A few years ago, on a sunny fall afternoon, I sat on a worn granite step just east of Saint Peter’s Basilica. I had taken an article written twenty years earlier outside to study. The article, by John Paul II, was an impassioned plea to Christians, particularly wealthy Westerners, to stop harming the environment. Throughout his later decades, the pope wrote repeatedly and prophetically on this theme. His words watered a seed that had been growing in my Western, evangelical heart.

A dozen strides away from me, an elderly woman wrapped in black sat on the pavement with her back against a tall building. Her right hand rested on the ground. She was begging, and she was being ignored. I watched her for a while. An astonishing variety of people passed. Native Italians strolled by, as did a group of men with shaved heads and saffron-colored robes touring from the Far East. Dramatic, dark-skinned Africans wearing vividly dyed cotton clothing walked side by side with somberly dressed Muslims and women in burkas. Then I saw one of the most beautiful sights I have ever witnessed.

Three nuns, all advanced in age, subtly detached themselves from the stream of pedestrians. One quietly stooped over and placed money in the beggar’s outstretched palm. A moment later, the nun and her friends were caught up in the flow of traffic. The gift was as subtle as a Cold War microfilm handoff. It was done with utter humility, intended to be witnessed by no one.

Actions, deeds, and works of charity get heaven’s attention. The words spoken on earth that autumn day in Italy are now forgotten. Yet the miracle I witnessed allowed me, for a moment, to glimpse what God sees—our hearts. In that humble gift to a beggar, I heard the trumpets of heaven sound. God’s beautiful earth will not be saved by words or good intentions. It will be saved by humble, anonymous acts like turning off the lights, hanging clothing on the line, bicycling to work, and planting trees. People who are grateful for God’s abundant gifts, people of faith who are not afraid to be held accountable for care of his creation, will save it.

Matthew Sleeth serves as Blessed Earth's Executive Director and resides with his wife, Nancy, in Wilmore, KY.