Saugatuck Congregational Church, UCC
©Rev. Alison J. Buttrick Patton
Sunday, April 7, 2019
Scripture: Matthew 25:31-45 (Common English Bible)
Who’s in? Everyone. We’re all welcomed. That’s what we say – in the United Church of Christ, and here at Saugatuck Church. It’s what we believe, right? Ours is a God of extravagant welcome. So, what’s a pastor to do with a text like this? An apparent fire and brimstone, stay-right-or-go-to-hell passage plopped down in the middle of our gospel of grace? Just last week we read about the value of forgiveness. Here, it seems, forgiveness has its limits. In the final divine analysis, some will be let in, and some will be kept out.
If you or someone you love has experienced the sting of exclusion by churches that claim to follow the way of Christ, if anyone has ever tried to convince you that you don’t belong, because you are not sufficiently sheep-like – too inquisitive, too edgy, too loud, too brown or too gay, then these verses may strike a nerve. So, let me start by saying, that kind of separating and condemning? That’s not what Jesus is talking about.
God has something more transformative in store… so please stick around, and together we’ll attempt to sort out intent from misuse. We may even find the Good News wandering somewhere in that pasture overrun by livestock.
Let’s start here: When Jesus talks about sitting on a throne surrounded by ‘all the nations,’ he is describing the apocalypse – end of days, the final judgement… I know. Hold on…
“Apocalypse” is a Greek word. It means ‘revelation’ or ‘unveiling.’ Post-apocalyptic movies like The Day After and Mad Max notwithstanding, this apocalypse is not about the catastrophic destruction of the world, so much as it is about revealing a renewed creation – the “Kingdom of Heaven,” in Matthew’s words, or God’s Beloved Community – established by God to replace the current order.
Apocalyptic texts are not meant to be read like a literal forecast of future events. They are richly symbolic, replete with cosmic imagery: angels gather around the divine throne; good defeats evil; a wolf lies down with a lamb (and remarkably, they both sleep soundly). The point is to assure the people that this, our reality, is NOT as good as it gets, that the world we live in – with all its violence and strife – is being re-made by God; that at some point, God will pull back the proverbial curtain to reveal something completely new.
Visions of this holy revealing – God’s apocalypse – offer hope in the face of very real injustice and oppression – for the ancient Israelites conquered by the Babylonian and Assyrian empires; and for first century Jews living under Roman rule.
Much of the gospel of Matthew is devoted to describing what this alternative kingdom – God’s reign – may look like. “The kingdom of Heaven is like this,” Jesus says, over and over, just before telling one parable or another. As we’ve found, parables can be hard to decipher, but Jesus makes this much clear: in God’s kingdom, the rules will change. The last will be first, the meek will be honored; the tyrants will be brought down. The vision Jesus casts is of a radically re-balanced community, where power and resources are redistributed, misery is banished and society’s outcasts have seats of honor at the banquet table.
So, step one in grappling with Jesus’ comments about the goats and the sheep is to consider how those words sound to people who are actually hungry, cold, displaced or imprisoned.
If that’s you, if you know firsthand the pangs of persistent hunger, how it muddles your thinking and saps your strength; If you know what it’s like to be the stranger, cut off from familiar language or customs; or to live through debilitating illness – then these verses should come as good news: Your wellbeing is God’s priority.
Whether or not we have struggled like that, we can all find power and promise in the idea that God has a renewed creation in store, and that there’s something we can do to prepare for its arrival, maybe even to move us infinitesimally closer to that kind of world.
This is step two in reading this passage: Recognizing that it contains clear instructions for living into God’s future. You want to get ready? Here’s what you do. Spend time with your neighbors – the ones you haven’t met yet. People living at the edges of our culture – the ones rendered invisible because they are differently abled, or have a criminal record, or lack access to a sustainable share of the world’s wealth. Hang out with them and see what happens.
This part of the gospel is really straightforward. And it’s not just the gospels. The ethics associated with living in covenant with God were well established among our Jewish cousins. These are the rules that God laid out for them way back while they were wandering in the wilderness: Feed hungry people, welcome foreigners, and look after those who are sick. These are all iconic acts of mercy and compassion – textbook examples of faithful living.
In the end, we are judged not by how we are made or what we believe but by how we treat the most vulnerable members of our society. We will be held accountable for our neglect, because God has made it really clear: We are called to tend to “The least of these.”
On one hand, this is easy to do. Look around. There are countless ways to serve people and communities in need. Just for starters: today, our mission board is inviting us to make donations to One Great Hour of Sharing, a multi-church effort to reduce human suffering around the world.
One Great Hour of Sharing has four priorities: providing clean water, supplying food, responding to natural disasters and empowering people to support themselves and their families. Currently, they operate 20 water projects around the globe. Their disaster relief includes long term recovery efforts in storm-ravaged Puerto Rico, Florida and Texas.
Partnerships funded by One Great Hour of Sharing help women in Honduras to get sufficient prenatal care and increase infant health, in a region where almost 40% of the population lives in extreme poverty and more than 1 in 6 babies and children face chronic malnutrition. They also support economic empowerment projects for women – from Brazil to East Timor; they teach sustainable farming, reduce disease, increase access to formal education… The list goes on!
Supporting One Great Hour of Sharing is one powerful, impactful way to address suffering and inequality in the world. Bob Mitchell gave us another way to attend to ‘the least of these’ this morning, when he invited us to join the Council of Churches of Greater Bridgeport in a campaign to reform Connecticut’s juvenile justice system. When we advocate for young people to get a clean slate once they’ve served their time, we are bending the arc of the universe toward greater justice and mercy.
So yes: on one hand, it is easy to help those in need. There is no excuse: opportunities abound.
On another hand – and you probably know this already, but in case you haven’t discovered it just yet – attending to Jesus’ list of vulnerable people is almost always harder – messier, more unsettling, more confounding and more soul-stretching than it first appears. Because once you invest something of yourself – time or money or your personal presence – once you get close, a relationship might just take root. You may learn names to go with faces. You may hear life stories. And once that happens, it’s harder to walk away; you are more likely to feel invested in the struggle – like there’s more at stake. And then you might just have to take steps, not only to write a check or post a letter or serve a meal, but also to figure out why people are hungry or naked or imprisoned in the first place.
This, I believe, is the real crux of Jesus’ mandate. Not just that we ought to feed, clothe, visit, and welcome because it’s a good and right thing to do, but because doing these things is precisely what tenderizes our hearts, transforms our relationships and prepares us to be citizens in God’s holy realm.
This is so important. How often have I heard these verses in Matthew read by groups of youth or adults headed out on mission trips? The assumption is always, “We’ve got something to offer, acts of kindness to extend. The love of God to share.” And sure, yes. But that way of viewing God’s world, it is too one-sided. It overlooks this most simple and profound truth: we don’t bring Christ with us. Christ is already there, already resident in the hearts and lives of coffee growers in Brazil and nursing mothers in Honduras; in families who lost everything but the clothes on their back to Cyclone Aida and in refugee children riding the rails north to the US Border, to escape bone-chilling violence in their countries of origin.
Yes, we could describe them all as the “least of these” – with the least security, least access, least power. But precisely because they know something about struggle, they may also be among the most courageous, most resourceful, most wise. We have so much to learn from the least of these. Much to give and much to receive.
In the end, preparing for the coming of God’s Beloved Community means practicing that radical kingdom ethic, that intentional sharing of resources and power, in advance; it means recognizing that we need each other to be saved.
In the words of aboriginal activist Lilla Watson, “If you are here to help me, you are wasting your time. If you are here because your liberation is bound up with mine, then let us work together.”
Here’s the truth: We never have been particularly good at sorting out the goats from the sheep. As a species, we people get it wrong all the time – we turn away those who have gifts to offer; we reject the people who could change our lives; we label as victims to be saved those whom God would give to us as family to be loved. So, we need to learn to listen intently. To learn the stories. To watch for those signs of Christ. Until our own blind spots are exposed. Until we see ‘the least of these’ as our companions on the journey.
The Good News is, it’s not up to us to do the sorting. That task is left to Christ, the source of all mercy, the one who couldn’t bear to remain on a throne, separate and apart, but who chose, instead, to live in the hearts and lives of all those who struggle. If he says that the realm of God is prepared for those whose lives are defined by compassion, then you can be certain that God’s work will not be done, until we have all been so transformed.
So, tell me, beloved in Christ: Who’s in? Who among us is ready to be counted among Jesus’ flock, ready to serve and to have our hearts changed in the process? Who here is ready to step outside the safety of our own corral, to give our gifts, extend compassion, and meet Christ in the stranger (stranger to us, but never to God)? Who here is ready to learn from those who have wrestled mightily with pain and suffering; to be surprised by human connection, changed by unexpected friendships, inspired to greater acts of justice and mercy, and so, perhaps, to get a glimpse of that glorious Reign of God?
Christ is ready to meet us…So, who’s in?