at best advantage. Friendly blue eyes examined every feature as he barked commands: “ Eyes directly ahead and slightly up . . . lips wet but tight together . . . head sharply turned and almost resting on left shoulder . . . hand under chin . . . fingers bent slightly.” Twice the camera clicked. I left Jasmin Studio in deep thought. It wasn’t the picture that was taken which impressed me, for I haven’t seen that yet. Nor was it the obvious skill of the photographer. My thoughts were absorbed in his words, “ I have never seen an ugly face.” Without question the photographer was talking about the actual physical features of a face. By the cunning of his practiced eye, he can hide defects and exaggerate as sets. By slight movement of his camera this way or that
he can soften rough features and add humor and warmth. But my thoughts carried me beyond the physical. I have spent most of the past 28 years of my life in the Orient. I have seen and shared in the life of the poor, its sordidness, starvation, disease and ugliness. But have 1 ever seen an ugly face? A leper’s face with its ravaged skin and gaping holes is not a lovely face, but behind the hideous scars hides the soul of a man — a man God loves. Christ could make that face radiant with the hope of the perfect life beyond death. Behind the sallow, tired face of an old refugee woman there is a spirit Christ could beautify. There is a sweetness that could be discovered by soap and water and the love of God in the filthy features of the little street urchin. Even the steel-cold eyes of the hardened criminal could be softened and filled with the warmth of Christian love. The photographer does not change faces. He skillfully uses his camera to camouflage any flaws. But when the spotlights are turned off, that ugly scar is seen again — the flaming birthmark shows up — the softened features become harsh once more. Christ does not camouflage. He is in the life-changing business, and changed lives mean changed faces. The ugly scar of hatred will not twist a Christian’s lips. The birth mark of sin, that was branded on all of us since Adam, disappears and guilty eyes become clear again. The harsh face is made soft by the love of Christ; the weak is made strong with His courage. Lips turn up permanently, in stead of down, when Christ remakes a face. Have I ever seen an ugly face? Not so ugly that Christ didn’t love it — not so ugly that Christ couldn’t change it. Thank you for the thought, Mr. Jasmin. I have seen many ugly faces, but no face Christ cannot remake. This is why we point men to Christ.
NOVEMBER, 1962
17
Made with FlippingBook flipbook maker