He stood on the street corner in his tattered coat, and I knew right away who and what he was. Sure enough, as I mentally tried to force the light to turn green, I heard, “Spare any change?” He asked it so half-heartedly, already knowing the answer that comes from people like me. But that day would be different for both of us.
“What’s your name?” I asked, astonished and scared I had engaged in a conversation. His eyes widened in surprise, too, and he appeared to stand taller as he answered, “My name is Theodore.” I smiled, and that encouraged him to continue.
When the blind man was cured by Jesus’s anointing of his eyes with mud, did that change him into someone worthy of attention? Or had he always been that, yet no one took time to notice? Click To Tweet“I was named after my father. Each day, I try to live up to my name.” I handed him a few dollars. He looked at the bills, and said, “Living on the streets, no one sees me. Thanks for seeing me.”
When David was anointed by Samuel, did that make him king? Or had he always been of royal stature, but his brothers and father just never saw it? When the blind man was cured by Jesus’s anointing of his eyes with mud, did that change him into someone worthy of attention? Or had he always been that, yet no one took time to notice? How many Theodores—“God’s gifts”—stand right before us, and we simply do not see?
This post was first published in “GIA Quarterly: A Liturgical Music Journal.”
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