A man sits in his office surrounded by a soft glow of light.

The illumination from his computer monitor forms a diffuse halo around his head.

But this man is not a Saint. He isn't an overtly evil person either.
He is just distracted by many things.
He has so filled his life with desires and activities, that he doesn't have time or attention left to look more carefully for God or to truly see the people whom he passes by each day.
Outside the night sky is full of stars - cold distant pinpricks of light which offer neither vision nor warmth. But the light from so many offices full of men and women working late blots out the heavens. It is hard to see the stars even if one does look up.

Outside on the cold streets, men, women and children drift by many stories below.

The men and women in the offices above sit staring straight ahead.

The man with his eyes full of light does not see the people on the street.
He is looking at a screen full of numbers.
The man does not know the shivering people standing outside his office.
He is too busy, and there is no profit in making their acquaintance. The man in the office has trouble making time for his own wife and children - why should he get involved with strangers?
Out on the street, anonymous hands shiver under street lamps.
The children seem to shrink each day rather than grow. Their spirits are withering.
Their hope is as dim as the distant starlight.
Their flickering hope is blotted out by the bright ambitions burning in the offices above them. The people in the offices want: bigger houses, better cars, and a larger piece of the pie.
A tiny slice of humanity has captured so more than is required to meet their needs.

But simply having enough is a distant dream for thousands of people who are our brothers and sisters in Christ.

The children of the darkened streets hunger and thirst,
perhaps for righteousness and justice,
but certainly for a sandwich and a cup of something warm.

The dreams of the cold and hungry are simple: how can I make it through this day?

The desires of the people in offices are sophisticated:

What is the best asset allocation strategy to reach my financial goals?;

Shall I take ten days in Paris or in Rio?; How big an addition shall I build onto my home? Which SUV shall I buy?

We do not know the hour, but one day Christ will come. And he will ask the men and women in the dimly lit offices what they have done with the life and the freedom they have been given.

Few of us are saints. Few of us are overtly evil people.
But all of us can get very distracted.
When Christ asks for an accounting will we dare to ask:

"Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked
or sick and in prison, and did not take care of you?"

What is being gained and what is being lost behind the office windows late at night?

If we leave the city night and move out to dawn and the suburbs we shall see more in the daylight hours.

A woman drives an expensive automobile. She starts early in the morning.

The daily circuit includes three different schools, two different malls and a desperate attempt to be at two sporting events at the same time. Somewhere in the midst of this she makes brownies, goes to Cub Scouts, and books a venue for her 10 year old son's birthday party.

The party, which will last less then three hours, will cost over three hundred dollars by the time everything is taken care of - an amount the US government claims is sufficient to feed a family of four for weeks.

The woman loves her children and her husband.

But somehow they don't seem to spend much time sitting together - a meal with everyone present is a rarity.

Life is most often seen rushing by the windows of the car.
At 55 miles an hour even the landscape blurs.
People not along for this never ending ride don't stay on the radar screen long enough to be noticed.
The woman is not an evil person. She is just distracted by many things. She has so filled her life with desires and activities, that she doesn't have time or attention left to look more carefully for God or to truly see the people whom she passes by each day.

We do not know the hour, but one day Christ will come asking for an accounting.

Will we roll down the window, slowing briefly, and ask in honest confusion:

"Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked
or sick and in prison, and did not take care of you?"

Just ahead two flag men will separate the final carpool.
One line, marked "sheep" will drive off into the distance,
the other line ends at a sign marked "dead end" --
where there will be parking of cars, gnashing of teeth
and a general lack of further progress.

Whether you look in the city or out farther, in the rolling hills, you can find a busy church.
The priests, the deacons and the staff are very active.
They always have many things to do.
There are papers to fill out - liturgies and programs to plan - and so many meetings to attend. They work hard. They work long hours. The light pours from the windows of their offices late at night, obscuring the starlight outside.

During the day priests and deacons travel to hospitals, homes and diocesan meetings. Their schedules are so full that it would be hard to stop by the side of the road to help someone along the way.

These ordained people have trouble making time for their own congregation - why should they get involved with strangers?

These priests and deacons are not saints. And they are not bad people.
They are just distracted by many things.
Trying to be the church in the twenty first century can seem so complicated.
We do not know the hour, but one day Christ will come asking for an accounting. He will not ask how many meetings we have led, or request that we recite the number of programs we have started.

Jesus knows that life can be complex, in any age,
but He will make a simple discernment.

Did we do the simple basic things?

When Christ asks for an accounting will we dare to ask:

"Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked
or sick and in prison, and did not take care of you?"

We talk about the Kingdom of God. We say that God's Kingdom is already and not yet. We use this language to try to express the paradox of God active in the world,

the inbreaking of the Kingdom and the obvious lack of perfection we can still see all around us.

We are waiting for God's kingdom to arrive.
But could it be that the simple discernment,
as simple as separating sheep from goats, is happening right now? Could it be that the King of the already and not yet kingdom is here in disguise, waiting to make his final pronouncement?

In the streets of America, Christ wonders at what he sees. He slouches in alleyways.

He lies in filthy blankets on steam grates half covered in snow.

Christ is the hungry man in the little house, we have never even seen, five miles from where we live.

Christ is the woman weeping alone in an unheated apartment, clutching her desperation and the shut-off notice in her shaking hands.

Christ is the child with no winter coat and no reason to hope that tomorrow will be any better than today.

Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick and in prison, and did not take care of you?

Lord, when was it that we really looked?

You are right in front of us.
You have always been right in front of us

We are surrounded by things which block our vision.
We invite so many distractions into our lives that their name is legion.
We confuse amassing wealth with having purpose and direction.
We are so sure of what we want
that we forget to remember what God asks.

Some things are complex.

We will not solve the problem of world hunger in the next hour.

Some things are basic and simple, but they are hard.

We are being asked, by Christ, to take personal responsibility. We will not have to look very hard to discover opportunities to feed the hungry, clothe the naked, visit those in prison, or welcome the stranger.

And we are addressing some of the need which is out there.

But if we would really live into the radical teaching of the parable Christ tells, we will have to think long and hard about what we do, what we buy, and how we spend our time - every day.

Each one of us must peer into their own heart and we must, together, ask the question that will be asked of us.

Are we doing what we are called to do?

Christ is not asking us to simply do an occasional good work. Christ is calling us to be converted into those who look for him to come at any moment wearing the face of the next stranger.

We would not stand idly by and watch our children starve, die of thirst, or freeze in the snow.

And neither will God.

In just a few days we will celebrate a national holiday -Thanksgiving.

It will likely be a cold night outside. There will be bare tables all around us. What would happen if each of us slowed down, today, and asked God to help us experience the pain and the joy of truly seeing all of God's children?

Let us take the days leading up to Thanksgiving as a time to offer ourselves, so that others might have food, clothing, hospitality and a respite from loneliness.

Let us remember what God has asked of us even as we prepare our family table.

And the King will answer them,

"Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me."