Allow me a moment of your time to discuss Stephen.

You may be saying “Ah yes! Stephen. I know him.” No. You do not. You may be thinking “Stephen. Yes! I know exactly who you are speaking of.” I can assure you that you do not know of Stephen. He was much like me. We both traversed the halls of our local High School. We both were nobodies. Nothings. People that did not amount to anything. Not worthy of notoriety or even a glance. With the exception of the occasional taunt of The Bullies. We fell short of the “Who’s Who” of history and only fell into the crowd of “Who?” The difference is that I saw my High School career to completion. He did not. Yet we both graduated together into the realm of Obscurity.

There were four classrooms in the basement. Two of them were Art rooms. Two of them were Spanish. Being a three year student of the language and gifted in the arts I spent a lot of time in that basement. Art I, II, III, Ceramics, and Painting. It was here where my respected favorite teacher and mentor, Mr. “Pits” resided. It was also here where my assigned locker for my sophomore year resided as well. It was a daily occurrence for me to start my day at this locker. Jon and his girlfriend, Melissa, also liked to hang out at my locker as well. Not because of my “popularity” or the popularity of my locker. No. But because my locker was ever so positioned that they could lean against the side of it and start their day exchanging saliva. It was here that they bestowed upon me one of my many nicknames- “Rash”. Of course they managed to muster and put forth this one word in between sharing used chewing gum. It was all that they would say. As if it was the only word that they were ever taught. Outside of learning tongue tango. But it wasn’t because of some hideous skin infection that I had. It was because the back of my neck was blood red and hard like leather from an acne medication gone awry. I was always so popular for all the wrong reasons.

One morning I followed my daily routine and approached my locker. I don’t recall seeing Jon and Melissa. Stephen was standing there. Maybe his presence scared them away. There he was. Slicked back black greasy hair. Grease stains all over his shirt. Black leather jacket. Zits. Lisp. There I was. Knotted up hair. Oversized glasses. Bad choice in clothing. Large cysts of acne all over my face. Redneck. We both were overweight. That and pimples. That is our common ground outside of being obscure Nobodies. I’m sure that he had many flattering nicknames. I believe that I had more.

I do not recall why he was at my locker that day. It was a small hallway with only a few so it is not like he had suddenly been caught off guard by my presence from afar off. I do not even recall what we were speaking of. I do, however, recall smelling something on him. Either I had never smelled it before, or I just had never paid attention to it. Cigarette smoke. 

I began accusing him of taking up the habit. He vehemently denied the allegations. I vehemently denied giving him the benefit of the doubt. His claim was that his parents smoked. The stench of their selfish habit had embraced him and refused to let go. It chose to hold on and make a bold statement that everyone should notice. I absolutely refused to hear his excuses, for whatever reason. In my eyes that day Stephen was a smoker and there was no other explanation. None. Back and forth we went. “Are too!”, “Am not!” As if we had traveled back in time that morning into the first grade.

There are two lessons that can be learned from this encounter. First, is the deception on the part of Stephen. He stood by my locker, reeking of smoke. Not because he had chosen to take up smoking. No. But because of the company that he kept. Or, I should say, because of the company that kept him. It was completely out of his hands. He was surrounded day in and day out with it in his humble abode. Possibly even on his way to school if his parents are how he got there. As Believers we too need to be mindful of the company that we keep. If we dance with Darkness, then it will drag us down to the grave. Even if we are in The Light. We may stand, but eventually the foundation will weaken and we will fall. We will slowly become numb to Purity and Holiness as those around us fill our ears and minds with filthy speech and thoughts. Our gaze will be set upon filthy actions. In time we will become desensitized to the things that once burdened our hearts. We will find ourselves approving of Darkness because those around us indulge as we defend their actions. Or we will eventually cave and join the crowd. Even if we do not cave and weather the storm and stand our ground then we must ask ourselves this- “What will others say?” If the company that we keep is known for debauchery, then would those that see us with them assume that we eat from the same platter of rot? If we walk into a bar with our alcoholic friends, then would not someone that knows our Faith see us and begin to make assumptions? Would that be a fitting testimony for Light to run parallel with Dark? Even if they are polar opposites heading towards the same path?

“Do not be deceived: ‘Evil company corrupts good habits.’”

-Paul to The Church in Corinth

Second, as I was pointing my finger at Stephen and stabbing him with assumptions and accusations I did not realize that there were three fingers pointing back at me. You see, I too grew up in a house full of cigarette smoke. My father alone would have burned three of them in the first fifteen minutes of awakening. Surely, I too wore the same stench that Stephen did. He would have had every right to have accused me of the same sin that I was beating him with. But I did not know it. I lived like the frog in the pot as the temperature was slowly rising. I had become used to the stench. I had become accustomed to it. It had become a part of me. My life. My skin. My hair. My clothes. My possessions. My bed. Our furniture. Our home. All reeked. Yet, because I was born into it and lived with it, I knew no different. I smelled it on him and attacked. Unaware that I wore it as well. We both wore it. Another commonality between us. Outside of obscurity. We Believers wear the crown of Guilt in this regard. Do we not? Like myself we point our fingers at others with accusations, unaware that we too should be accused. We can judge our brethren by their sins when our own sin has blinded us. Maybe we look down on them because of some unholy movie that they rave about, all the while listening to some ungodly music ourselves. Maybe we roll our eyes at them because of some foul language that has crossed their lips, all the while we speak foul of another in anger. And if we examine ourselves in the light of those that we judge and feel pious and vindicated, then do we not fall into the pit of Pride? We should examine ourselves in the Light of The Word and worry about our own sin as we pray for the shortcomings of our brother. 

“Judge not, that you be not judged. For with what judgment you judge, you will be judged; and with the measure you use, it will be measured back to you.  And why do you look at the speck in your brother’s eye, but do not consider the plank in your own eye?”

-Christ Jesus

Stephen and I lived to see another day together. We got to watch each other get beat up by members of the Football Team. We got to hear rumors of each other spread throughout the corridor of campus. We got to see each other cry. We got to see each other bleed. Both inside and out. Yet as time marched on we went our separate ways. As always most do. Yet I will never forget the lesson that I learned the day that I accused him of a sin that he was innocent of. All because of the deception of smoke. The same smoke that deceived others about me.