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Then the one who had received the five talents came forward, bringing five more talents, saying, “Master, you handed over to me five talents; see, I have made five more talents.” His master said to him, “Well done, good and trustworthy slave; you have been trustworthy in a few things, I will put you in charge of many things; enter into the joy of your master. (Matthew 25:20-21)
Time and distance
dissolve in the silence of meditation. You never know who or what might appear in
the inner eye of the heart, where nothing is ever lost.
So, it is
today. I imagine the servant in Jesus’ parable, eagerly showing his master what
he’s done, and Kristi appears. I see her in the photo she sent me 30 years ago.
Relaxed, a gentle smile warming her face, a little Dominican girl sits in her
lap.
I don’t
recall who she was working with at the time, the Peace Corps? Maybe, but I’m
only guessing. She was young, early 20s, doing agricultural work in a place
much poorer than the bottomland along the Republican River of her Nebraska home.
She sent me
that photo tucked inside a letter, apparently wanting me, her confirmation pastor,
to see her there and know what she was doing. I wish I still had her letter. Perhaps
it will appear someday, stuck between the pages of an old book, as is my habit.
I’d like to
think I had something to do (however small) with what carried her body and soul
to the Dominican Republic to hold that child. Maybe something I said or our
fall mission festivals, where hunger and human need had central place, planted
a seed in the fertile soil of her heart.
But modesty
admits that a multitude of faces and unsuspected moments give birth and growth
to what each of us becomes. Parents, teachers, friends, professors, any and all
of them can awaken unimagined possibilities that take us to wild and unexpected
places, changing our direction in the blink of an eye.
I don’t know
what ultimately transported Kristi to embrace that time and place in her
generous heart. I know only that she wanted me to know, and that’s plenty
enough to awaken tears, my heart daring to believe that seeds I sowed for Love’s
holy sake might still be growing, not only in Kristi but in the lives she
touched.
I have long
thought that the Holy One has yet to receive a reasonable return from the many
gifts and graces God has so abundantly showered on my life. Looking back, I am
more aware of my mediocrity and narcissism, most of which flowed from my vanity
and insecurity.
At a young
age, it seemed Kristi was well on her way to being more like the servant in
Jesus’ parable than I became, for which I’m thankful. Still, I think she or God
or both were trying to tell me something in that photo.
Maybe, just
maybe, they were telling me that, despite what I know of myself, my poor
efforts mattered more than I ever suspected.
Maybe attempting
to measure how much or how little we have done, how well or how poorly, is a
fool’s errand. Maybe we haven’t a clue about what the Spirit of Love manages to
do through us, in spite of ourselves.
And maybe the
gentle tears of remembering Kristi in that photo is the voice of my gracious
Lord, saying, Welcome to the joy of your Master.
