Our kind of king
Clare L. Hickman
St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Ferndale
November 26, 2023—Proper 29A Christ the King
Matthew 25:31-46
Now THIS is what we expect from a King! Sitting on a throne, all eyes upon him, waiting with bated breath for his judgment. Yes or no? Up or down? Live or die?
It feels like empire, like Caesar and his famous thumb, saving or sending people to their death. It feels like a courtroom, like a judge determining whether a law has been broken, and if so, what punishment does it deserve? It feels like Osiris, weighing every Egyptian’s soul against a feather. Or perhaps for us, it feels like the most important exam you will ever take, which you have either passed or you have failed.
I have absolutely no doubt that Jesus INTENDED to echo Caesar. And he meant it to look like a courtroom. And he is describing it as a test, as a reckoning. But as usual, once he’s brought those things to mind, he then takes our expectations about those things and flips them somehow.
So we are reminded of Caesar, and his absolute power over the life and death of everyone in his empire … but in the kingdom of God, the focus is not on the ruler’s power to decide the fate of the individual before him; instead, if you look closely, past all the things we’ve tried to turn this scene back into, the focus here is actually on the sovereign’s insistent desire for the wellbeing of absolutely everyone in the realm.
And it certainly looks like a courtroom, but unlike much of worldly justice, the focus isn’t on protecting the life and property of the wealthy and the privileged; it’s on care for the poor, the powerless, and the underprivileged.
And if it’s a test, then it’s clear that everyone has studied the wrong material. Because none of the questions are about what God you worship, or if you believe the right things, or follow all the rules correctly. Rather, this test is the icing on the cake of Jesus’ many warnings to the people who think that religious propriety is what God wants from us. The measure of faithfulness, he insists, is not to be found in the externals of piety. In his day, within Judaism, this was the question of religious observance. In our day, within Christianity, this is the question of whether you’ve “accepted Jesus as your Lord and Savior.” Jesus insists here that neither of these is what really matters (though they are both excellent foundations for what really matters), which is how you respond to God’s call to care for the poor, and the marginalized, and the alien among you.
Are you focused on feeding the hungry (no matter what you might think about why they can’t earn their own way)? Are you attentive to the wounds and pain of those around you (even if you can’t really understand their struggles, or you feel overwhelmed by their problems)? Do you draw near to the lonely and the suffering (even if their neediness feels uncomfortable and there are so many other ways it would be easier to spend your time)?
For Jesus, those are the only questions that matter. They are the Way. They are the signs of the Kingdom of God as it breaks into this world, and if you insist on reading this passage literally, they are also the things that will gain you entrance (or not) to the Kingdom of Heaven.
I don’t happen to be compelled by literal readings of scripture. But what I do see here is Jesus laying down, in no uncertain terms, an illustration of the heart, the priorities, the very nature of God.
But he doesn’t just describe it. He invites us into the picture, makes it clear that we are part of the picture, part of the story and always have been. All the time; every day; we come face to face with human need, and thus with Jesus, and thus with God.
But I do wonder how whether there’s more to this encounter with Christ than first meets the eye. Clearly, and traditionally, there is the idea that in helping people, we are not just serving them, we are serving the God that we love. This invites us to recognize the belovedness of the needy, to see the beautiful brokenness of their humanity, and then to encounter the light of Christ in them.
Perhaps it is that God truly dwells more fully in those who are on the margins, those whose need strips them of the self-sufficiency and ego that can allow others to shut God out. There’s probably something there.
That also leads us somewhere deeper, I think. In that Christ is not just visible in the one in need: Christ becomes more present, in us, when we are open to the needs of the world, when we are moved to compassion, moved to assist, moved to share, to recognize connection, to understand.
There are so many things that can make us turn away from someone in need of food, or clothing, or comfort. Need is messy, and confusing, and frightening. If we give too much, we might become needy ourselves. For that matter, if we look too hard, and understand too much, we might have to admit our own vulnerability, the riskiness of life that can never truly be eliminated. If we feel someone else’s fragility, we just might encounter our own.
And there, really, is the heart of it. When we truly open ourselves up to the needs of others, we are drawn into their story, and realize that we are bound up together. And not only will we begin to feel their pain, so that it becomes ours, and our futures become intertwined, but we’ll begin to admit our own pain and need, to share our own story.
So that the distinctions between “us” and “the needy” break down. So that we are all in this together, and the only thing is to care for each other, and to keep broadening and broadening and broadening the times and the places and the ways in which we care for each other. And in this, all of this mutual care and service and vulnerability, in THIS, we will find Christ. We will feed and clothe and accompany Christ. We will indeed BE the body of Christ in this world.
It is still a good question: when have you encountered need in this world, and how did you respond? Is it different when it’s on an individual level, versus a public policy level? And how does it feel, to hear Jesus say that he was there in that need: in the ones you answered … and in the ones you refused?
We will all, always, have some of each on our ledger. That’s another reason not to take this sorting thing too literally: it’s not possible to answer every need, So we’re all a little sheepish and a bit goaty. But it changes us, I think, to know that these are the moments when Jesus breaks into the world. When we witness each other’s need. When we share our own vulnerabilities. When we respond or are responded to. When we deny or are denied. When we remember and admit that none of us can do this thing alone and we are all in this together. That’s when we see Jesus, my friends! And that is the kind of King we Christians swear our first loyalty to. May we worship and obey. Amen.