This April, having just finished an 8-month internship as a chaplain at the Durham VA Medical Center, a basic important question struck me: did what I had done matter? Part of the implicit doubt comes from the very nature of the visits themselves. There were some folks that I would meet on Saturday and then go by and visit again on Sunday, but those cases were the exception. A majority of the patients I visited were people I would only see once. I did my hospital hours on Saturdays and Sundays, spending most of my time on different intensive care units (cardiac, medical, and surgical). Being that there were often only two or three of us chaplains for the entire hospital, there were always different people to see.

Usually the visits would be somewhere between a half-hour and an hour. A variety of issues would surface around areas such as family, faith, friendships, jobs, fear, and boredom. While those are all weighty subject matters, most conversations did not have an heir of intensity to them. They were generally just people in bad health situations getting to shoot the breeze with somebody who was not there to take their blood pressure or give them pills.

In essence, in the 569,400 hours that a 65-year-old patient has lived on this earth, 0.0002% of that time was spent talking to me, someone they had never met before and likely will never meet again. And, given that neither the patients nor me would likely remember each other’s names or the substance of the conversations too far beyond the visits—do not worry, there are definitely exceptions for me in this regard; there are some patients and circumstance I will never forget—can I really say that they actually mattered or were important in any meaningful sense of the word? For that matter, are any of the momentary encounters that we have significant? Is there some greatness in the fact that you gave the person ahead of you in the grocery store line the 8 cents they were short on checkout? When you were frazzled and annoyed in the DMV line and the person next to you made humorous friendly small talk and lightened the mood, was there something significant happening there? I still say yes.

Moments matter because they are the gifts that God gives us, one after another, that constitute our very being and existence. Each of our lives is made up of innumerable moments that make up our stories, which are all intertwined with the stories of other people; we contribute to and help make up each other’s story. Even the most brief of encounters become part of our lives that in one way or another keep the story going. If one moment does not lead to another, we call that death.

Now, given that the only moment you can act in is the present one and it will affect and effect the ones that follow, your presence in the present moment most certainly can be important for another. People can be lonely in the moment. Or scared. Or hurt. Or tired. Or confused. Or feel unloved. Being there with a word of encouragement, a smile, to listen, or sit together in silence matters. The moment will happen for them with or without you, but you—even as a stranger–being there may be the difference between a bearable time and a living hell.

Interestingly, Scripture in its own way valorizes the bit-player stranger who helps save the day or adds a crucial meaningful presence or point in its stories. For instance, in the Book of Joshua in the Old Testament, we find a prostitute named Rahab living in Jericho (Joshua 2 & 6). She is a Canaanite woman who helps hide two Israelite spies, which ultimately makes it possible for Israel to take the city. To the spies, Rahab is a stranger and a foreigner whom they have never met until this crucial moment when their lives are in danger. Her actions not only save their lives and the lives of her own family, but in doing so they help take the broader story of God forward. In fact, while she only appears in these brief two chapters in the Old Testament, she is remembered much later in history as a person of faith in Hebrews 11.31 and James 2.25.

There are also many examples of momentary players in the story of Jesus that were significant enough to be written down and incorporated into the good news of God. There is the unnamed woman who appears in all four Gospels anointing Jesus with her tears and expensive perfume (Mt 26, Mk 14, Lk 7, Jn 12). There is no indication in the narrative that he knew her before or after the incident. Still, Jesus described the significance of this momentary encounter, saying, “She has anointed my body beforehand for its burial. Truly I tell you, wherever the good news is proclaimed in the whole world, what she has done will be told in remembrance of her”(Mk 14.8-9). This unknown woman’s one act of love and kindness mattered to Jesus immensely and it now matters to all of us; her act will be remembered forever.

In a world that is obsessed with hype, fame, and larger-than-life heroics, it is easy to feel like small acts of kindness are meaningless in the big scheme of things. And in the case of a hospital visit when you will not even be remembered a week later by the person you were there for, it is easy to lose sight of how much single moments of love and faithfulness matter. No story is possible without a series of consecutive moments and each one adds to and carries on a quality to the next. Brief acts of kindness and presence to a stranger can transform that person’s existence in the now to a glimpse, reflection, or sliver of the presence of God that is ultimately connected to eternity. So, please. Be nice in the grocery store.