The people of Jesus' day longed for the coming of God's kingdom -- for the day when God's anointed One, whom they sometimes called "the Son of Man," would appear in glory and set things right on Earth. They longed for that day, and had all kinds of teachings about what that One would be like.
I wonder ... when Jesus begins the story he tells with the words "when the Son of Man comes in his glory," did any of the people around him stop listening because they thought they already knew what he was going to say?
This morning the Rev. James Eaton is preaching this same passage to his congregation – the First Congregational Church of Albany, NY. And I like the way he opens up and imagines what we have just read:
I love weddings [he says] and I used to officiate at a lot of them.
There’s all the fuss and planning and then on the day itself, little details that seem so important. I usually enter with the men and they’re always nervous. We stand at the front, face the back and the bridesmaids sweep up the aisle, more or less as I rehearsed them the night before. I remember one whispering as she walked past, “Was that ok?”
Then the organ changes, often getting louder, people stand and a woman in a dress she will never wear again sweeps into the sanctuary, walks up the aisle. It’s regal; it’s that moment which fulfills every time someone called her, “princess”.
When I think about the opening of today’s scripture reading, “When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him..”, that’s how I imagine it – that kind of regal entrance, with light and music and everyone standing in awe. “Open the gates that the King of glory may come in”, the Psalm says and because today is Reign of Christ Sunday – open the doors that the Lord of glory may come in.
Then the scene shifts: once the Lord takes the throne, it’s time for business and the business of any Lord is judgement. So Matthew imagines everyone – all the nations of the world – in one herd before him. What a crowd!
Here in our church we often say, “Everyone welcome”, but the truth is we’re not prepared for everyone; we’re prepared for about 35 or 40. What would happen if everyone came? What would happen if one Sunday, we opened the doors and people flooded in, rushed in, so many that some sat even in the pews over there where no one ever does and we don’t have welcome cards and hymnals?
All the nations, gathered. There are people who don’t get along, there are different races, nationalities, black, white, Asian, Catholic, Protestant, Muslim, Hindu, Buddhist, None of the above, Republicans, Democrats. The word ‘nation’ is Matthew’s term for Gentiles so “all the nations” means really everybody… even the people at the ends of the earth, which I think is somewhere near Buffalo.
I like to imagine there’s an organist. I’ve never been to a big assembly like this without an organist, so I assume there is one. But if you prefer piano music or a full orchestra, feel free to imagine that, the text isn’t clear.
And then all processionals – even those of the eternally awaited King of Glory come to an end eventually. The king reaches the throne, the followers file into the seats with the “RESERVED” sign taped to them and the last bit of the organ piece rings out and then fades and I imagine the liturgist, in the silence, saying something like what I say here every Sunday, “The peace of the Lord be with you” and then everyone sitting down.
Now the king speaks, everyone strains to listen and this is what he says: move. Can you imagine if on a Sunday morning you came here, were greeted at the door, you found your usual pew with your friends nearby, you got caught up on the news of the week, the service was about to begin, you settled in just a little bit more, and then the minister says, “Move!”
But that’s what the king says. He has them divide up into two groups, like a herdsman separating sheep and goats. Sheep and goats are herded together during the day but at night they are separated and the same thing happens here. Sheep on the left, goats on the right. Which are you? Which am I?
And now he turns to the sheep and tells them they are going to enter into his kingdom for reasons they don’t understand. They fed him when he was hungry, they clothed him when he was naked, and so on. Apparently. They don’t remember doing it. They don’t remember these acts of charity, they don’t remember their donations to the food pantry, they don’t remember being kind or doing these things. They did them but they were clueless at the time. They still are.
Then he turns to the goats and the mirror image thing happens. They don’t get into the kingdom because they didn’t do these things. But they don’t remember not doing them. They don’t remember seeing him and refusing him food or clothing or the rest. They were clueless at the time. They still are.
When it comes to what they knew at the time, the sheep and the goats here are just the same. The difference isn’t what they knew, it’s what they did. It’s how they responded in moments when they didn’t know what they were doing. The stunning fact about this judgement is that no one understood beforehand what would make a difference.
I like the way James Eaton puts it.
I also like the way Timothy Schmalz
imagines and sculpts it.
Timothy
Schmalz is a sculptor in St Jacobs, ON who for some time has been creating
life-size bronze statues of Jesus based on the ways in which Jesus identifies
himself in the Gospel reading this morning.
The homeless Jesus. When I Was
Hungry and Thirsty. When I Was Sick. When I Was Naked. When I Was in Prison. When I Was a Stranger. The statues are being installed all over the
world.
And a
few weeks ago Karen sent me an article about the homeless Jesus that was
installed on the grounds of St.
Alban's Episcopal Church in Davidson, North Carolina – a wealthy and upscale
neighbourhood.
The reaction to the statue was
immediate. Some loved it; some
didn't. One woman even actually called
the police the first time she drove by it because she thought it was an actual
homeless person. She called the cops on
Jesus.
Another neighbor a few doors down from
the church wrote a letter to the editor saying the statue creeps him out. Many said it was an insulting depiction of
the son of God, and that what appears to be a hobo curled up on a bench demeans
the neighborhood.
The rector’s response? “It gives authenticity to our church,” he
says. “This is a relatively affluent church, and we need to be reminded that
our faith expresses itself in active concern for the marginalized of society.”
Then the story goes on to say that Schmalz
offered the first casts of the homeless Jesus to St. Michael's Cathedral in
Toronto and St. Patrick's Cathedral in New York. Both declined.
A spokesman at St. Michael’s said
appreciation of the statue “was not unanimous,” and the church was being
restored so a new work of art was out of the question. A spokesperson at St. Patrick's in New York
said they liked the homeless Jesus, but their cathedral was also being
renovated and they had to turn it down.
They
didn’t say no. It’s just that with the
renovations, with what was going on and what they were busy doing, it wasn’t
the right time. There wasn’t a place for
it in their current plans.
And I
wonder … is that what happens to me some time?
That I don’t say no. I’m not that
hard-hearted or cold. But there just
isn’t time, and I don’t have a place in what I’m doing, for the least of these
who are members of Jesus’ family? To
really meet them or see them, or be close enough to them to reach out in any
personal way?
I’m busy
with other things, and they’re good things. I live in another place, and it’s a good
places.
But it
means I’m often cut off and isolated from, protected against, not close enough
to these particular members of Jesus’ family to see them, feel what life is
like for them, be able to reach out to them, and come to know and meet the King
of Glory hidden in the encounter?
Except, there are moments,
aren’t there? And there are ways – in
which I am – we all are, confronted and interrupted … in which we are touched
and moved to action … in which we are surprised and opened up to reach out in
compassion and love … and even if I am not, even if we are not aware of the
significance of what we are doing, even if no one else see or ever knows, even
if we aren’t even sure ourselves just what good if any we have done, the King
of Glory sees how we have responded and opened our life to him … and to the
members of his family … and to the way his kingdom comes into our world.
The reaction to the statue was immediate. Some loved it; some didn't. One woman even actually called the police the first time she drove by it because she thought it was an actual homeless person. She called the cops on Jesus.
Another neighbor a few doors down from the church wrote a letter to the editor saying the statue creeps him out. Many said it was an insulting depiction of the son of God, and that what appears to be a hobo curled up on a bench demeans the neighborhood.
The rector’s response? “It gives authenticity to our church,” he says. “This is a relatively affluent church, and we need to be reminded that our faith expresses itself in active concern for the marginalized of society.”
Then the story goes on to say that Schmalz offered the first casts of the homeless Jesus to St. Michael's Cathedral in Toronto and St. Patrick's Cathedral in New York. Both declined.
A spokesman at St. Michael’s said appreciation of the statue “was not unanimous,” and the church was being restored so a new work of art was out of the question. A spokesperson at St. Patrick's in New York said they liked the homeless Jesus, but their cathedral was also being renovated and they had to turn it down.
They didn’t say no. It’s just that with the renovations, with what was going on and what they were busy doing, it wasn’t the right time. There wasn’t a place for it in their current plans.
And I wonder … is that what happens to me some time? That I don’t say no. I’m not that hard-hearted or cold. But there just isn’t time, and I don’t have a place in what I’m doing, for the least of these who are members of Jesus’ family? To really meet them or see them, or be close enough to them to reach out in any personal way?
I’m busy with other things, and they’re good things. I live in another place, and it’s a good places.
But it means I’m often cut off and isolated from, protected against, not close enough to these particular members of Jesus’ family to see them, feel what life is like for them, be able to reach out to them, and come to know and meet the King of Glory hidden in the encounter?
Except, there are moments, aren’t there? And there are ways – in which I am – we all are, confronted and interrupted … in which we are touched and moved to action … in which we are surprised and opened up to reach out in compassion and love … and even if I am not, even if we are not aware of the significance of what we are doing, even if no one else see or ever knows, even if we aren’t even sure ourselves just what good if any we have done, the King of Glory sees how we have responded and opened our life to him … and to the members of his family … and to the way his kingdom comes into our world.
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