There was a young boy living in Paris at the end of World War II. He had been orphaned by the atrocities committed within his city by the occupying German forces. He scrounged around the ruined city as best as he could to find food, clothes and shelter. But everyone was living in desperate times, and he found that people either ignored him or could find nothing to give him. Even the soldiers who had freed Paris from the German army seemed to note care about his situation.
He had heard of the Priest in the church, long before war had broken out, talk about God and Jesus and living the Christian life. But with the hell on earth that the war had brought, he had since lost hope of any sense of Heaven. One cold morning, he was wandering down the street, staring into the windows of shops and cafes. He stopped outside the window of a small bakery. The smell of the fresh bread made his stomach ache with pain. He was so held by the smell and sights of the bakery, he didn’t notice the American soldier who had stopped in the street and had begun watching him with interest. The boy hardly noticed the G.I. as he walked past him and into the store. He did, however, notice the large bag the baker was filling for the G.I. with rolls, breads, pastries and other foods. And the boy could hardly breathe when the soldier exited the shop, knelt down and handed him the bag. The boy look at the G.I. with astonishment and gratefulness. Finally, he look at the soldier and asked him the question that was running through his mind: “Mister, are you Jesus?”
I think we should reflect and remember that God has called us to be the representation of Jesus in our day and age. We are called to be the hands and feet of our Lord. I guess that this then begs the question; ‘how well do we do this?’ I wonder as we go about our business day by day would anyone ask of us: “Are you Jesus?”