St. Luke's Episcopal Church
Cleveland, Tennessee

Last Sunday after Pentecost
November 23, 2008
Matthew 25:31-46
The Rev. Deacon Art Bass

Today is the Last Sunday after Pentecost, oftentimes referred to as Christ the King Sunday. For several weeks now, our gospel readings have been taken from the 25 th chapter of Matthew and have been part of what is known as the judgment discourse, end of time teachings given by Jesus to his disciples on the Mount of Olives in the days leading up to his arrest and crucifixion. Today’s gospel is the final portion of that discourse.

The reading begins by setting a scene such as one might expect for Christ the King Sunday. We are told that when Christ comes in all his glory, all the angels will be with him, and he will be seated on the throne of his glory. Then all the nations of the world, all people, will be gathered before him, and the King will separate the people into two groups, just as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats.

This comparison is based upon an actual common practice of shepherds in the Middle East. During the day, sheep and goats often graze together in a mixed herd. But at night, goats require warmth and shelter. The sheep can be kept in open pens, but must be carefully watched to protect them from predators. So at the close of each day, shepherds commonly separate their sheep and their goats into separate groups to be handled in different ways.

So the gospel indicates, at the close of the age, the people of the world will be separated also, the sheep to the right hand of the King and the goats to the left.

And what is to be the criteria for this separation, for this judgment? Very simply, it appears to be how one has reacted to human need. Those on the right who have responded in love to the need of others will be blessed. Those on the left who have ignored the needs of others will be punished.

The gospel says the King will explain his blessing of those on his right by telling them: “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.”

But the people, the righteous, will ask of the King, Lord, when did we see you in need this way, and when did we do all these things for you? “And the King will answer them, ‘Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these . . ., you did it to me.’”

Today’s gospel passage has often been used in sermons to exhort Christians to do social ministry, and it is very easy to see and understand how it could lend itself to that purpose.

But the reason this particular gospel is in our lectionary today, the day we celebrate the kingship of Christ, is that it tells us what sort of King our Lord is. Yes, Jesus is the King of Glory enthroned in heaven; he is God, the King and ruler of the universe. But this same King is also there to be seen and loved by us in the hearts and being of everyone around us, and most especially in the lowly and the disadvantaged.

Service to those in need is service to Christ. Love of those in need is love of Christ.

For Christians, helping others is not just a good and moral thing to do. It goes much deeper than that. We help others because we recognize that they are in the image of God. We find Christ in them.

In our Baptism, each of us has pledged to seek Christ and to serve Christ in all persons, loving them as we love ourselves. And we have also pledged to respect the dignity of every human being. When we, as Christians, approach ministry and service to others, it is in this context that we are called to do so.

Having said that, let me tell you a story. It’s something of a confession actually. Many years ago, when I was a layperson and a member of the vestry in another parish, the church took on an outreach project, which we called the adopted family project. The family we adopted consisted of about nine persons, spanning three generations. They all lived together in a mobile home, where they were several months in arrears in their rent. They had a broad spectrum of needs: financial, medical, educational, and legal to name only a few. The plan was not just to prop them up, but to work with them in a hands on fashion and to prepare them to make it on their own. Many parishioners, young and old, were involved, contributing a variety of skills and talents to helping this family. We tutored the children. We helped several adult members of the family to get jobs and to arrange for their own places to live. All in all, we worked with this adopted family for about a year. We worked hard and they did too, and the success of that ministry project far exceeded anything we had originally envisioned.

So why did I say this was a confession? About five or six months after we began working with this family, I was at a vestry meeting. Another member of the vestry reported that he had been at the home of our adopted family during the past week. He was talking with some of the family adults, when they mentioned that having gotten to know a lot of us, they thought they might like to start coming to our church.

In the discussion which followed, I heard such things as: “They wouldn’t understand the service.” “I think they would feel very uncomfortable here.” “This could be very awkward and embarrassing for them.”

I will not take up your time this morning analyzing what is wrong with those statements because it is most certainly self-evident.

To my credit, I did not make any of those statements. To my discredit and deep regret, I did not say, “Those problems, if they exist, are not their problems; they are our problems, and we need to find solutions.” Instead, I just listened and said nothing.

In the entire year that we worked with our adopted family, they never came to the church, nor to my knowledge, were they ever invited or encouraged to do so.

N. T. Wright, the Anglican bishop and author, whom Joel and I both frequently quote, has suggested that while there certainly will be a final judgment, perhaps the separation of sheep and goats described in today’s gospel is something that is already taking place, something which is happening every day of our lives.

Overall, the adopted family project in that other church, years ago, was a very positive thing, both for the parish and the adopted family. Much good came of it. I’m sure many of the members of that church who worked so hard and so closely with the family had a sense of Christ’s presence in them, and perhaps they found the same in us.

But as for me, at that vestry meeting and all the times after that when I failed to speak or act on what had happened there, I was a goat, and it pains me to this day.

I have asked forgiveness, and I know that I have been forgiven, but sometimes the pain is still there.

Outside of a few close friends and family, I have never before shared this story with anyone. I share it with you today because you are family, and because maybe there is something appropriate to today’s liturgical theme to be gleaned from it.