In his work "Christ,” Ivan Turgenev recounts a mysterious vision he had in December 1878, in which he found himself as a young boy in a ground-level church in his village. He describes the scene vividly: ancient icons lit by thin red candles, each surrounded by a rainbow crown of small flames. It was dark and dim in the church, filled with people, all village folks with blond heads, swaying like ripe wheat in the wind.
Suddenly, a man came and stood next to him. Though Turgenev didn’t turn to see him immediately, he felt it was Christ. Curiosity and fear gripped him, but he mustered the courage to look. What he saw surprised him—a face like any other human face, with eyes looking up slightly, lips closed but not pressed, a short beard parted in two, and hands folded and motionless. Christ was dressed like everyone else.
Turgenev thought, "What kind of Christ is this, such a simple, simple man? It cannot happen." Yet, every time he tried to look away, he felt Christ's presence next to him. "And suddenly," he writes, "I was terrified and came to my senses. Only then did I understand that this is exactly the face of Christ, just like all human faces."
The Bible says in Genesis 1:26-27 that God created us in His image and likeness. That means each one of us carries a reflection of God, a glimpse of His divine nature. This truth challenges us to see the divine in everyone and to treat each person with the love, respect, and dignity they deserve.
Imagine the transformation in our communities if we all lived with this awareness. If we saw the face of Christ in every person we encountered, how would that change the way we interact with each other? It would, indeed, impact the way we serve, the way we handle conflicts, and the way we express love and compassion. Then, let’s live with this awareness, let’s see Christ in each other, and let’s be the vessels through which His love and grace flow into the world.
So many times, I want to cry when I read these. They make me feel overcome with emotion. God Bless you! I wish there was a verbal version for those who can't see enough to read, like my aunt who is 101 in Florida.