How to Not Make a Difference: A Birthday Lesson in Judgment and Forgiveness

I’ll start by saying that it was my birthday. It was not a “big” one but at my age, every birthday feels big in its own way. Plus, these days birthdays come with a fair dose of: how has my life shaped up to date? (Introspective much?)

I had decided to go to Confession that morning. It had been a while, and some new things had cropped up that I needed to talk about. So, after a sweet but brief happy birthday moment with Bob, including opening a wonderful and slightly extravagant gift, I got ready and headed into town (wearing the lovely cashmere sweater I received…I couldn’t resist).

There were only a few people in line so it went fast, and I was face to face with a young priest I had a few times before. I went down my list and we stopped on one particularly thorny issue I was facing, and he gave me some wonderful pastoral counsel on it, along with my penance and absolution. I left feeling grateful for God’s mercy and love, trusting that God would direct my decision as Father said he would, if I turned to him in prayer. Not a bad way to start a birthday, and I thought this might just become a tradition.

Next stop (because it was my birthday, after all) was a bit of thrift shopping. I scored a couple of fun things, and then made my way to Walmart, which is my grocery of choice these days. I made the loop in the store, got all the things on my list, and headed to the checkout. Which is when this happened.

Now, it is known among friends and family that I am “that person” that strangers approach and talk to in public. It never really surprises me anymore. Usually, it is something sweet, or curious, or maybe confusing, but typically benign. In my awkward way, I respond the best I can and we move on. Today was different.

I was busy unloading my things onto the conveyor belt, vaguely noticing that the people in front of me were possibly having an issue because the clerk was suggesting they stop at the customer service counter. Also, I noticed that the man in the couple gave me “a look” when I put a divider on the belt to indicate where my order started. I thought maybe I had encroached more than he liked, so I just quietly kept moving and kept a little more distance.

There were two things left in my cart to unload. Two cases of beer. One for Bob, and one for me. Yes, folks we drink beer. Light beer, and in my case super-extra-light 55-calorie beer. I was going to wait for the belt to start moving to hoist them up, so I had just paused.

“That alcohol in your cart. That is a huge waste of money,” said the voice.

When I turned the man would not make eye contact with me, not initially. He was busy staring at the two cases in my cart. His expression was one of disgust. He may as well have been looking at something dead and rotting in the sun.

I was so startled I couldn’t speak. I looked at him dead in the eyes, and when he finally looked back, all I could do was smile. He shook his head in disappointment. And then his wife walked away with him following behind.

Stunned, and not a little mortified, I had to keep right on going. After all, this is Walmart and nobody was going to be okay with me stopping to process what had just happened. So after I was all checked out and the cart was loaded, I walked slowly toward the exit. And for a change, I was the one who approached a stranger to talk. There was a sweet-looking older woman who was the greeter where I was exiting.

“Do people get meaner the closer it gets to Christmas?” I asked her.

She nodded. “Yes, I hate to say it. But yes.”

I told her what happened, and got a little teared up about it. It felt a little silly to be emotional. Most people would have been angry.

I told her, “I could have said, ‘Good thing it’s not your money, then.”

“That’s exactly what I would have told him,” the greeter said, clearly sympathetic.

“I can never think of those things in the moment. All I did was smile at him,” I told her.

She told me she’s been doing this a long time and she’s seen and heard it all. I thanked her, and wished her well and a Merry Christmas.

So many things have crossed my mind since that incident. Here’s just one: this was two cases of beer. Wonder what his reaction would have been had this been a typical “booze run” with a handle of whiskey, a bottle or two of wine and the two cases of beer. We might have had a physical altercation.

But the main thing I keep thinking is: if this man thought he was going to make a difference in someone’s life, someone who really needed help or who struggled with alcohol, this was exactly the wrong way to do it.

For whatever reason the man felt like it was his duty to tell me that alcohol is a waste of money (in a store full of things that are a waste of money). No smile, no opening for a discussion about the dangers of drinking, no personal testimony, nothing that would have drawn me in so that I could have understood his side and he could have understood mine. Instead, it was simple judgment and condemnation.

That was my 30-second mini-workshop on how to not make a difference in people’s lives.

Which stands in sharp contrast to my experience this morning in Confession.During the Sacrament of Reconciliation, I am there to confess it all—the bad, the ugly, and the rotten—and be shown mercy, forgiveness, and love. There is no shock, no dismay, no disappointment. God our Father is just happy when we show up.

These two experiences—one of gentle counsel and mercy in the confessional, and the other of judgment and condemnation in the checkout line—taught me something about the power of grace. The young priest’s kindness reminded me that love and understanding invite us to grow, while the stranger’s harshness could only wound. Both encounters left me thinking about how we treat each other, especially during this stressful season—but really all the time.

I’m very glad I was too tongue-tied to make a snarky comeback. I think I would have felt much worse about the encounter had I popped off with something sharp. I don’t know what this man was dealing with, and an equally ugly confrontation wouldn’t have changed his mind or his life. A smile was the best I could do, and I probably have my Guardian Angel to thank for that.

We’re all carrying something, and maybe we’d all do better to offer each other a little more grace. After all, we’re in this together—a good message for my birthday.

Pray for me. I’ll pray for you, okay?