Walking out of the supermarket today I noticed an old man sitting and waiting for his wife to check out their groceries. His face was wizened, lined, a bit tired looking, yet so alive, especially his eyes. I got to thinking of the human face, this tiny round surface where the intensity of presence gathers and expresses itself like in no other place or surface.
We can hide our personal stories from one another, but what we can’t hide is the extent to which those stories are quietly and persistently written in to our faces. If you want to see something of a person’s soul then look in to his or her face.
I’m convinced there is such a thing as a spirituality of the human face, and the more we grow in our capacity to discern it, the more we’re able to enter in to the mystery, the pain and the beauty of each other’s stories. To gaze in to peoples’ faces is to gaze in to their lives.