Daily We are Imago Dei

Dear God of Love and Justice,

On the day of Pentecost, You poured out Your Spirit not on the credentialed or the powerful, but on everyone in that crowded upper room — fishermen and tax collectors, young mothers and elderly widows, servants who had never been asked their opinion about anything. You looked at every face and saw what You had placed there from the beginning: Your own image, blazing like an ember waiting for wind.

As I move through this day, sharpen my eyes to see what You see. When I pass the woman bagging my groceries whose name I have never learned, remind me she carries Your imago Dei — Your divine image — as surely as any saint in a stained-glass window. When I grow impatient with the coworker who sees the world differently than I do, whisper to me that You gave her dreams and visions too.

Forgive me for the moments I have ranked Your children — placing some above others as though Your image comes in varying resolutions. Acts 2 tells us Your Spirit falls on sons and daughters alike, on the young dreamer and the old prophet, on servants whom the world overlooks. You play no favorites with Your fire.