On a recent Saturday afternoon, I sat down in a coffee shop with a pile of papers that should have been graded much sooner and a growing list of “to-dos” for the upcoming week.

Once I had ordered my oat milk latte (it’s crucial to have a little treat as motivation to be productive) and found one of the only available seats in the coffee shop, an older gentleman sitting next to me began to ask me questions about what I was working on.

And to be honest, I was annoyed.

I already felt frustrated with myself that I was working on a weekend and was overwhelmed by the amount of things I needed to complete that afternoon. Talking to this man was not on my to-do list in any way shape or form. As I half-listened to him recount stories from when he was a middle school science teacher and hope that my disinterest in the conversation would somehow feel palpable to him, I felt the ever so slight nudge from the Holy Spirit that I needed to stop and really listen.

When he learned I was a Bible teacher, he began to open up about life and faith. We talked at length about his rich family history in Montana, his late wife, his daughter who says she will visit but never does, and his son who has walked away from the Lord. It became clear that while this conversation felt like an inconvenient interruption to me, it might have meant everything to a man who has no one to truly see or hear him.

It reminded me of one of my favorite stories in the Gospel of Luke. While Jesus is making his way through a crowded town to go heal the dying daughter of a man named Jairus, a prominent synagogue leader, he is interrupted by a desperate woman who also wants to be healed. This woman had suffered a bleeding condition for 12 years and upon touching Jesus’ cloak, was immediately healed. When Jesus realizes that power has gone out from him, he stops walking and asks who touched him. His disciples quickly point out that this is an unimportant and almost ridiculous question given the reality of the crowd pressing in on him and the urgency of the task before him. I’m sure that for the fearful father trying to make it home to his daughter, there could not have been a more inconvenient interruption. Every second mattered. Yet, Jesus takes the time to stop, look this woman in the eyes, hear her story and say “Daughter, your faith has healed you. Go in peace.” (Luke 8:48).

Throughout his ministry, Jesus was interruptible. He was not just content to perform signs and dispatch miracles – he would often pause on crowded streets, take the “long way” walking from one town to the next, sit down with people for dinner, and stop so that he could encounter people. Jesus took the time to see, hear, and know people during his ministry on earth.

Henri Nouwen, one of my favorite authors, writes,

“It is a privilege to have the time to practice this simple ministry of presence. Still, it is not as simple as it seems. My own desire to be useful, to do something significant, or to be part of some impressive project is so strong that soon my time is taken up by meetings, conferences, study groups, and workshops that prevent me from walking the streets… But I wonder more and more if the first thing shouldn’t be to know people by name, to eat and drink with them, to listen to their stories and tell your own, and to let them know with words, handshakes, and hugs that you do not simply like them, but truly love them.”

I think often about this quote and the man from the coffee shop. I am grateful for the reminders to be someone who is present and interruptible. During the many interruptions and distractions throughout the school day – I am reminded that to truly see and hear the students, faculty members, or parents around me is far more significant than whatever “important” things I have on my to-do list.

May I be a person who is interruptible.

May we be a people who view interruptions and distractions as an invitation from the Holy Spirit – an invitation to see, hear, and love the people in our midst just as Jesus sees, hears, and loves us.

May we remember that it is a privilege to practice this simple ministry of presence.