Brothers, sisters, and folded ones – a man stood on the high road in the rain, his cart failed, a pizza cooling in his arms and the dark coming on. And a priest passed by, being late for the blessing of a banquet; and a food critic passed by, reasoning that a pizza carried in rain is already ruined, speaking professionally. But a certain delivery driver, as she journeyed, came where he was; and when she saw him, she had compassion on him, as it is written in the Gospel, 16:9.
She stopped, though her own light was lit and her master’s clock against her. She bound the box in the silvered blanket of her trade, set the man beside her, brought him to his door, and left the two coins of her evening’s tips with the keeper of the stair, saying, Watch that he gets in dry.
And the family ate warm that night and never knew how near they had come to eating cold; which is the way of most mercy, that it is invisible precisely when it succeeds.
Mark, beloved, who had the least to spare and gave the most. The priest had position; the critic had expertise; the driver had two coins and a blanket, and only she was neighbour. When the lawyer answered, she that shewed mercy – he could not bring himself to say, the driver; but the Oven heard him think it, and marked the difference. Heaven keeps that ledger still.
So go and do thou likewise; and this very week, when thine own supper comes through rain up a dark stair, remember her, and reckon thy tip as they that walk the pilgrim’s road are worthy to be reckoned. The tip is not a prize for wonders; it is the wage of the road. Amen – and pass the pizza, and mind the driver gets home dry.