The 25th chapter of
Matthew, which has supplied our gospel readings for the past two Sundays, as
well as today, describes ways that we could be judged by God. Could we be like the unprepared bridesmaids
who ran out of oil and missed the return of the bridegroom? Could we be like
the servant who buried the talent his master gave him instead of using it to gain
more for the master? These parables depict very harsh examples of judgment in
the kingdom of heaven. They might prompt
us to become concerned about our worthiness for Christ's reign at the end of
time. Or they might lead us to question
whether we want to worship a God that will not give second chances or who will
show no mercy when judgment day comes. Or we might even say that we don't think
the bridegroom or the master in the parables is truly God. But with these two
characters Jesus creates images that he wants to contrast with the Son of Man
or the king in the final section of this chapter.
But
the like a piece of music that contains three movements with the third movement
resolving the themes of the first two, the third section of the 25th chapter
will help us resolve the tension built up in the first two parables. This
section begins with the "Son of Man" coming in glorious splendor
ready to separate the people who will be blessed by inheriting eternal life
from the people who will be separated from God for eternity. In this parable-like
story of the separating of the sheep from the goats, Jesus explains what he
values most and how people will be judged.
Jesus said, ".
. for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me
something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you
gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you
visited me." And then Jesus
explains that in doing it for "the least of these" you were doing it
for him. If he intends the disciples to
see him as the Messianic "Son of Man," he intends for them to
understand that he stands in solidarity with the most vulnerable people in
their world.
One
way to understand a scripture passage better is to imagine that you are a
participant in the story. In this story I think there might be two ways to do
this: first can you see yourself among those who asked Jesus, “When did we do
these things for you?” You are unaware
of anything you did special, but then Jesus told you had cared for the needs of
the vulnerable--and that was enough to gain entry into eternal life. Yet as you fed, clothed, took care of, and
visited, why had you done these things?
You, as part of the first group of people in the parable, had not
especially been seeking God's favor. In
the world of the parable you had been going about business, but with eyes open
to the needs around you. You may have
even asked yourself the question as you chose to help, "If not me, who
will aid this person?" This was the
attitude of the Good Samaritan as he encountered the wounded man by the
roadside.
The
other group of folks in the parable, the ones the king labeled
"accursed," were also going about their business. However, they
weren’t aware the needs around them.
They didn't understand that "the Son of Man," the King upon
throne in his glory, could be found in the spirits or souls or hearts of those
in need. Yes, Christ enthroned is glorious, but there is no divide between him
and the "least of these who are
members of [his] family." Even
someone in prison! Even someone who is
homeless! Even someone who suffers from
significant physical or mental illness-- think Ebola, think severe depression.
The
second way into this parable is to imagine that you are one of the "least
of these." Scholars are divided
about this, but some of them feel that in telling this parable Jesus was trying
help his disciples realize that, despite the mistreatment they would suffer,
they could be sure Jesus would reward those who helped them. Have you ever felt hunger and thirst at a time
you could do nothing about it? Have you ever been a stranger anxious about how
you would be received? Yes, and all of us have been sick to the point of
feeling things might not come out well, haven't we? If Jesus identifies with human beings at
their most vulnerable--might not that help us know in at least some moments we
have been "one of the least of these?” And if we can admit to ourselves these
vulnerable moments have been ours, then our eyes will be opened to folks who
need our attention and our care.
Since
I have been Fred's [my spouse] caretaker for nine to ten months now and with special
intensity during the last two weeks, I have wondered about what good could come
out of our distress--his physical and mine emotional. I would have done this
caretaking out of duty, of course. But
through this experience of caretaking, have I seen God's presence? At first I
did not, but as my distress about Fred's situation increased and my anxiety
about caring for him overwhelmed me, my heart cracked open and God filled the emptiness.
I
wouldn't have said this ten months ago, but I have a new understanding of St.
Paul's phrase in the passage from Ephesians we heard today. That phrase is ". . . may you know. . .
what is the immeasurable greatness of his power for us who believe." I now understand that this is the power to
enter our suffering, walk with us through that suffering, and fill our broken-open
places with love. Yes, Christ reigns not
only in glory, but also in our brokenness. And for that, I want to say,
"Thanks be to God."
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