Many years ago, I was invited to a friend's home for Thanksgiving dinner. One of the other guests was a woman who was affected by dementia. I remember that we were all in the kitchen as my friend made the finishing touches to our meal: stirring the gravy, popping the rolls in the oven, dishing up the cranberry sauce. I’m sure we were all pitching in. It was the kind of happy chaos that precedes a fancy meal. Ruth was sitting quieting at the table, watching, not speaking, a little frown on her face. My friend took a stick of butter and a butter dish and set it before her, asking her to prepare the butter for us. Ruth’s face cleared, and this woman who had made thousands of meals for her family got right to work. It took her a long time to unwrap the butter and get it on the dish, but no one was in a hurry, she was content, and we were all helping get the meal ready.
I’ve mentioned this event to my friend, and she doesn’t remember any of it. For her, that kindness was nothing special, just her way of including everyone. For her, it was second nature. She doesn’t remember it, but I’ve never forgotten it. I hope that I might respond the same way. And I hope that someone might put a stick of butter in front of me some day.
“Inasmuch as you did it to the least of these, you did it to me…”. (Matthew 25:40)
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