Since I sometimes write about Benjamin, people have gotten to know him who otherwise mightn't. At first glance he is perhaps unkempt, or preoccupied. He is not what you would call chatty. But after hearing how he thinks, some people have come to value him. 

 

One Sunday I walked into church back when we actually went, when a friend smiled.

 

"I wonder what comment Ben will have today! I can't wait to hear." 

 

As it turned out, Ben kept his hand down. If he had opinions about the service, I did not learn of them. But I enjoyed the anticipation. 

 

There is a folktale about a monastery that had declined in recent years. The monks  were all well into their seventies, and felt less passionate about their tasks. Fewer worshippers came seeking. The abbot wondered how to revitalize the order, to become more relevant. Then a rabbi from a nearby synagogue made a comment that stirred things up.

 

"One of you is the Messiah." 

 

The repercussions spread gradually, like milkweed seeds in the wind. The monks began to look at one another differently. With deep respect. They started to be curious about their own potential as well. Could God really use even them? 

 

The community around the monastery sensed the subtle shift. Neighbors came more frequently for prayer. They felt drawn to the atmosphere of purpose, and integrity. A few young men asked to be initiated into the order, and within a short time the monastery was again thriving. 

 

It is possible to expect greatness from people, even one who is on the surface rather ordinary. We can also relish the history of someone after they are gone, retelling the vignettes with affection. 

 

Another scenario is to cherish the person standing in front of us, as if they are significant. Because it turns out, they are.