It was an uneventful day at Starbucks. Since we didn’t have any customers, my co-workers and I were busying ourselves with useless tasks. The quietness was broken, however, when a boy came up to the counter and asked me for a cup of water; he was somehow excited that I offered ice and he thanked me considerably. As I was putting the lid on his water, he slowly reached out his arms and put both of his hands over our tips jars. I watched him, in a daze, and quietly wondered at his interesting kindness to push our overflowing dollars back into their rightful place. My assumption was quickly dismissed when he started pulling the dollars out of the tip jars and, with change flying and dollars in hand, he bolted out the door.

I stood over the freshly poured and lidded water, stunned. As I stared at the quarters and dimes scattered over the floor, I wondered at the stabbing pain in my back and the ache in my heart. It wasn’t loss, anger, or shock that pained me so; it was deception. The young man had extended his hand toward me and I extended mine in return. The friendly acquaintanceship—the type that is understood between a grateful customer and a generous employee—was shattered when I realized that his seeming flattery was nothing short of depraved malice. His kindness was a tool to inflict pain.

As I poured Vanilla Bean Frappuccinos and concocted Chai Tea Lattes, I pondered the effect the boy’s actions had on me. I considered the effects of deception, and I was reminded of a similar story. I wondered what it would be like to run into a close friend during the weakest and most anguished moment of your life and to have that friend kiss you on the cheek, demonstrating his affection, love and support, affirming the fact that he has your back. I can imagine that kiss washing over you with warm reassurance, serving to somewhat ease your present distress, telling you that you are not alone. I wondered what sort of unbearable pain would embrace you as you realize that the kiss of your so-thought friend was not one of kindness, but of deception, a means to cause you great sorrow, a tool to inflict upon you the very torment that you dreaded.

There is not a man who has lived on this earth who has not been stung by deceiving needles for we live, move and breath under a canopy of deception. The comforting houses we live in, the attractive salaries offered to us, the love and security that relationships lure us with, all promise fulfillment that is as real as a mirage of water on the road ahead in scorching desert heat. Every beautiful rose, glorious song and pleasant conversation masquerades before us, skillfully persuading our hearts to love the things that will be destroyed, and that will, in turn, destroy us and leave us with nothing. The father of lies is an expert deceiver; while he has his foothold, deception blankets the earth. Though Jesus did not fall prey to Satan’s lies, His human soul was genuinely bruised by the act of deception.

The writer of Hebrews tells us that in order for Jesus to help us, and in order for Him to be a high priest who is merciful and faithful, He had to be like us in every respect. Jesus was enveloped by the same environment that envelops us, tempted by the same deceiver that tempts us, and wounded by the same vice that wounds us (yet in all of this, He did not sin). He can help us because He knows the way, and He can be merciful and faithful because He understands. He resonates with our exploited hearts and knows the brokenness of our souls. His empathy is a great and wondrous comfort.

While the eyes of thieves stealthily covet our earthly treasures and while our intimate friends maliciously betray our weary hearts, I am thankful that we have a Helper. One who has already experienced the journey, paved the conquering way, and sweetly embraces us in arms of understanding.

(Matthew 26:14-50; Hebrews 2:16-18; 2 Peter 3:10)