31“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. 32All the nations will be gathered before him, and he will separate people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats, 33and he will put the sheep at his right hand and the goats at the left.
34Then the king will say to those at his right hand, ‘Come, you that are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world; 35for 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, 36I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.’ 37Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food, or thirsty and gave you something to drink? 38And when was it that we saw you a stranger and welcomed you, or naked and gave you clothing? 39And when was it that we saw you sick or in prison and visited you?’ 40And the king will answer them, ‘Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.’
41Then he will say to those at his left hand, ‘You that are accursed, depart from me into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels; 42for I was hungry and you gave me no food, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, 43I was a stranger and you did not welcome me, naked and you did not give me clothing, sick and in prison and you did not visit me.’ 44Then they also will answer, ‘Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison, and did not take care of you?’ 45Then he will answer them, ‘Truly I tell you, just as you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to me.’ 46And these will go away into eternal punishment, but the righteous into eternal life.”
My family enjoys the Harry Potter books and the Harry Potter movies. During the early years, when new Harry Potter books were released, Mark and I had to sneak to the book store, secretly purchasing the latest in the series—sneaking because Ed hates when we buy books instead of checking them out for free from the library—and then the whole family, even Ed, fighting over who gets to read the book first.
I have enjoyed these stories in which Harry finds out that there is more to life than what he sees in the world around him—watching Harry grow and become not only stronger but also wiser—and in this last episode, learn that there is something after this life, and that there are things worth dying for.
Each book corresponds to a school year, in which Harry and his friends attend the Hogwarts School of Magic. At the beginning of the school year, the First-Year students are lined up and their names read aloud alphabetically; one by one each student sits on a stool and a magical hat—the Sorting Hat—is placed on the student’s head. The sorting hat looks deep inside them, at their hearts and at their attitudes, at whether they are trustworthy, whether they are intelligent, and assigns each to a house where they and their housemates will form bonds that last a lifetime.
The moment of consideration varies in length—some students are easy to place, and the sorting hat takes less than a second to call out Gryffendor or Ravensclaw house. But other students, like Harry, take longer for the hat to analyze.
Harry sits on the stool and hears the sorting hat trying to place him.
“Hmm, Difficult. Very Difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind, either. There’s talent, oh my goodness, yes — and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that’s interesting....”
The hat seems to lean toward putting Harry in the Slytherin house, but Harry is reluctant to be part of Slytherin. Harry knows that the evil He Who Shall Not Be Named, Lord Voldemort, once belonged to Slytherin. Moments before, the hat placed the arrogant and elitist Malfoy into the Slytherin house, and Harry can’t help himself from thinking, “Not Slytherin, not Slytherin.”
“Not Slytherin, eh? Are you sure? You could be great, you know, it’s all here in your head, and Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that....”
“Not Slytherin, not Slytherin.”
I read our gospel lesson from Matthew 25 where Jesus describes a time of sorting; like the Harry Potter books it seems otherworldly, like something that doesn’t really happen in the real world.
But something in me recognizes that Jesus’ words are not fiction; there is a sorting, a looking inside of me to see who I am, where I belong. Part of me feels like Harry, as though I am in a nightmare, sweating, gripping the edge of my seat, squeezing my eyes tightly shut and whispering fervently to Jesus “not the goats, not the goats. Please, please, please, put me with the sheep.”
If I am honest, it’s not just fear that I have when I read this description of Jesus separating sheep from goats. Part of me is angry and wants to shout to Jesus that the story we just read of sheep and goats is wrong. Clearly, Matthew was daydreaming when Jesus described the final judgment; Matthew did not get the story straight and has written down the wrong words.
I know how the end is supposed to work out; as a child I was taught that you are saved if you believe in Jesus Christ. One of the first memory verses I learned was John 3:16—you know this too:
For God so loved the world that he sent his only begotten son so that whosoever
There is nothing in John 3:16 about giving drinks to thirsty people or food to hungry people. You just have to believe in Jesus.
If Matthew had been paying attention like he was supposed to, instead of goofing off, he would have written down what Jesus really said. What Matthew should have written, what Jesus must have really said, goes like this:
After dividing the people into sheep and goats, the king looks to his right, where the sheep are, and says, ‘Come, you that are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world; for you believed in me and shall not perish but have everlasting life.
Nothing about giving clothes to people or welcoming strangers.
As a child I was taught that you are saved if you let Jesus into your heart. I learned the song, “Behold, behold, I stand at the door and knock, knock, knock…if anyone hears my voice, and shall open, open, open the door I will come in.” Once saved, always saved. All you have to do is let Jesus into your heart and then you are good to go. If Matthew had learned this song as a child, he too would know that salvation does not come because of visiting people in prison or taking care of sick people.
Part of me is angry at Matthew for getting this wrong, because the way Matthew writes this description of the final judgment not only contradicts what I was taught as a child—it contradicts what I have learned as an adult: that salvation is by faith alone, not by works. Paul knew this, and wrote the Ephesians: “For by grace are ye saved through faith; and that not of yourselves: it is the gift of God: Not of works, lest any man should boast.” (Ephesians 2:8-9). Welcoming strangers and feeding the poor sounds like works righteousness, something that you could boast about. Matthew forgot to write down the part where Jesus said we are saved by God’s grace and by faith.
Maybe Matthew just had a rough day. Maybe this day the crowd got between Jesus and Matthew; with all those people in the way, all the noise and the jostling of the crowd, Matthew couldn’t hear Jesus clearly.
If it were only in this scripture, I might be tempted to say that Matthew had wax in his ears that morning and read on, forgetting about this description of the judgment. But this isn’t the only time that Matthew suggests that while we may be saved by grace, we will be judged by our works. The whole gospel of Matthew is filled with Jesus telling stories in which people are judged by what they do.
• Ten virgins wait through the night for a bridegroom. Five are wise, and conserve their oil. Five act foolishly, wasting their oil, and miss the wedding party when they must run for new supplies. They are judged on the basis of what they did.
• A wealthy master gives talents to his three servants. One servant receives five talents, another two, and another one. All of the servants are judged on the basis of what they did with what they had.
It’s not only Matthew—Luke and Mark also report that Jesus talks about people who are judged by what they do with what they have.
• Zacchaeus, the wee little man, comes down out of his tree, and is so excited that he gives half of his possessions to the poor. Then, after Zacchaeus gives to the poor, Jesus says, “Today salvation has come to this house” (Luke 19:9).
• Jesus tells about a rich man and a poor man, Lazarus. Outside the rich man’s home lies Lazarus, covered with sores and longing to eat what fell from the rich man's table. Both die, and the rich man is condemned for eternity. I read the story and wonder whether the rich man ever saw the beggar Lazarus sitting outside.
If I take seriously the gospels, the descriptions of what Jesus said and did, then I have to question this understanding that I have long held associating salvation with whether I let Jesus into my heart. Matthew, Mark, and Luke don’t seem to say anything about believing in Jesus; John doesn’t say anything about letting Jesus into your heart. Instead, Jesus seems to judge people based on their actions; what did they do with what they had?
When I read Matthew 25 and the judging of the nations, part of me is scared and can’t help but cry out, “Not the goats, not the goats”. Because I know, deep down, that if these actions—feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, visiting the prisoners—if these actions are the criteria for eternal salvation, then I haven’t made the cut.
I drive home from school, and stop at a traffic light on Ponce de Leon where a man with a shopping cart stands on the side of the road. His whole life is in that shopping cart, everything that he owns. I cross over into the left lane, the furthest lane from him, because I don’t have a one dollar bill, and I don’t want to give him a five dollar bill. I pick up my cell phone, pretend like I’m making a phone call, anything to avoid looking at him in the eye.
I am more than a little nervous about this great judgment separating sheep and goats--but I’m not the only one who seems a little confused, who has questions about what is going on in this scene.
Those gathered before Jesus have questions, too. They ask him, when did I see you? Those who are on the right side, who have been told they are righteous and blessed, ask, “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?”
Those gathered on the left aren’t quite sure how they got there. They also have questions for Jesus: ‘Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison, and did not take care of you?’
It seems as though no one, whether on the left or the right, recognized Jesus when they encountered him.
I begin to wonder about the Jesus I let into my heart, the Jesus I said will be my Lord and Savior, do I really know Jesus? Do I recognize Jesus when I see him?
Jesus says that “as you have done it to the least of these, you have done it to me”. As you have given water to the thirsty, you have given it to me. As you have visited the lonely person whose room in a retirement home now seems like a prison cell, you have done it to me. As you have given a coat to the person shivering in the cold, you have given it to me.
I give a coat or two every year to MUST ministries, does this count? Usually the coats that I give are ones that I really don’t want anymore. Since I don’t want to bother with having a garage sale, I put clothes that are out of fashion or too small in a collection box alongside GA 20. I have to admit I never thought to peek in the box and see if Jesus was in there; seems like that would be a silly thing to do.
I tried to teach this idea of the need to be generous to the least of these—the poor, the hungry, the sick—I tried to teach this to a group of 7th graders in Sunday School. This was a long time ago—back when I had this crazy idea that I could relate to middle schoolers—of course my own kids weren’t that old yet and had not yet told me that I had no business hanging out with 7th graders. But the class and I made a pact—if I baked muffins, they would “behave”—and I told myself that if they never remembered anything that I taught in class, at least they might remember that for a year someone had cared enough to get up early on Sunday mornings and bake muffins.
One Sunday morning we sat around the table eating chocolate chip muffins and I was especially excited about the lesson. It was a lesson on caring for the least of these, and I had found some statistics on the Internet that named the least of these. You’ve probably seen the list—it goes something like this: If you went to bed full last night, then you are among the wealthiest 5% in the world. If you have a television in your home, then you are among the wealthiest 3% in the world. But instead of appreciating what they have and feeling sympathy for those without, one of the hooligans, I mean students, starting cheering, and before I knew it, my litany had turned into a nightmare. My statement, “If you had a bed to sleep in last night, then you are in the top 1% richest people in the world” was greeted with cheer!?! “Yeah! We’re number 1, we’re number 1!”
I wanted them to see beyond their homes and schools, to see people that they normally would never notice. I wanted them to see Jesus. Instead, they could only see themselves, and they marched around the classroom waving muffins and chanting “we’re number one!”.
I don’t think that you can look at statistics and see Jesus in the face of the poor, the hungry, the cold and lonely. That’s like trying to look at Jesus from a distance, from far away, like seeing a blurred image.
If Jesus is present with the hungry, the thirsty, the poor—then I guess I have at least helped Jesus a little from time to time. I bought food for Mother’s Cupboard. I have written checks to the Homeless fund. I gave money to the special offering for Bibles for the women’s prison.
But even that is problematic. My childhood Sunday School teachers didn’t say to let Jesus into your wallet; they said to let Jesus into your heart. Just giving money to Jesus is like trying to see Jesus from a distance, like the blurry way you see when you put on someone else’s eyeglasses.
My friend Alice just started a job helping a church that wants to reach out to the poor. They’ve hired her to do this for them—when someone in the area needs help, Alice talks to them, and figures out how the church should help.
One of Alice’s first clients was Margaret. Margaret’s electricity bills were past due, she didn’t have the $100 needed to pay up, and the power was about to be cut off. Margaret has two part time jobs, works more than 40 hours a week, but neither job pays more than $5.85 minimum wage, and as hard as she is trying, between day care and the cost of gas, she has a hard time making ends meet.
Alice was so proud of her church for helping out Margaret…until one of the board members asked, do you think she can pay back the $100 by volunteering at the church? Maybe do a little cleaning or working on the grounds?
It seemed to me that if the board had talked to Margaret, instead of sending Alice with their check, they would not have had such blurry vision. They would have seen clearly that this woman needing help was Jesus—and that her feet hurt from standing all day, and that she was tired from trying to make two jobs work out and tired from trying to give time for her children.
Last month at the UMW meeting, during our sharing of joys and concerns, Maree White shared a blessing and prayer request. During a family reunion, a homeless family stopped by the church, asking for help. Maree asked us to pray for the family—everything that they own is in that car. Maree called the benevolence committee—part of our gifts to the church are used in this way—so that the church could help the family.
But Maree didn’t stop there. She invited the family of strangers into the fellowship hall, invited them to join in the White family reunion, helped them load their plates with fried chicken and green beans, and even invited them to sit at the table. Maree shared this story with the UMW group, and how it had felt as though it were the right thing to do, to make a stranger feel welcome. I have to admit, I felt a little jealous of Maree. I think she served dinner to Jesus that afternoon.
I started out talking about Harry Potter and the sorting hat, but after thinking about Jesus in the face of the thirsty, Jesus in the face of the hungry, my enjoyment of Harry Potter books and movies seems to fade, as though it’s not that important. Still, I find Harry Potter and the sorting hat helpful in understanding this prophecy sorting sheep and goats. While Harry knows that part of him is brave and belongs in the House of Gryffindor, another part of Harry needs approval and recognition, desires to excel, and these qualities should place him in the House of Slytherin.
Like Harry, I too see a bit of a mix in myself. Part of me wants to love God with all of myself—with my heart, my soul, my mind, my strength—to seek out Jesus wherever he may be, to give of myself, of all I have, in response to the love God has shown me.
But another part of me wants to forget that Jesus is with the homeless person, turns away in disgust from the smell of a person who has not showered in months, whose breath smells from rotting teeth that haven’t been brushed in weeks.
Part of me wants to forget the lonely person, the older person in a retirement home who has no one to talk with. I don’t really have anything to offer such a person do I? I’m not the best conversationalist, I don’t really have the same interests, it’s really hard for me to meet and get to know people quickly.
I think about my childhood and all those preachers and Sunday School teachers who said, “just let Jesus into your heart”. No one told me that Jesus would smell, that he would be lonely, and tired, and hard to talk to.
They did teach me that Jesus gave everything up to be human, to be born, walk on this earth, and die on a cross. I guess I should have known when I memorized John 3:16, that God so loved the world, that if I invited Jesus into my heart, when he came into my heart, he wouldn’t come alone, but would bring along all those other people that he loves too.
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