“We say we long for Christ’s presence, yet how often do we leave Him waiting at the door?” – Oswald Chambers
One day, during her quiet time with the Lord, Martha heard Him say, “I will come for lunch at your house next Saturday.”
Now, Martha was the undisputed champion of hospitality. If there were a reality show called Heaven’s Best Host, she would take home the golden platter. By noon on Saturday, her house gleamed like a palace, the aroma of a five-star meal filled the air, and her best china stood proudly on the dining table.
At exactly 12:30, there was a knock. “The Lord is early,” she thought, smoothing her dress and arranging her face into a radiant smile. She flung open the door—
—and promptly froze.
It was that persistent beggar from the bus stage, the one who always seemed to be conducting a lifelong experiment on just how much dirt a human being could accumulate.
“Eh, can I have some food?” the beggar asked, flashing a sheepish grin. “I haven’t eaten since yesterday, heh heh.”
Martha’s radiant smile flickered and died. “Go away,” she snapped. “I am waiting for an important visitor.”
She slammed the door. Moments later, she heard the beggar knocking next door. Good riddance, she thought, adjusting a flower vase.
At 1:00 p.m., thunder rumbled, lightning flashed, and a torrential downpour began. Then—another knock. Grabbing an umbrella, Martha marched to the door.
Standing outside was Mama Sammy, the woman from the shanty down the road. She was soaked to the bone, her toddler Sammy dripping like a wet sponge, and a baby strapped to her back looking vaguely amphibious.
“Can we shelter here from the rain?” Mama Sammy pleaded.
Martha winced at the mud tracks they were bound to leave. “Not today, please. I’m expecting an important visitor.”
Mama Sammy hesitated, then trudged next door. Moments later, Martha heard her neighbour’s voice. “Hurry inside! Take off those wet clothes before you catch pneumonia!”
She’s welcome to them, Martha thought, casting a critical eye over her spotless floor.
By 3:00 p.m., the rain had stopped, but the Lord was still a no-show. Martha peered outside and was greeted by an unusual sight.
The beggar emerged from her neighbour’s house, merrily singing, a ripe banana in one hand and a bunch tucked under her arm like prized treasure. Mama Sammy followed, her children in dry clothes, her baby now giggling instead of shivering. She carried a plastic bag bulging with wet clothes—and another full of food and gifts.
As they walked past Martha, they turned and smiled. But not just any smile. A beatific smile. The kind of smile saints wear in Renaissance paintings.
Martha’s stomach twisted.
She had just passed over the Lord to her neighbour.
A voice echoed in her mind: “I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these, you did for me.” (Matthew 25:45)
As John Chrysostom said, “Would you honor Christ’s body? Do not scorn the poor man in rags, for he is the image of God.”
