This is a unique talk. Kathryn reads the poem "Unawares" by Emma A. Lent (words pasted below). Then she goes into being set free from alcoholism. Today's title is from Matthew 25:45 “He will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me.’

"Unawares" by Emma A. Lent,

They said, “The Master is coming to honor the town today. And no one can tell at what house or home, The Master will choose to stay.” And I thought, while my heart beat wildly, “What if He should come to mine?! How would I strive to entertain and honor the Guest Divine?!” And straight I turned to toiling, To make my home more neat; I swept and polished and garnished, And decked it with blossoms sweet. I was troubled for fear the Master, Might come ere my work was done. And I hasted and worked the faster, And watched the hurrying sun. But right in the midst of my duties, A woman came to my door. She had come to tell her sorrows, And my comfort and aid to implore. And I said, “I cannot listen, Nor help you any, today! I have greater things to attend to!” And the pleader turned away. But soon there came another – A cripple, thin, pale, and gray. He said, “Oh, let me stop and rest, A while in your house, I pray! I have traveled far since morning, I am hungry, faint, and weak. My heart is full of misery, And comfort and help I seek.” And I cried, “I am grieved and sorry, But I cannot help you today. I look for a great and noble Guest!” And the cripple went away. And the day wore onward swiftly, And my task was nearly done, And a prayer was ever in my heart, That the Master to me might come. And I thought I would sprint to meet Him, And serve Him with utmost care, When a little child stood near me, With a face so sweet and fair. He was sweet, but with marks of teardrops, And his clothes were tattered and old. A finger was bruised and bleeding, And his little bare feet were cold. And I said, “I’m sorry for you, You are sorely in need of care. But I cannot stop to give it, You must hasten otherwhere!” And at the words, a shadow, Swept o’er his blue-veined brow, “Someone will feed and clothe you, dear, But I am too busy now!” At last the day was ended, And my toil was over and done. My house was swept and garnished, And I watched in the dark alone. Watched, but no footfall sounded, No one paused at my gate. No one entered my cottage door, I could only pray and wait. I waited ‘till night had deepened, And the Master had not come. “He entered some other door,” I said, “And gladdened some other home!” My labor had been for nothing, And I bowed my head and I wept, My heart was sore with longing, Yet in-spite-of-it-all, I slept. Then the Master stood before me, And His face was grave and fair. “Three times I came to your door, And I craved your pity and care. Three times you sent me onward, Unhelped and uncomforted, And the blessing you might have had was lost, And your chance to serve has fled.” “O Lord, dear Lord, forgive me! How could I know it was Thee?” My very soul was shamed and bowed, In the depths of humility. And He said, “The sin is pardoned, But the blessing is lost to thee; For, comforting not the least of Mine, You have failed to comfort Me.”