My friend Abigail was visiting from out of town, so we met for morning Mass at the Baltimore Basilica. They celebrate a 7:30 a.m. Mass in the Crypt, which I had never attended before.
It was as lovely as I thought it might be—intimate and quiet with such a warmth to the community there. I wondered how many congregants were regulars and how many were visitors like us. I’ll never know. But it was beautiful, and the priest encouraged us to consider how the fruits of our work should be for God.
After Mass and a visit to the Basilica upstairs, we went to look for a cup of coffee. It was only as we were leaving the church that I realized I had no idea where to go. But I figured we could find something.
God always provides. As we were walking, I saw a man who looked like he was on his way to work. He was clearly in a hurry, focused on the day ahead. And he was carrying a paper coffee cup—a beacon to me on my hunt for coffee.
As we approached each other, I said, “Excuse me.” He didn’t make eye contact and didn’t seem at all interested in chatting, but he paused. “Could you tell me where you found that cup of coffee?”
He still didn’t look at me, but he stopped and answered—and you could tell he was trying to be informative and really meet our needs. He told me his coffee came from a chain store around the corner. But, even without eagerly engaging us in conversation, he seemed to know we might be looking for more.
“If you’re looking for breakfast, there’s actually a little place in an old bank,” he said. “If you go down that way and walk far enough, you’ll find it on the other side of the street.”
He told us the name of the spot, and I thanked him. Then we were on our way. We walked and found the restaurant he had recommended, ordered breakfast and coffee, and sat and chatted. We had a beautiful visit, connecting as mothers and writers and women who are continuing on a faith journey with all the twists and turns that life brings.
As I headed home later, my heart and mind were full. But I kept remembering the man who stopped on the street. He may not have wanted to talk to these strangers who were interrupting his morning commute, but he accepted the task and the role he could play in our day. He set us on a path to a place I had never heard of and probably wouldn’t have found on my own. I suspect he hasn’t given us a thought since then.
But I’ve thought of him and how he rose to the occasion. He had other priorities, but he made our search his problem to solve. For at least that moment of his day, we were his priority. He met our need in such a simple, straightforward way.
So often God puts people in our path and asks something of us. Sometimes we are prepared and sometimes we are caught off guard. Our response in those moments matters. Maybe it’s through those interruptions to our daily lives that he is really calling us to action as workers in the vineyard.
We don’t always have advance warning, and we don’t always know that we have much to bring to the encounter. But Lent especially asks us to take those moments and carry forward the work that God calls us to—whatever that may be.
Maybe he’s asking us to show hospitality to a stranger. Maybe he’s asking us to respond with love when a child calls “Mom! Mom! Mom!” over and over. Maybe he’s simply asking us to notice those around us. Maybe he’s calling us to be more patient or still. Maybe he’s asking us to be more active in service.
I don’t know what God is asking of me, so I certainly can’t guess what he’s asking of you. But whatever it is, maybe those small encounters are where God is truly inviting us to grow in holiness.
We might not be called to do extraordinary tasks that save the world. But we might at least be able to help someone find a decent cup of coffee. Let’s be open to whatever our Lenten task is today.
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