Amnesty International is an agency that tries to ensure human rights around the world. It was started with enormous hope, and its members have done a great deal to alleviate the suffering of individuals subjected to torture and hardship.

The chief good of the organization, however, is not in stopping the torture, not in getting prisoners released, not in finding sanctuary for the oppressed. Its important resides in showing that someone cares. For it is because someone cares that AI is able to release, comfort and restore the victims of corrupt regimes.

Who cares? This is a question that is rarely asked seriously. Those two words are usually said in a bitter, cynical or dismissive manner.

Flowers grow best in well-tilled soil. This is because it is easier for the roots to grow and for moisture to penetrate the ground. Bouquets are always made by pulling out the roots. The flowers must shortly die, and this is what makes them seem more precious. The fact that they will quickly fade makes people feel a sense of urgency in admiring them. “There is no time to waste,” the flowers seem to say. “Look now. Smell this delicious fragrance now. For tomorrow we and our beauty and our aroma will be gone.”

Sam, who was the young caretaker of a restaurant, worked late one night clearing out the garbage, emptying vases of their dead flowers, sweeping, stacking chairs and tables, washing the floor tiles, cleaning windows, and so on. He had a radio on which was playing some rock and roll, and which added energy to his movements and enjoyment to the night.

There was, unexpectedly, a knock on the restaurant door. At first, the caretaker ignored it, but when the knocking was repeated with more force, he went over and peered through the door. Because it was dark outside and light inside, it was hard to see who stood there. “We’re closed!” he said loudly. There was no answer except another loud knock.

Sam did not know what to do, but he knew he didn’t want to open the door. He went over to the counter and turned off the radio, because it was distracting him and he needed to think. After a moment, he moved to the master light switch and flicked it off. If the restaurant was dark, the person might go away, and besides that, once it was darker inside than outside, he’d have a slightly better chance of seeing who was out there.

The knock came again, but still there was no voice. Sam walked slowly to the door and looked out. No one seemed to be there. Yet at that very moment the knock came again. This was impossible! He unlocked the deadbolt and eased the door open carefully. There really was nobody there. He looked up and down the street, but it was almost deserted. There were a few people at the far end of the block arguing under a street lamp, but no one close enough to have knocked just a few seconds ago. Was someone playing a trick on him?

Suddenly, a voice in his head said, “It’s your door I’m knocking on.” He was completely taken aback by this, and more than a little frightened. Only crazy people heard voices in their heads. Didn’t they? He wasn’t crazy. He was only 19 years old, for crying out loud. But wait! Hadn’t he heard somewhere that schizophrenia often hit teenagers and young adults? Was he going to be schizoid?

Deeply troubled, he slid down on the newly washed floor and sait with his back against the wall. Then the voice said, “It’s my house that you are cleaning.”

“Who IS this!?” he said out loud. “Are you an alien? Are you the devil? GO AWAY! Can’t you see I’m just a caretaker?”

There was no answer to this. The young man sat in panicky silence for about five minutes. Just when he was starting to hope that the whole mysterious thing was over, the inner voice said, “Buy this restaurant.” “How on earth am I supposed to do that?” wondered Sam, and then he said it out loud too, but there was no answer. The voice did not return that night or for many years thereafter.

Strangely, he did end up buying the restaurant. He had worked hard and saved a little bit of money, but when he was 25 he inherited a lot of money from his uncle. The owner of the restaurant was in poor health and wanted to retire, and while Sam knew little about the business end of running a restaurant, his new girlfriend was a chef, and felt confident that they could make a go of it.

The young man and his girlfriend, Beth, remodelled the place, renamed it KNOCK KNOCK, and reopened it with high hopes. It became very successful and was especially crowded at lunch times. Beth and Sam were kind people, although they were so busy that they didn’t have much time to do any kind of charity work. However, street people often turned up at the alley door looking in the garbage bins for bottles to sell and for left-over food. After some time, the owners decided to put a little table and a couple of chairs in the already crowded back entrance, so that whenever a drifter appeared they could let him sit down. Sam would bring out a plate of spaghetti and something to drink, and occasionally press a $5 dollar bill into the person’s hand as he left. Sam and Beth didn’t think this was any big deal. It didn’t cost them much, and it was an easy thing to do.

When Sam and Beth were in their mid-thirties, Beth became pregnant for the first time, but she lost the baby quite early in the pregnancy. They never had the heart to try again after that, so they remained childless. However, they grew attached to the little son of some friends, and the boy often spent Saturday afternoons at the restaurant. Little Ben loved to help put flowers in the vases, set out napkins, and do other easy chores.

One day Ben was still at the restaurant with Beth and Sam as they closed up to go home. His parents had gone away for a couple of days, so he was going to stay with Beth and Sam overnight. Now he was using a little whisk broom they had given him so he could help at sweeping up. Beth was in the kitchen, and Sam and the boy were finishing up near the front entrance.

Suddenly the boy looked up. “Who’s knocking?” he asked Sam. “What do you mean?” “Somebody’s at the door,” Ben replied. “No, there isn’t,” answered Sam. “Look.” He opened the door and showed the boy that no one was there.

“But I heard it!” Ben insisted. “I did!” “Sorry, kid. Don’t know what it was. Let’s hurry up so we can go home and have some hot chocolate, OK?”

The boy was a little quiet, but started his sweeping again. Suddenly he said, “It’s your floor I’m cleaning.”

Instantly Sam was swept back to that night when he had heard the mysterious knocking and the voice in his head. He said softly to the boy, “Why did you say that?”

The boy put down his broom and sat on the nearest chair, swinging his feet against the rungs. “Mommy says we have to help other people. It’s fun to help. Why did you call this place knock knock? Sometimes I hear a voice in my head that says ‘Sam loves you.’ I hear it lots of times. I’ll bet it’s true. You care about me, right?”

Sam knelt down beside him. “Of course I do. You’re my little buddy.” He gave him a hug. “Did you really hear knocking?” he asked softly?

“Yes!” nodded the boy firmly. “But nobody was there. Can I work in your restaurant when I grow up? I could care for people too. We could work together every day. I could help you lots. I could put the flowers in the bases every day ‘stead of just on Saturdays.”

“Sure you can,” Sam assured him. “Sure you can.”

There’s nothing much to that story. It’s just the story of a pretty ordinary life – no one special, just people who go to work, go home, go to sleep, go to work, go home, go to sleep, go to work … just like everyone else.

You have to wonder why the voice of God or an angel could be bothered telling some young caretaker to buy a restaurant. Surely there would be more important messages to impart to the human race than that. There’s a whole world for Him to save. People are dying and being killed and tortured. Armies run amok, the world is full of nuclear weapons, pollution is everywhere. Help! Help! Surely God should do something about all of this. Why would He bother with a stupid little restaurant and a young kid who was obviously never going to shake up the world?

The question is really, is it not, “Who cares?” and the answer is this: God cares for each of us individually, and we must care for each other. It’s as simple as that. He speaks to everyone with His sweet and neverending voice, but few will listen. It is only those who want to listen, who want to hear, who can truly help others.

And it’s a cycle. The young man was able to hear – at least one time – because his spirit was ready. You can make yourself ready to hear by helping and by caring. You can help and care by listening for His voice. It’s not difficult. It’s as simple as that.

Tomorrow, we and our aroma and our beauty will be gone. There is no time to waste.