This week’s intro is from our vault — an excerpt by Chris Webb, a Benedictine Anglican priest and former president of Renovaré. Lightly edited for clarity and length.

Jesus asked, ​“Do you see this woman?”

The truth was, of course, that Simon the Pharisee had seen a great deal. He had seen the sinner at his door. He had seen the nature of her offense against propriety, whatever that had been. He had seen her intrusion into his circle, his world, his unsullied company; her disgraceful behavior; her unbridled grief; her extravagant offering of perfume. And based on all he had seen, he passed a fearful and ferocious judgment on her in his own heart.

But the one thing he failed to see was the woman herself — this wayward but beautiful daughter of Eve, corrupted yet still bearing the likeness of her Creator. He failed to see her pain, her sorrow, her fragile hope. He saw, so he thought, everything, but in the end proved blind to the only thing that mattered.

Constantly we need to ask ourselves, Do you see this woman? Do you see this man? 

We struggle against two competing dangers. 

On the one hand, it is possible to be so self-absorbed and self-centered that we are blind to the needs, struggles, and pain of those around us; unfeeling and uncaring, we easily excuse ourselves from being involved in the lives of others. 

But as we are transformed into greater Christlikeness, another temptation rears its head — a more seductive and subtle temptation. We absorb ourselves in ​“justice,” in ​“society,” in ​“reforms.” We identify the issues and vigorously campaign. We speak out and make our voices heard. We become energetic activists for righteousness! Yet the truth is we have not learned to see, let alone love, the woman or the man — the individual human being whose life is so profoundly affected by the issues and causes over which we agitate.

Often, when I speak about Renovaré’s commitment to embracing the compassionate life we see in Jesus and to being involved in seeking social justice, someone will ask (rather nervously) how to get involved. Should we march in demonstrations, lobby our politicians, chain ourselves to railings outside the city hall? Do we need to write letters to the newspaper, write large checks for non-profit organizations, or join pressure groups? Of course, all these activities have their place. But none are a good starting point. We need to get more personal. We need to learn to see people.

I suggest spending an evening down at the soup kitchen or homeless shelter. But not cooking, cleaning, or serving. Instead, grab a bowl of soup and sit with the folks who come through the door. Chat with them. Ask about their lives. Where are they from? Where are their families? What do they do, day by day? Who are their friends? What are their interests, their stories, their memories? 

Begin to see them as people, not recipients or charity cases. There is no shelter in the land that wouldn’t welcome you to come meet their community on these terms. Or perhaps you might spend a day with a drop-in for single mothers. Or in a prison. Wherever you live, there are places where you can meet the lost, the lonely, the troubled, the poor, the marginalized, the oppressed, and open yourself to their company and friendship.

The compassionate life is, first and foremost, personal. It must be rooted in genuine, direct relationships, not nebulous issues. We cannot love causes. We can only love people — and this love is the root of all real, enduring justice and peace. As we walk in the footsteps of Jesus, we need to learn to see.