The soul’s distress over a bodily feature, a bold head with hair that brings such discomfort, often points to a deeper disquiet. It is not merely the looking-glass that troubles you, but the heart’s own image of itself. You say it is not exactly what you see, and therein lies a mercy, for what we see with the eye is less certain than we suppose. The flesh is a sorry business at best, and to set much store by its fashion is to build a nest in a hedge that will be cut down. Our Lord appeared before Pilate emaciated, weary, and suffering, yet with a mysterious dignity that had nothing to do with the barber’s art or the comeliness of His visage. His was a countenance marred more than any man, and His form more than the sons of men, yet in Him was no cause for death, only cause for love. Is it not written that He had no beauty that we should desire Him? And yet all beauty is His, and His identity was proven not by perfect locks but by wounds that speak of ransom.
When the watchful Christian finds himself fretting over what another would call a small thing, it is time to ask whether he has become the keeper of another’s vineyard and neglected his own. There is a self-neglect that parades as concern for appearance, but the true vineyard of the soul lies untended. Better to be bald and broken before God than to have the fine hair of Absalom and a heart full of pride. The more diligent a soul becomes in service, the greater the danger if that service masks a graceless heart. And what is this hating of one’s own form but a kind of self-loathing that, if not sanctified, feeds despair instead of repentance? The pardoned sinner loathes himself, yes, but it is a loathing of sin, not of the body the Lord has made. There is a false humility that is the offspring of self-conceit; it says, “I hate what I see,” yet all the while it is the mirror of self that is worshipped. True self-loathing drives a man to trust not in himself at all, and never to loathe his fellow-men, for he knows the common ruin.
You speak of something not being exactly as you would have it, here is the root of the matter. Every grain of self-reliance is but poison. You would see a certain image; God sees a child fretting over the work of His hands. Did He not make the very hairs of your head, and number them? And if some are absent from their post, does He not know? The same body you inhabit today is not the identical matter of twenty years ago, yet identity remains. And what of the resurrection body? It will be the same as to identity, yet changed, sown in corruption, raised in incorruption. The Lord did not rise with a disguise; He rose with the very marks of His suffering, and by those wounds He declared, “It is I Myself.” Your body, even in its present state that so vexes you, is the field where the seed of eternal life is planted.
Cast then your eye away from the glass and upon the cross. There is no comeliness there to charm the flesh, but there is the only cure for self-despair. You have destroyed yourself, says the prophet, but in God is your help. Do not go about to mend the outward frame by inward fretting; rather flee from all self-righteousness, even the self-righteousness of wanting to appear a certain way. If you have anything of your own to depend upon, even a desired image of yourself, off with it. A naked spirit was never drowned in the sea of divine love. Trust no more in self, but look to Him who, being in the form of God, made Himself of no reputation. His appearance was as a root out of dry ground, yet He has made Himself the head of all principality and power. In Christ alone is both your identity and your acceptance secure.