To the Least of These
For Reign of Christ Sunday
Text: Matthew 25:31-46
Today is one of those important-but-you-might-miss-it-if-you-blink kind of days. Today is the very last Sunday in the Christian calendar… This is “our” New Year’s Eve if we really think about it… and yet certainly when I was growing up the Reign of Christ Sunday was something that wasn’t even on the radar. I would suspect that would be the same for most of us… and yet, there is a real value in marking that end in the arc of time that we call the Christian year.
Today really is like New Year’s Eve without the hype. Yet in a month’s time, the newspapers will be filled with introspective looks at the year gone by. I can’t help but wonder why don’t do that as Christians? Why don’t we stop and pause, and look over the last cycle, starting way back in Advent, and then looking at where we are now? In a sense that’s what Matthew is trying to do when he draws us into these images of the end of time… It’s a reflection about the end of the cycle; in the end, what really matters? When all is said and done, what is really important? This is not a parable, but an imagining of the Last Judgment.
Matthew sets up this wonderful scene:
Everything is being brought to order… everything is being brought to account and made right. Justice reigns in all things… It is a scene of hopefulness… Notice that this isn’t just a small, exclusive group… this is all the nations. No matter who they are, no matter where they come from, all peoples from all nations are brought together… and then from this point they are divided into two groups.
They collectively reply,
They honestly don’t know, they go down the list… and there’s not even a glimmer of recognition. Surely we would have remembered. Ummm… When did we do that? They ask…
The king replies to them, “Just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.’
Here’s a shocking revelation… It’s not what we believe, but how we treat God’s children… and it’s on what seems to be such an insignificant level that we would hardly have paid attention to it.
“Just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.’
The story goes on to the flip side… where the king turns away all those who did not feed, who did not offer something to drink, who did not welcome, or did not clothe… In the same way, those who are condemned wonder aloud as to the specifics and the when and where that they had encountered him. They get the same reply…
“Just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.’
“If you didn’t feed, didn’t clothe, didn’t lift a finger to help the most helpless and vulnerable in society… if you ignored those needs, then you ignored me.”
As Protestants, we tend to bristle at this. In much the same way as last week’s parable, we don’t like the notion that we have to earn favour with God. This passage seems to point us in that direction: The most important question in the last judgement is not “did you know me,” it is “did you feed me? Did you clothe me? Did you welcome me?” Knowing whether or not it was Jesus is completely beside the point.
Yet like last week’s parable, this story of the last judgment is not about earning favour with God. It is about responding to God in our midst… Remembering that God is already there; already present, and we do ourselves a huge disservice by ignoring that. When did we see God? Chances are we probably won’t even know… which makes all the difference in the world. Treating one another as if they might be can lead to powerful changes in the way we live together as a faith community.
Think of it this way: The Story of the Rabbi's Gift
There is a story of a monastery that had fallen upon hard times. It was once a great order, but because of persecution, all its branch houses were lost and there were only five monks left in the decaying house: the abbot and four others, all over seventy in age. Clearly it was a dying order.
In the deep woods surrounding the monastery there was a little hut that a wise rabbi occasionally used for a hermitage. The old monks had become a bit psychic, so they could always sense when the rabbi was in his hermitage. “The rabbi is in the woods, the rabbi is in the woods” they would whisper. It occurred to the abbot that a visit the rabbi might result in some advice to save his monastery.
The rabbi welcomed the abbot to his hut. But when the abbot explained his visit, the rabbi could say, “I know how it is.” “The spirit has gone out of the people. It is the same in my town. Almost no one comes to the synagogue anymore.” So the old abbot and the old rabbi wept together. Then they read parts of the Torah and spoke of deep things. When the abbot had to leave, they embraced each other. “It has been a wonderful that we should meet after all these years,” the abbot said, “but I have failed in my purpose for coming here. Is there nothing you can tell me that would help me save my dying order?”
“No, I am sorry,” the rabbi responded. “I have no advice to give. But, I can tell you that the Messiah is one of you.”
When the abbot returned to the monastery his fellow monks gathered around him to ask, “Well what did the rabbi say?”
“The rabbi said something very mysterious, it was something cryptic. He said that the Messiah is one of us. I don’t know what he meant?”
In the time that followed, the old monks wondered whether the significance to the rabbi’s words. The Messiah is one of us? Could he possibly have meant one of us monks? If so, which one?
Do you suppose he meant the abbot?
Yes, if he meant anyone, he probably meant Father Abbot. He has been our leader for more than a generation. On the other hand, he might have meant Brother Thomas. Certainly Brother Thomas is a holy man. Everyone knows that Thomas is a man of light. Certainly he could not have meant Brother Elred! Elred gets crotchety at times. But come to think of it, even though he is a thorn in people’s sides, when you look back on it, Elred is virtually always right. Often very right. Maybe the rabbi did mean Brother Elred. But surely not Brother Phillip. Phillip is so passive, a real nobody. But then, almost mysteriously, he has a gift for always being there when you need him. He just magically appears. Maybe Phillip is the Messiah.
Of course the rabbi didn’t mean me. He couldn’t possibly have meant me. I’m just an ordinary person. Yet supposing he did? Suppose I am the Messiah? O God, not me. I couldn’t be that much for You, could I?
As they contemplated, the old monks began to treat each other with extraordinary respect on the chance that one among them might be the Messiah. And they began to treat themselves with extraordinary respect.
People still occasionally came to visit the monastery in its beautiful forest to picnic on its tiny lawn, to wander along some of its paths, even to meditate in the dilapidated chapel. As they did so, they sensed the aura of extraordinary respect that began to surround the five old monks and seemed to radiate out from them and permeate the atmosphere of the place. There was something strangely compelling, about it. Hardly knowing why, they began to come back to the monastery to picnic, to play, to pray. They brought their friends to this special place. And their friends brought their friends.
Then some of the younger men who came to visit the monastery started to talk more and more with the old monks. After a while one asked if he could join them. Then another… and another… So within a few years the monastery had once again become a thriving order and, thanks to the rabbi’s gift, a vibrant center of light and spirituality in the realm.
Matthew’s story of the Last Judgment makes the same point, it reminds us that all of us are deserving of the respect and care that we would expect to give God. Imagine what life would be like if we lived this out in our church life, and our lives outside of this community? In the end… when all is said and done… what is it that really matters?
“Just as you did it to one of the least of these… you did it to me.”
Amen.
Note: The Story of the Rabbi's Gift is most often quote from M. Scott Peck's book A Different Drum, but it exists in many different forms. At present I do not know the name of the author, but give credit that this story is not my invention.
Text: Matthew 25:31-46
Today is one of those important-but-you-might-miss-it-if-you-blink kind of days. Today is the very last Sunday in the Christian calendar… This is “our” New Year’s Eve if we really think about it… and yet certainly when I was growing up the Reign of Christ Sunday was something that wasn’t even on the radar. I would suspect that would be the same for most of us… and yet, there is a real value in marking that end in the arc of time that we call the Christian year.
Today really is like New Year’s Eve without the hype. Yet in a month’s time, the newspapers will be filled with introspective looks at the year gone by. I can’t help but wonder why don’t do that as Christians? Why don’t we stop and pause, and look over the last cycle, starting way back in Advent, and then looking at where we are now? In a sense that’s what Matthew is trying to do when he draws us into these images of the end of time… It’s a reflection about the end of the cycle; in the end, what really matters? When all is said and done, what is really important? This is not a parable, but an imagining of the Last Judgment.
Matthew sets up this wonderful scene:
When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, then he
will sit on the throne of his glory. All the nations will be gathered before
him, and he will separate people one from another as a shepherd separates the
sheep from the goats, and he will put the sheep at his right hand and the goats
at the left.
Everything is being brought to order… everything is being brought to account and made right. Justice reigns in all things… It is a scene of hopefulness… Notice that this isn’t just a small, exclusive group… this is all the nations. No matter who they are, no matter where they come from, all peoples from all nations are brought together… and then from this point they are divided into two groups.
Then the king will say to those at his right hand, “Come, you that areBut watch how they reply. They don’t say, “hey, thanks a lot… I worked hard at this and I deserved it!” Instead, those who are considered to be “righteous” turn to the king. They are dumbfounded… their response is more like “huh?” They are considered to be righteous by the king, and yet they have no clue that they were.
blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation
of the world; 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.’
They collectively reply,
“Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food, or thirsty and gave you something to drink? And when was it that we saw you a stranger and
welcomed you, or naked and gave you clothing? And when was it that we saw you sick or in prison and visited you?’
They honestly don’t know, they go down the list… and there’s not even a glimmer of recognition. Surely we would have remembered. Ummm… When did we do that? They ask…
The king replies to them, “Just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.’
Here’s a shocking revelation… It’s not what we believe, but how we treat God’s children… and it’s on what seems to be such an insignificant level that we would hardly have paid attention to it.
“Just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.’
The story goes on to the flip side… where the king turns away all those who did not feed, who did not offer something to drink, who did not welcome, or did not clothe… In the same way, those who are condemned wonder aloud as to the specifics and the when and where that they had encountered him. They get the same reply…
“Just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.’
“If you didn’t feed, didn’t clothe, didn’t lift a finger to help the most helpless and vulnerable in society… if you ignored those needs, then you ignored me.”
As Protestants, we tend to bristle at this. In much the same way as last week’s parable, we don’t like the notion that we have to earn favour with God. This passage seems to point us in that direction: The most important question in the last judgement is not “did you know me,” it is “did you feed me? Did you clothe me? Did you welcome me?” Knowing whether or not it was Jesus is completely beside the point.
Yet like last week’s parable, this story of the last judgment is not about earning favour with God. It is about responding to God in our midst… Remembering that God is already there; already present, and we do ourselves a huge disservice by ignoring that. When did we see God? Chances are we probably won’t even know… which makes all the difference in the world. Treating one another as if they might be can lead to powerful changes in the way we live together as a faith community.
Think of it this way: The Story of the Rabbi's Gift
There is a story of a monastery that had fallen upon hard times. It was once a great order, but because of persecution, all its branch houses were lost and there were only five monks left in the decaying house: the abbot and four others, all over seventy in age. Clearly it was a dying order.
In the deep woods surrounding the monastery there was a little hut that a wise rabbi occasionally used for a hermitage. The old monks had become a bit psychic, so they could always sense when the rabbi was in his hermitage. “The rabbi is in the woods, the rabbi is in the woods” they would whisper. It occurred to the abbot that a visit the rabbi might result in some advice to save his monastery.
The rabbi welcomed the abbot to his hut. But when the abbot explained his visit, the rabbi could say, “I know how it is.” “The spirit has gone out of the people. It is the same in my town. Almost no one comes to the synagogue anymore.” So the old abbot and the old rabbi wept together. Then they read parts of the Torah and spoke of deep things. When the abbot had to leave, they embraced each other. “It has been a wonderful that we should meet after all these years,” the abbot said, “but I have failed in my purpose for coming here. Is there nothing you can tell me that would help me save my dying order?”
“No, I am sorry,” the rabbi responded. “I have no advice to give. But, I can tell you that the Messiah is one of you.”
When the abbot returned to the monastery his fellow monks gathered around him to ask, “Well what did the rabbi say?”
“The rabbi said something very mysterious, it was something cryptic. He said that the Messiah is one of us. I don’t know what he meant?”
In the time that followed, the old monks wondered whether the significance to the rabbi’s words. The Messiah is one of us? Could he possibly have meant one of us monks? If so, which one?
Do you suppose he meant the abbot?
Yes, if he meant anyone, he probably meant Father Abbot. He has been our leader for more than a generation. On the other hand, he might have meant Brother Thomas. Certainly Brother Thomas is a holy man. Everyone knows that Thomas is a man of light. Certainly he could not have meant Brother Elred! Elred gets crotchety at times. But come to think of it, even though he is a thorn in people’s sides, when you look back on it, Elred is virtually always right. Often very right. Maybe the rabbi did mean Brother Elred. But surely not Brother Phillip. Phillip is so passive, a real nobody. But then, almost mysteriously, he has a gift for always being there when you need him. He just magically appears. Maybe Phillip is the Messiah.
Of course the rabbi didn’t mean me. He couldn’t possibly have meant me. I’m just an ordinary person. Yet supposing he did? Suppose I am the Messiah? O God, not me. I couldn’t be that much for You, could I?
As they contemplated, the old monks began to treat each other with extraordinary respect on the chance that one among them might be the Messiah. And they began to treat themselves with extraordinary respect.
People still occasionally came to visit the monastery in its beautiful forest to picnic on its tiny lawn, to wander along some of its paths, even to meditate in the dilapidated chapel. As they did so, they sensed the aura of extraordinary respect that began to surround the five old monks and seemed to radiate out from them and permeate the atmosphere of the place. There was something strangely compelling, about it. Hardly knowing why, they began to come back to the monastery to picnic, to play, to pray. They brought their friends to this special place. And their friends brought their friends.
Then some of the younger men who came to visit the monastery started to talk more and more with the old monks. After a while one asked if he could join them. Then another… and another… So within a few years the monastery had once again become a thriving order and, thanks to the rabbi’s gift, a vibrant center of light and spirituality in the realm.
Matthew’s story of the Last Judgment makes the same point, it reminds us that all of us are deserving of the respect and care that we would expect to give God. Imagine what life would be like if we lived this out in our church life, and our lives outside of this community? In the end… when all is said and done… what is it that really matters?
“Just as you did it to one of the least of these… you did it to me.”
Amen.
Note: The Story of the Rabbi's Gift is most often quote from M. Scott Peck's book A Different Drum, but it exists in many different forms. At present I do not know the name of the author, but give credit that this story is not my invention.
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