I used to run parish family retreat weekends. My favorite icebreaker was to set out a hundred photographs, each one of a person showing a strong emotion. I’d invite each participant to choose a photo and say, in a couple of sentences, why he or she had selected it.
I’ve never forgotten a burly man, age around 30, who picked out a photograph of a smiling child who was tightly embracing a tub of candy. The man explained that he’d been married a year or two and felt he’d received the most fabulous gift in the world. It was clear he wasn’t a high achiever or high earner or high anything much. But you couldn’t match his smile. His wife looked pretty happy too. There wasn’t a hint of boasting: there was just effervescent joy. When you’re a pastor who’s spent countless hours with couples who’ve come to see each another as a threat and a curse, you don’t forget such a smile.
Later in the weekend I spoke with a man from the retreat who remembered the incident. This man seemed extremely restless and staccato of speech. He needed to share, so I said to him, “Go on, let it all out.” What came out was this: “I hate that man for having what I don’t have. It feels so unfair—I’m attractive, I’m kind, I’m hard-working, I’m even a virgin, if that helps—so why can’t I smile with that kind of joy?”
