When our granddaughter Sara was barely 2 years old, she was already a veteran Sunday School student. She could say the books of the Bible (if not pronounce all of them correctly); she knew how to craft her own prayers (no memorized rhetoric in her repertoire); she could tell many stories with biblical accuracy and impressive detail. God was very real to her.
Her mom and dad, Greg and Lisa, were going to volunteer at a local homeless shelter to serve the evening meal and planned to take Sara along. In preparation for this event, they spent the first week prior to their visit to the shelter coaching Sara. They explained that they were all going "to help Jesus feed some hungry people who wouldn't get enough to eat without the love of Jesus." This explanation was repeated nightly when they said bedtime prayers with Sara and explained what the evening would hold and what would be appropriate behavior for her. They told her they would help with the cooking, then serve all the men their food and then go sit with them and share a meal and conversation with the men.
As they took their seats at the table, Sara was unusually quiet, her eyes wide as she scanned the table of scruffy men bent hungrily over their plates. After a few minutes she nudged her mother and whispered: "Which one is Jesus?" Sara had expected to help a living and visible Jesus that night.
Her question was a good one on many levels in light of Matthew 25:40, where Jesus said: "I tell you the truth, whatever you did for the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me."
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