The Beauty of Individual HumansRead Time 10 min

There’s a cliche buried in our assumptions that if you’re in love with someone, you see an unrealistic version of them. You’re blinded to their faults and foibles, and you see every good detail in high resolution. This cliche comes from the reality of romance that once the feelings of being in love have subsided, you have to deal with all the gritty and annoying things about your partner. But I think it can blind us to a more interesting possibility. Even though people are broken, maybe we see them with a greater clarity — a better understanding of who they really are — when we deeply love them.

The other day, I was sitting on a bench in a bookstore, full out crying at the introduction to a coffee table book. It’s called “Dear New York,” and it’s the latest iteration of the body of work of Brandon Stanton, whose work is generally known under the heading of “Humans of New York.” The idea is simple. He takes pictures of strangers he meets in the city, and he asks them about their lives. But he is an artist. What he shares (originally on social media, now also in books) is so pithy and direct that you feel like you have encountered the person in a very profound way. Sometimes what he shares is a page or more of the story they told him, sometimes it’s a single line. Sometimes they’re funny, sometimes they’re heartbreaking. Sometimes the photo is more of a portrait, sometimes it’s candid or only of a detail like a wrinkled hand. Some people inspire you. Some people you might be afraid to encounter alone at night. But each person is presented through this artform in such a way that you really get an idea, not just of who this person is, but of the specific and unrepeatable reality of their dignity.

I think there’s something of this vision in all of my favorite artists. This ability to show us a person with such clarity and insight and skill that we are overcome with a kind of awe at the mystery and beauty and dignity of a human being.

Lately I’ve been particularly captivated by the most recent seasons of “Stranger Things” and “Dancing with the Stars.” “Stranger Things” is a story about monsters and superpowers in ’80s Indiana. “Dancing with the Stars” is a reality TV show where miscellaneous celebrities learn ballroom and Latin dances. They are both TV shows with arguably silly premises; they may not appeal to you, and that is absolutely fine. But each in their own way has moved me to tears because they remind me in a profound and visceral way that God made us good.

In “Stranger Things,” a group of misfits find themselves pitted against horrific forces of evil. Their struggle against that evil sets up each of the characters for growth and reveals to the audience how deeply loveable and heroic they can be. You have no moral obligation to love fictional characters. But seeing the beauty of fictional characters can be good practice for seeing the beauty of real people.

In “Dancing with the Stars,” a cast of public figures is assembled to compete in a dance competition. Each celebrity is paired with a professional dancer who choreographs, teaches and performs the dance with them. As trivial as it might sound, there’s something beautiful about what people learn about themselves as they learn how to dance. Much of the appeal is the fun and flashy dancing, but there’s a real element of human growth that can break through in confusingly beautiful moments.

In the Gospel of Luke, the Pharisees are scandalized when a sinful woman comes to anoint the feet of Jesus. Jesus asks them, “Do you see this woman?” There’s a lot that goes on in that story, but I think our hearts should catch on this question. Do I see this woman? Do I see this man?

It’s easier than ever to get caught up in all the abstractions: All the horrific and bleak effects of sin can feel so overwhelming that we just shut them out. We use the abstract answers that would correct those problems as a defense between us and the suffering of the world, reducing people outside our circles to their wrong opinions. But Truth himself didn’t stay above the fray; he came all the way down into the specificity of flesh to have individual relationships with every individual human heart he made. No one has a moral obligation to follow “Humans of New York” on social media or to watch “Stranger Things” or “Dancing with the Stars.” But whatever it is that reminds you of the reality that each individual human being remains a masterwork of his creation, maybe press into that as the Christmas season winds down.

In the introduction of “Dear New York,” Brandon Stanton reflects on the city of New York and on his 15 years of documenting it. He reflects on the intensifying of the human experience when so much of humanity is crowded into so small a place. He talks about the heavy burdens people bear in silence on the subways: addictions and loneliness and violence and the harsh brutality that can spiral outward from suffering. He also says that wherever there are people, there is love. He writes with such reverence for every wildly unique person whom he has ever encountered that you feel each of them is some kind of miracle. And it was the story of one tiny little miracle in the middle of the night on a New York street — and the way it touched the people around — that had me crying in a crowded bookstore.

It is good to allow yourself to be overcome by the beauty of individual human souls and to remember that because the Word was made flesh, every one of them is capable of being redeemed in the most astonishingly beautiful ways.