Professing Christ (Mt 25)
I figured I'd make an effort to begin putting all of my manuscript sermons in one place. (This supply ministry thing has really brought home the benefits of manuscript preaching over the no-notes variety!) This is an old sermon on the final judgement.
Professing Christ [Ezekiel 34; Matthew 25:31-46]
You know, the response of the people in this final judgment scene is fascinating to me.
The Son of Man has returned in glory, surrounded by all of the angels -- and Biblical angels tend not to be cute little babies with fat rosy cheeks, but rather fierce winged guardian creatures covered in eyes "like burning coals of fire." (These are the cherubim who guard the way to the tree of life in the east of the Garden of Eden.)
All the nations are before him, with most people probably caught somewhere between wonder at the vast overwhelming indescribable glory and abject terror. No matter how certain one is of having walked one's life with God, I think there must be a little human fear at judgment. This is every final exam you've ever taken, every job interview you've had, your marriage proposal all rolled into one moment -- will-I-pass-will-they-take-me-will-he-have-me-will-it-be-okay, with eternal life at stake.
In the midst of all of this awe-ful glory, then, separation and judgment. The Lord separates people as easily as a shephard separates sheep from goats, some to his right side, some to his left. And then he explains himself. 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. And to the left: I was hungry and you gave me no food, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, I 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. And the people -- all of the people, right and left -- are perplexed.
They're expecting something different, I suppose. Maybe they were expecting Christ to ask about their theology. They were anticipating different questions: what were your motivations? what were your intentions? did you love your family? did you go to church on Sunday? what did you believe?
But the time for questions is past, and the separation has happened, and standing trembling before the throne of the Son of Man, right and left, no one can quite figure out the explanation.
The people pretty much admit their actions. The confusion comes with respect to the object of what they've done: when was it that we saw you hungry? ...when was it that we saw you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison? It's an interesting response in that they don't dispute the list of things they've done or neglected to do. They just don't recognize that in and through our service to other people we serve Christ; just as in an through our neglect of other people -- even prisoners, even foreigners, even the person sitting next to you in the pew -- we neglect Christ. But the Lord makes this linkage clear: when we ignore the suffering of God's people in the world, we turn our back on Jesus, and noone is glorified.
The Brazilian Archbishop, Dom Helder Camara, wrote:
"A friend of mine who is a priest was meditating one day upon the... Emmaus disciples. He found it difficult to believe that after three years of living with Jesus they failed to recognize him when he joined them and began talking to them.
When there is a real friendship with someone, we are able to recognize them by the way they walk, their voice or even a cough.
My friend was meditating on this when there came a knock at the door. It was a poor person who wanted to tell his troubles to a priest.
The priest, immersed in his meditation upon the disciples of Emmaus, asked to be excused for not being able to listen to the poor man. He was, he said, really very busy. He even gave the man more money than he would have done normally, and went back to his meditation.
Soon afterwards it dawned on him that he had done exactly what the disciples at Emmaus had done: 'Christ knocked at my door. I saw him, I heard him, I talked to him and I failed to recognize him." [Seeds of the Spirit p.39]
God calls us to engage -- to give not just our belief, not just our money, but even our very valuable time -- to welcome and visit and care for and feed His people. It's not just a where-we-go-on-Sunday thing: when we stand before God, we won't be asked how well we sang in church, or how many commitees we sat on, or how loudly we called Jesus' name. Rather we'll be judged on how our worship transformed our lives, on how we opened ourselves to the Spirit who calls us to respond to the need around us.
But this is a difficult scripture, with its decisive separation and judgment and punishment: And they [those who have neglected the poor] will go away into eternal punishment, but the righteous into eternal life. Eternal punishment doesn't sit well with progressive Christianity. We're much more comfortable with John: For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish, but have eternal life. We know that salvation is a gift of God's good grace. We know that we are saved, not because we are good, but because God is good. We know that we can not possibly do enough good deeds to be worthy to inherit eternal life. We profess Jesus as Lord: thanks be to God, we know that we are saved by grace.
But don't misunderstand me. I firmly believe that we will be asked this final question: not what did you hope or think or feel, but what did you do -- what did you do for the least of my people. And I believe that that question is not truly distinct from a more commonly-asked question: in whom do you believe? Because the final evidence of whom we believe is what we do. If we love the Lord, we will show that love in our actions and interactions: we will produce the fruits of that love.
We profess Jesus as Lord. To say we accept Jesus as Lord of our lives is to make His way -- God's way -- the purpose of our lives. We're called to live a certain kind of life.
As John tells us:
When they had finished breakfast, Jesus said to Simon Peter, ‘Simon son of John, do you love me more than these?’ He said to him, ‘Yes, Lord; you know that I love you.’ Jesus said to him, ‘Feed my lambs.’ A second time he said to him, ‘Simon son of John, do you love me?’ He said to him, ‘Yes, Lord; you know that I love you.’ Jesus said to him, ‘Tend my sheep.’ He said to him the third time, ‘Simon son of John, do you love me?’ Peter felt hurt because he said to him the third time, ‘Do you love me?’ And he said to him, ‘Lord, you know everything; you know that I love you.’ Jesus said to him, ‘Feed my sheep.
[prayer]
..............
It's a bit rough, but I'll probably re-work and re-preach this, so comments are welcome, if you feel so inclined. :)
Professing Christ [Ezekiel 34; Matthew 25:31-46]
You know, the response of the people in this final judgment scene is fascinating to me.
The Son of Man has returned in glory, surrounded by all of the angels -- and Biblical angels tend not to be cute little babies with fat rosy cheeks, but rather fierce winged guardian creatures covered in eyes "like burning coals of fire." (These are the cherubim who guard the way to the tree of life in the east of the Garden of Eden.)
All the nations are before him, with most people probably caught somewhere between wonder at the vast overwhelming indescribable glory and abject terror. No matter how certain one is of having walked one's life with God, I think there must be a little human fear at judgment. This is every final exam you've ever taken, every job interview you've had, your marriage proposal all rolled into one moment -- will-I-pass-will-they-take-me-will-he-have-me-will-it-be-okay, with eternal life at stake.
In the midst of all of this awe-ful glory, then, separation and judgment. The Lord separates people as easily as a shephard separates sheep from goats, some to his right side, some to his left. And then he explains himself. 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. And to the left: I was hungry and you gave me no food, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, I 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. And the people -- all of the people, right and left -- are perplexed.
They're expecting something different, I suppose. Maybe they were expecting Christ to ask about their theology. They were anticipating different questions: what were your motivations? what were your intentions? did you love your family? did you go to church on Sunday? what did you believe?
But the time for questions is past, and the separation has happened, and standing trembling before the throne of the Son of Man, right and left, no one can quite figure out the explanation.
The people pretty much admit their actions. The confusion comes with respect to the object of what they've done: when was it that we saw you hungry? ...when was it that we saw you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison? It's an interesting response in that they don't dispute the list of things they've done or neglected to do. They just don't recognize that in and through our service to other people we serve Christ; just as in an through our neglect of other people -- even prisoners, even foreigners, even the person sitting next to you in the pew -- we neglect Christ. But the Lord makes this linkage clear: when we ignore the suffering of God's people in the world, we turn our back on Jesus, and noone is glorified.
The Brazilian Archbishop, Dom Helder Camara, wrote:
"A friend of mine who is a priest was meditating one day upon the... Emmaus disciples. He found it difficult to believe that after three years of living with Jesus they failed to recognize him when he joined them and began talking to them.
When there is a real friendship with someone, we are able to recognize them by the way they walk, their voice or even a cough.
My friend was meditating on this when there came a knock at the door. It was a poor person who wanted to tell his troubles to a priest.
The priest, immersed in his meditation upon the disciples of Emmaus, asked to be excused for not being able to listen to the poor man. He was, he said, really very busy. He even gave the man more money than he would have done normally, and went back to his meditation.
Soon afterwards it dawned on him that he had done exactly what the disciples at Emmaus had done: 'Christ knocked at my door. I saw him, I heard him, I talked to him and I failed to recognize him." [Seeds of the Spirit p.39]
God calls us to engage -- to give not just our belief, not just our money, but even our very valuable time -- to welcome and visit and care for and feed His people. It's not just a where-we-go-on-Sunday thing: when we stand before God, we won't be asked how well we sang in church, or how many commitees we sat on, or how loudly we called Jesus' name. Rather we'll be judged on how our worship transformed our lives, on how we opened ourselves to the Spirit who calls us to respond to the need around us.
But this is a difficult scripture, with its decisive separation and judgment and punishment: And they [those who have neglected the poor] will go away into eternal punishment, but the righteous into eternal life. Eternal punishment doesn't sit well with progressive Christianity. We're much more comfortable with John: For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish, but have eternal life. We know that salvation is a gift of God's good grace. We know that we are saved, not because we are good, but because God is good. We know that we can not possibly do enough good deeds to be worthy to inherit eternal life. We profess Jesus as Lord: thanks be to God, we know that we are saved by grace.
But don't misunderstand me. I firmly believe that we will be asked this final question: not what did you hope or think or feel, but what did you do -- what did you do for the least of my people. And I believe that that question is not truly distinct from a more commonly-asked question: in whom do you believe? Because the final evidence of whom we believe is what we do. If we love the Lord, we will show that love in our actions and interactions: we will produce the fruits of that love.
We profess Jesus as Lord. To say we accept Jesus as Lord of our lives is to make His way -- God's way -- the purpose of our lives. We're called to live a certain kind of life.
As John tells us:
When they had finished breakfast, Jesus said to Simon Peter, ‘Simon son of John, do you love me more than these?’ He said to him, ‘Yes, Lord; you know that I love you.’ Jesus said to him, ‘Feed my lambs.’ A second time he said to him, ‘Simon son of John, do you love me?’ He said to him, ‘Yes, Lord; you know that I love you.’ Jesus said to him, ‘Tend my sheep.’ He said to him the third time, ‘Simon son of John, do you love me?’ Peter felt hurt because he said to him the third time, ‘Do you love me?’ And he said to him, ‘Lord, you know everything; you know that I love you.’ Jesus said to him, ‘Feed my sheep.
[prayer]
..............
It's a bit rough, but I'll probably re-work and re-preach this, so comments are welcome, if you feel so inclined. :)