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I ran into Jesus and Mary at church. I know, that’s no surprise. It’s not what you think, though.

As I entered the church last Sunday I happened to glance curiously at a couple surrounded by some county sheriff’s deputies and some Spanish-speaking parishioners, and in passing saw some luggage piled in a corner. While my head registered that the scene was under control, my heart nudged me a little—something was just not right.

After mass, I approached one of the church employees, my dear friend, to see if there was anything I could do to help. Sadly, there was little to be done on a Sunday evening. The county emergency services only operate during business hours. [mental note: remember to schedule my emergencies during banking hours….]

It turns out that the unfortunate couple had been evicted earlier that day, and in the abuses and indignities that are often piled upon society’s marginalized, they were not paid what they were owed.

In one moment they became homeless and penniless.

I confess that when dealing with the homeless and poor I often do so with a suppressed air of pity or perhaps worse, an underlying level of scorn. It’s not something I’m proud of—in fact, the origin of those feelings are most likely ingrained in my constant sinful failing: pride. Certainly I would never find myself in their situation, except that, quite possibly I could.

There were no signs of mental illness or the debilitating welfare condition that breaks spirit and initiative. They didn’t look violent or drunken or drug-addled, or any of the other ugly stereotypes of the homeless. No. This was a couple that seemed to be hard-working and guilty of nothing more than an ill-timed risk that failed miserably. As a result, they found themselves beaten and abandoned on the side of the road.

I was shocked to note how their situation paralleled the parable of the Good Samaritan. This couple was desperately in need of temporary aid—some immediate intervention to help them connect with the friends and family that would come to their aid. They were less than 24 hours away from help if they could just make it through the night.

Their countrymen walked past them. The holy man also kept walking, presumably caught up in his other duties. Finally, the officials abandoned them. They were saved, ironically, by a man who just a generation ago was “the enemy.”

Rather than an indictment against all the people who could have, but chose not to help, I want to focus on the ones who did take action. In a world focused on the grand act, the opportunity to give generously to a cause célèbre, the real sacrifice comes from the unnoticed generosity of the anonymous folks who act when no one is looking. It’s easy to do the right thing when there are people around to take note. It’s quite another to do the right (but difficult) thing when no one would know otherwise.

Except, of course, that God is watching. What will He see today?