Most of you know that I grew up in another denomination. Part of that upbringing was memorizing scripture. Today’s text is one of those passages I memorized oh so many years ago. Recently I met another Southern Baptist-turned Presbyterian. We reflected that while we collected quite a few scriptures for our memory, we often did not understand them. For we were not encouraged to question, or wonder about, or reflect on what they meant. My first response to this text was fear. I could not help but wonder, at the last judgment, would I be a sheep or a goat? Would I be placed on the king’s right hand—the place of favor, or on his left—disfavor. Would I be invited to “inherit the kingdom prepared for me from the foundation of the world” or would I be commanded to depart from the king—banished to eternal punishment? It is a frightening text for a youth take in without reflection, without discussion, without understanding. Have any of you ever read this text and wondered the same thing? “Where am I in this text? Am I a sheep or a goat?”
If you have, I invite you to approach today’s scripture from a different perspective.
Rather than looking for ourselves here, let’s look for Christ. After all today is Christ the King Sunday, the last Sunday of the liturgical year, the end of the church seasons calendar. It is fitting that today’s scripture emphasizes Christ’s ultimate sovereignty. Here Jesus refers to the Son of Man coming in all his glory; he describes a judgment scene, and the king is the one pronouncing judgment. Christ is that king. And in that, there is hope. For the one who judges us is also the one who gave his life for us. The one who judges is the one who redeems. Where is Christ in this text? Christ is the one with ultimate power.
But where else is Christ in this text? He is in the powerless. Christ is in the forgotten, in the one who has need—the least of these. And there is hope in that, too. For it reassures those who suffer that we do not suffer alone. Christ suffers with us.
Last weekend I heard a first-hand account of the hope that stems from Christ’s suffering with us. One of the teaching elders examined on the floor of the presbytery meeting was Dr. Cynthia Rich Holder. She shared her experience of living and working with the people of Madagascar—an island off the east coast of Africa. Madagascar is a place of suffering. In the last few years, the Malagasy people have endured poverty, disease, military coups, famine and international sanctions. Despite what many of us would consider interminable hardships, the church in Madagascar flourishes. It flourishes because for the Malagasy Christians salvation and healing are one in the same. It flourishes because the Malagasy people know Christ’s presence in their suffering, and his presence heals them. Christ the savior, is Christ the healer. It is from this text—as well as other texts—that they, like other powerless people are empowered. For in this scripture, they and we hear that Christ is with the least of these members of his family.
Like the 2 parables we’ve examined the last 2 Sundays, this text turns the disciples’ and our focus away from the end times and to the present. This text says, “Don’t look for Christ at some time in the future—as if he is far away. Look for Christ here, with you now.” And where does this scripture tell us we will meet Christ? Where will we meet the king of kings? Will we meet him in places of honor or in people of power? No, we will meet Christ in the powerless, in the forgotten. We meet the Lord of Lords in the least of these. This text must have been important to Mother Teresa, for in her autobiography, she said that every one of the untouchables—the sick and dying people that she helped in India—were Jesus in disguise.
To understand this text better, we move beyond looking for Jesus, and we consider our response to him. Being a follower of Christ is not just about recognizing Christ’s grace freely poured out for us. Being a follower of Christ—his disciple—is about how we respond to that grace—whether and how we let it change our lives. In this text, Jesus suffers with the least of these. He says, “I was hungry . . . I was a stranger . . . I was sick . . . In this scripture Jesus suffers with the least of these, but who responds to the suffering ones? The sheep—those placed on the king’s right hand. I was hungry, and you fed me. . . I was thirsty, and you gave me something to drink . . . I was a stranger, and you took me in . . . I was naked, and you clothed me. . . I was sick, and you cared for me . . . I was a prisoner, and you visited me . . . Who responds to the suffering ones? Christ’s disciples—you and me.
We respond with acts of mercy—plainly stated, simple acts of mercy—feeding hungry people. That may mean sharing canned goods, peanut butter, and produce through PACA food bank. And it may mean offering those who hunger for God’s word
and thirst after Christian fellowship a place at Christ’s table. We respond with acts of mercy—plainly stated, simple acts of mercy—welcoming the stranger. It may mean greeting those who walk through our doors on Sunday morning. And it also may mean seeking out and inviting people who would not think about coming through these doors except for your personal invitation. Your personal invitation offered on the job, at the bunko party, in the YMCA class, on the golf course, or at school. We respond with acts of mercy——plainly stated, simple acts of mercy—caring for the sick. It could be driving people to doctor’s appointments. And it could be listening to someone who is heartsick over broken relationship, visiting someone who is depressed, or taking a plate of home-cooked food to a homebound person. Christ is indeed with those in need. And it’s Christ’s disciples who respond to the needs. We do it because that is what it means to follow Christ. That is how we love God with all our heart and soul and mind and strength. That is how we love others as we love ourselves.
In the text, the sheep are surprised to learn that in tending to the needs of others, they have tended to Christ himself. And they are surprised to inherit Christ’s kingdom. They had no expectations. They merely acted out of gratitude for the love God had given them in Christ. They did not perform heroic acts of sacrifice or believe in a certain doctrine or pray a certain way. They enter into joy with simple acts of compassion.
Jesus said, “What you do for the least of these . . . you do for me.” One contemporary theologian, John Buchanan, says, In these words are three profoundly important ideas. The first is about God. The one who sent Jesus is not some heavenly supreme being far away from us. God is here—in the messiness and ambiguity of human life. If you want to see God, look at those who are vulnerable. Look at the least of these. The second is about discipleship. Discipleship is not about having theologically correct ideas. Discipleship is about practice—giving ourselves away in love—to the least of these—just as Jesus did. The third is personal. God wants each one of us to live the truly authentic human life for which God created us. But to do that, we have to stop centering on ourselves and turn our attention outward to others. God wants us to know that to love is to live the abundant life.
What about our love? If our love is weak, we may be spiritually ill. Each fall I visit my doctor for an annual check up. I had to find a new doctor this year. My doctor performs a physical exam, runs tests, and then shares the results with me. If those results are out of certain bounds, my doctor and I discuss and implement a course of action. So, my annual checkup is a time to take stock of my overall health, a time for the doctor to diagnose possible illness, a time for me to reshape my living habits, a time to regain my health.
Today’s text is not meant to frighten us. Instead it is like an annual physical exam. Using it, we can take stock of our spiritual health. Are we looking for and finding Christ in the least of these? Are we responding to the needs of those who are powerless and friendless, those who are sick, those who lack physical comforts? If not, perhaps it’s time to discuss and implement a course of action with the great physician, Christ, the healer. A course of action that will help us regain our spiritual and our communal health. A course of action that will draw us closer to the King of Kings, the Lord of Lords. A course of action that will draw us closer to the God who creates, who loves, who forgives, who nourishes, and who empowers—each one of us.
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