Probably some of you know how Walt Whitman spent many of his days and nights during the Civil War, visiting Southern and Northern soldiers in hospitals in Washington, D.C. It was a period of his life when he had very little money, but the little that he had, he spent for writing paper, pencils, and postage stamps. He would sit at the bedside of the boys and let them dictate letters to their parents or friends which he wrote on stationery and with postage stamps that he bought.
In this way he served the Christ. It was the only way he had, and he did it with his body, his mind, and with the little bit of money that he had. He was a person who knew his identity and the identity of the soldiers he served, whether they were Southern or Northern soldiers. What difference can that make to a person who knows the Christ of his identity and the Christ-identity of other persons? “The place whereon thou standest is holy ground,” not because it is selling for ten dollars a foot, but because God incarnate as your individual being is standing there. That is what makes it holy ground—not because somebody mumbo-jumboed a prayer over it, but because you are standing there.
To carry a blessing, to heal the sick, to comfort those who mourn, it is necessary to know your identity. As a human being, you cannot heal the sick; as a human being, you cannot comfort the mourner; as a human being, you cannot supply the poverty-stricken. But if the spirit of God dwells in you, you never have to say a word about spiritual truth or God: your very presence is a benediction. In fact, the less you say the better.
When Walt Whitman went to the bedside of those boys, he never told them the mystical truths that he knew: he just spoke to them about themselves and their families, and wrote letters for them. Very often doctors reported that men were raised up from the fear of death by his sitting there and writing those letters. Was that the reason? No! The reason was that he went there with love in his heart, and because God is love, he went with God in his heart, and his presence was the presence of God.
Anyone who goes anywhere with love goes with God, because God is love. Do you not see, then, that as long as there is love in your heart—not the personal kind of love that just picks out those it wants to be good to, but the love that is willing to share with the poor, the unhappy, the sick, or the mourner—you are carrying God in your heart; and therefore, your presence is a benediction to anybody and everybody. Without that love in your heart, you are barren; your presence is not a benediction or a blessing; and there is no blessing returning to you, because no blessing ever comes to anyone except the blessing he sends forth. It is the bread you cast upon the waters that comes back to you.

J. S. Goldsmith: Living The Illumined Life. Chapter Ten: Call No Man Upon the Earth Your Father; Knowing Your True Identity Makes Your Presence a Blessing; Kindle: page 175-177