“It hurt Jesus to love us. We have been created in his image for greater things, to love and to be loved. Jesus makes himself the hungry one, the naked one, the homeless one, the unwanted one, and he says, ‘You did it to me.’” — Mother Teresa

At the close of Easter dinner last year, my mother-in-law, Muriel, shared a charming story from her childhood.

Many years ago, when Muriel was four years old, her mother brought a chicken home from the market.

Though plucked, it was still necessary to cut off the head and feet of the chicken, so her mom put it down on the table, left the room to hang up her coat, gather the knives and prepare the chopping board.

To her surprise, when she returned, the chicken was gone.

Stunned, she stood looking at the table in wonderment. Then, suddenly, out from the bedroom came Muriel, pushing a small baby carriage, smiling from ear to ear as she showed off her newest addition. There, resting comfortably amid blanket and pillow was the chicken, fashionably dressed in a sweater tied with ribbon around its neck, a dapper bonnet on its head, and fine socks pulled up around its scrawny legs.

I never heard the rest of the story because Muriel was now laughing heartily and fully enjoying the memory. She seemed to glow with pleasure.

At that moment, for reasons beyond my understanding, I was suddenly fully aware of the frail 88-yearold woman before me. She was no longer just my mother-in-law. She was God’s child. I realized just how many stories I had missed, how many memories were locked away, how many smiles and how much laughter had taken a back seat to my own moments of self-absorption.

Somewhere in my head the words of the Greeks in John’s Gospel were ringing: “Sir, we wish to see Jesus.”

Here was Jesus sitting right in front of me. Never had it been more apparent to me than at this very moment. I wanted to fall to my knees in front of her and ask forgiveness for the opportunities I allowed to slip away when I could have loved her better. And while that might have been cathartic for me, it would have only served to upset her and send her home at the end of a delightful family dinner wondering if she had done something wrong. I would simply have to pray for the wisdom to integrate this humbling lesson into the way I lived the rest of my life.

Sometimes, immersed in the many elements of our faith, we need the moment of awakening that brings us back to the source of it all — love. Only from this vantage point can we truly live our faith, not just from the head, but deeply, from the heart.

Mother Teresa had such a vantage point.

She once described what she called, “the most extraordinary experience of love of neighbor with a Hindu family.”

She recalled, “A gentleman came to our house and said: ‘Mother Teresa, there is a family who have not eaten for so long. Do something.’ So I took some rice and went there immediately. And I saw the children—their eyes shining with hunger … And the mother of the family took the rice I gave her and went out. When she came back, I asked her: ‘Where did you go? What did you do?’ ” The mother had shared the rice with a Muslim family, saying, “They are hungry, also.”

Mother Teresa continued, “And there were those children, radiating joy, sharing the joy and peace with their mother because she had the love to give until it hurts. And you see this is where love begins—at home in the family.”

Who can say it better than that?