For years I thought of this parable depicting a vision of the world that is truly segregated—with the righteous in one circle and the accursed in another. It was precise. It was predictable. It was pristine. It was perfect. It was preposterous.
Recently, I have been considering Peter’s (not the disciple) work on reading Scripture from a blind perspective, mostly unpublished, much of it still on the drawing board, or as he says, “aspirationally plotted”. I have begun to “see” the perils of presumptive, previous postures of piety and ableist certainty when considering parables like this one. In an ableist world, this parable can be a childish, “Look at what we have done (or not done), Mom”, but, from the perspective of the marginalized, this parable presents a world where life depends on the “kindness of others” without independent agency or healthy individuation.
Matthew includes The Son of Man coming with all his angels to take the throne, the place of judgment. With all the nations gathered before him, he separates them like an emperor determining loyal vassals, like a shepherd separating sheep from goats, like a cat separating voles from field mice. And then, with words that echo the sentiment of last week’s “Enter into the joy of your master”, Matthew tells of the sheep receiving the inheritance that is theirs from the foundation of the world—for I was hungry, thirsty, a stranger, naked, sick and in prison, and you fed me, gave me drink, welcomed me, clothed me, visited and came to me.
When the query comes, “When did we do this?”, Jesus’ response is, “Whenever you did it to one of the least of these, my brothers and sisters, you did it to me.”
Don’t you feel good, about now? Don’t you feel good in the membership of your collective congregation? Don’t you feel good knowing that your contribution to Lutheran World Hunger is feeding and caring for people you don’t even know? Don’t you feel good about the quilts and health care kits your congregation, synod, and the church at large send to the corners of the world through Lutheran World Relief? (The flat earth concept of the world which still has corners when we know that the world is a globe and therefore round is a conversation for another time.) Don’t you feel like you belong to the righteous, and aren’t you ready to receive your inheritance?
But what about the underlying conditions that created the needs in the first place? Why are these people “left out in the cold”, metaphorically speaking? What about all of those we do not reach? What about the thousands of children and adults, even in this country, who will go to bed hungry tonight?
This may be the propitious moment to confront the times, citizens of the U.S., for the nation has a social contract with its people—all people have the rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. This social contract has proven, however, to pander to the prosperous and the privileged. This nation continues to inadequately meet the needs of its people—when it does not feed and provide potable drinking water; when it does not welcome people who are fleeing for their lives; when, because of color, prejudicial practices for procuring loans persist.
What about a social system that leaves more than 80% of people living with a disability unemployed? What about the thousands of buildings that continue to exclude people who use wheelchairs or otherwise require non-present escalators or elevators to get from one floor to another? What about our justice system that continues to incarcerate a higher per centage of minority people with longer sentences than white people? What about practices which prevent people from adequate and timely health care? How then, without equality and equity, are they welcomed into the benefits of that social contract? This list could go on and on, but maybe this is enough for now.
This parable challenges the principal policies of every ethnic and cultural center of the world. It encourages them, and nations too, to take credit for how well they have cared for the poor and marginalized and tempts them to call themselves righteous. Satisfied, they rejoice that they have avoided the accursed behaviors that condemn and would require them to do better.
This parable of divine judgment does not include compassion and forgiveness. We do not hear the echoes of Isaiah 43, “’You have burdened me with your sins; you have wearied me with your iniquities. I, I am he who blots out your transgressions for my own sake, and I will not remember your sins.’…But now thus says the Lord, ‘He who created you, O Jacob (this is not a designation of the person, but of all the people who descended from Jacob), he who formed you, O Israel (again, not just the pseudonym of Jacob nor is it just the northern kingdom, but all who wrestle with God), do not fear, for I have redeemed [all of] you, I have called [all of] you by name; you are mine!’”
Nor does it describe the hope from Ezekiel 37 with the prophesying to the dry bones drawn together with sinews and flesh and skin and breath, describing the joining of the nations of Judah and Israel with one ruler and the promise to “save them from all the apostacies into which they have fallen” and to “cleanse them”, and that “they shall be my people and I will be their God.” In fact, this parable in Matthew is the antithesis of John 3:17, “Indeed, God did not send his son into the world to condemn the world but in order that the world might be saved through him.”
Sheila, Matthew, and Dennis Linn published a book, “Good Goats: Healing Our Image of God”, thirty years ago, with this parable at its heart. Considering the challenges of whether people are the preferred sheep or the accursed goats, and the work the Church has either and both done and left undone, one Sister said, “So, what you are telling us is that we are good goats” (not Greatest of All Times), or maybe as an extension, ba-a-ad sheep.
The Linns help us “see” the world as it is and wonder, “where is the cord of oak that waits for the eternal purgatorial fires of punishment because there will always be people who are not fed, given drink, welcomed, clothed, or visited. “All is lost!” because all are lost—poor little sheep who have lost our way. (I thank God I am a mouse.)
Uh-oh, we are all part of the national, cultural, or ethnic group in which we reside. Now that I have really pondered the paradoxical complexities of this parable, I must admit that my cozy nook, mouse house no longer feels so righteous.
This Christ the King Sunday, let us “see” the place of judgment sited somewhere other than this implausible courtroom of division. Let us look to the cross and God’s darkness where God creates opportunities of hope and forgiveness amid sinful human darkness, in the night in which he was betrayed. Let us look to the cross and bear witness to the king that conquers the power of death that all might live.
Throw up your hands in despair, crying “Lord have mercy. Christ have mercy. Lord have mercy.”, and then depend on God’s mercy, love, and forgiveness (grace). And for Christ’s sake, continue to do the work that can be done to feed the hungry, give drink to the thirsty, welcome the strangers God sends, clothe the naked, and visit the sick and imprisoned. But do this knowing that you do this work because you are saved, not in order to be saved or to ensure thar you are saved. God has already saved you, and, because God continues to make covenants of forgiveness with all people (Baptism and Eucharist), you are able to see God’s likeness in all of those around you.
In this way you can understand God’s perfection in the vulnerability of the human condition with all of its abilities and disabilities, with all the body shapes and colors and gender identities people come in. As God is one, you see God who makes all people one—one with God and one with one another.
This parable falsely presents a world that promotes and promulgates an image of judgment that casts unfortunates into eternal punishment of purging fire, because, if that judgment is from the foundation of the world and has no possibility of penitential pardon and perceived possible hope, then the crucifixion and empty tomb cannot give any promise of hope for the world and humanity. The world and humanity cannot pray, prostrate, or repent enough to turn back what “has been prepared from the foundations of the world.” Only Christ the King has that power, and all people continue to prevail on Christ’s perpetual power of pardon. The crucifixion and the empty tomb open the way to a prepared place of wonder and joy in the presence of the true king.
Thank God, the apocalyptic judgment scene of this parable presented on this Christ the King Sunday is not the final statement for the world or our lives. Instead, it is an opportunity to balance vv. 40 and 45—As you have done/not done it to the least of these my brothers and sisters, you have done it/not done it to me.
Keep the faith; and keep working for justice and peace in word and deed.
Your pal,
Nicodemus
Editor,
Theologian, Counsellor, Mouse
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