The Hidden King
Seeing Christ in Each Other
“Truly I tell you, whatever you did to one of the least of these brothers and sisters of Mine, you did it to Me.” Matthew 25:40
The Encounter in Myanmar
In a small Myanmar village, a man approached our feeding station. His body was broken, his face hard.
He grabbed the bread with a scowl that said, Don’t preach to me.
Something in me stiffened—I thought, He should be grateful.
Then I heard that still, unmistakable voice:
“It is Me you just gave bread.
Look with My eyes and see Me.”
Suddenly, the room changed.
The smell of rice and sweat turned holy.
The man in rags became radiant.
I had just served the King, and He was looking back at me.
To Him, Not For Him
The Greek word ἐμοί (emoi)—that small pronoun at the end of Jesus’ sentence—changes everything.
It doesn’t mean "for Me", as if we’re performing an act in His honor. It literally means “to Me.”
When we love, feed, visit, or clothe another, we are not working for God’s approval; we are touching His life.
The dative case in Greek expresses relationship, not representation. It’s not charity—it’s communion.
Every gesture of compassion flows to Him because His life flows in them.
Who Are the “Least of These”?
The phrase “the least of these” (τῶν ἐλαχίστων, tōn elachistōn) literally means “the smallest” or “the overlooked.”
In first-century culture, it described those without honor or status—the invisible ones in a world obsessed with power and pedigree.
Yet Jesus reverses that hierarchy.
He identifies Himself with the dishonored, not as their patron but as their presence.
He locates divinity in the very places society forgets.
They are not the least—they are the likeness.
They are not beneath us—they reveal the Christ within us.
We Are in This Together
There’s no hierarchy in the Kingdom.
No one is greater for giving, or lesser for receiving.
The bread in my hand and the hunger in his body were both held in the same grace.
Serving the broken does not place me above them—it places us together in Him.
Love erases the ladders we build.
It draws us into the circle of the Trinity, where giving and receiving flow as one.
We don’t stoop to serve; we rise into worship.
When we wash another’s feet, we are not bending down in pity—we are reaching up in adoration of the King who reigns from the lowest place.
Reflection
Who might be revealing Christ to you today, even in their brokenness—or in yours?
How does seeing others as image-bearers of the same divine life change the way you serve and receive love?
What if helping isn’t about fixing, but about fellowship—two souls meeting in the presence of God?
Prayer