At church yesterday the man in front of me had an inchworm on the back of his jacket. It was a very ugly worm, not just one of those little ones that aren’t actually even an inch. This was a sort of sickly green color with a strange orange head. If you have ever watched an inchworm move than you know how disconcerting the little creatures are and this particular one was determined to climb up to the collar of the man’s jacket.
As I watched it climb, I realized I was now faced with a decision. Should I reach out flick the worm off the man thus freeing him of the disgusting little thing? That seemed to be a good idea and it was my first thought. But before I could raise my hand I began to contemplate how awkward that would actually be. What would I say when the man turned around shocked and confused by what would come across as rude and unsightly behavior? I could explain it to him of course; tell him about the worm crawling over his neat pinstriped jacket. But that would require an awkward whispered conversation with a stranger and he would probably still think that I was some weirdo even after I convinced him of the presence of the little green worm. I sat back in my pew. Nope, not worth the effort or the discomfort. After all, the worm wasn’t hurting him or anything.
But unfortunately it was a determined little thing, that worm. Before the congregation had given our tithes and offerings it had reached the gentleman’s collar. Where could it go now? I watched with bated breath as it raised its great ugly head and swayed back and forth, surveying the greying hairs at the back of the man’s neck. Slowly it inched forward once more, getting just the right angle… But the hairs were slipperier than the fabric of the jacket. The worm couldn’t get a good grip. I exhaled slowly as the worm finally gave up. But my relief was premature. That worm really was determined. What it wanted with that man’s hair I have no idea but it certainly seemed to have a plan because a few minutes later it was back at it.
It took quite a few tries. The worm would manage to grasp a few hairs but never quite enough to pull itself over the man’s collar. Once the man reached back and scratched his head, missing the worm by mere fractions of a centimeter. Finally the worm succeeded. I watched in horror as began to roam across the gentleman’s head.
What could I do? I could hardly reach out and grab it off, he would think that I was petting his head or something… I had spent a good five minutes debating my course of action (or lack thereof) when finally his wife noticed the horrid thing. She scooped it up easily and laughingly showed it to her husband. I calmed myself and finally gave my undivided attention over to the pastor.
This whole thing was rather unnerving (and, as I look back on it, kind of hilarious). But the most unnerving thing about it was that it forced me to recognize something about myself that I don’t really like to admit. So often I decide whether or not to do something based purely on how it will affect my comfort level. If I think that something will make me feel awkward or embarrassed, even something as small as brushing a worm off a stranger’s jacket, I won’t do it. I put my own comfort so very high on my priority list that I couldn't even perform a simple act of kindness. And sadly, I feel like that is generally something that people in our culture view as okay. I think that most people consider comfort to be their right and the optimal state of being. But really, where are we ever promised that?
In the sermon, one of the things that the pastor spoke of was the horror of Christ’s death. It was humiliating and excruciating, the worst of all human atrocities. Yet my Savior willingly denied himself the comfort which I cling to so tightly and humbly received pain beyond anything that I could ever imagine. The most beautiful thing is that through the sermon I was also reminded why Christ suffered such extreme discomfort. He sacrificed himself to secure for us a life of eternal rejoicing in his presence. If we have assurance of such a life than how can we not be willing to sacrifice our own comfort for the short time that we are here in this world? Surely I can live my life on earth as a sacrificial servant because I am looking ever forward to the unceasing joy that I will receive when I am welcomed home by my King.
