‘A’   //   Reign of Christ Sunday   //   11-23-08   //   Celebration of Worship

 

Scripture      Matthew 25:31-46

 

 

Searcher of the scattered:

Where the wounded
are turned away by indifference,
you call us to bandage them
in the swaddling clothes of hope.

 

where the bullies and biased
have gorged themselves
at cruelty's banquet,
you call us to serve them justice
for dessert.

Where the hungry
press their foreheads
against the windows
at Chez Plenty,
you call us to open wide the doors,
having made reservations

for us all.

And yet … before we are called to do all this …

 

We come to this place, for you have gathered us here –

  Where the water is not thirsty;

  Where the bread loaf is not stone.

We come to this space, for you welcome us here
into that home called grace:
where the naked are clothed in robes of hope;
where the stranger is embraced as your long-lost lover.

We come – for you reunite us here,
sisters and brothers in that family called love:
where the imprisoned model justice,
where the sick are cradled in your peace.¹

We come – for song, scripture, sermon, silence.

We come – to listen.

 

Let us now listen.

 

 

The scene: a church in America, two generations ago. It may as well have been yesterday.

 

It’s a church in the Commonwealth of Virginia – where I am from, as well as I imagine several of you. A church in the capital of the Confederacy – where I was born and raised (or, as I was taught to say in my Southern upbringing, born and reared). A Gothic, urbane church – what’s known as a status quo ante bellum church – the last two words referencing a nostalgic time before the most uncivil of American wars.

 

A church with the most Presbyterian name I have ever heard: Grace Covenant Presbyterian Church.

 

It was a sunny Sunday, just past noonday. The suits milled; the organ trilled. Worship was letting out at Grace Covenant Presbyterian Church. Faces and families similar to many faces and families here today began to beat their strategic retreat from the city to the county.

 

Amidst this recessional: one family’s family Ford. Riding on the hump in the middle of the back seat: that family’s youngest of three – wedged between his older siblings.

 

On that 1960s day – or so the story is told – this churchgoing family, en route home, encountered a detour. A route that would skirt them across the edge of one of the poorest sections of the city.

 

And the youngest – sitting on that back seat hump – could not press his face against the car window that day … as was his wont. But he could catch enough of a glimpse of his altered surroundings to feel at once both queasy and inquisitive.

 

Queasy and inquisitive enough to lean forward and pose a simple question to his father: “Daddy: Why can’t they get a mortgage like you got?”

 

In the tumultuous economy of today, perhaps the question that child might ask would be, “Daddy: Why can’t they take the mortgage that you got?”

 

Regardless: It more often than not takes the perception of a child-like faith – glimpsed through a tinted car glass darkly – to bring us face-to-face with Jesus’ words today.

 

 

For we all know that God comes in Jesus to and for us all. Much like we live our lives as disciples to and for others.

 

And, digging relationally deeper: We know on our best days that God comes in the very name of Jesus – Immanuel, God-with-us – to be with and among us. Much like we are called to live as disciples with and among the struggles and joys of others.

 

 

For did not our Lord and Savior say in an earlier biblical time – en route to his Jerusalem – that “Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me”?

 

And did not our Lord and Savior then say today – en route to his Calvary – “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”?

 

 

 

“Whoever welcomes one such child in my name …

 

“Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these …

 

 

Encountering the face of Jesus in his equals: the children … the least of these. A refreshing and bracing discipleship check, amidst an ecclesiastical ethos that would define pastors as spiritual CEOs and the church as a holy incorporation of Christ’s unbroken and unwounded body. Where everything and everyone is just “Fine! FINE!” “I’m quite okay – and you?”  

 

Au contraire. I believe the late pastoral theologian Henri Nouwen inherited the Spirit-wind well when he wrote, “Discipleship is not an ascent into popularity. It’s a descent into solidarity.”²

 

 

 

At an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting, a spiritual guide – in AA-speak, a sponsor – was proudly sitting at the dais, waiting to hand a medallion to his sponsee, the least of these named Jake, on the occasion of Jake’s first anniversary of continuous sobriety.

 

After the sponsor made his very public presentation – as he basked in the glory of helping his fellow alcoholic remain sober for that year – another AA member sauntered over to them both. He shook Jake’s hand and, looking over at his sponsor, said “Thank you, Jake, for keeping your sponsor sober this past year.”

 

 

 

A mother of two, abused by her rage-addicted husband, was receiving pastoral care from two lay ministers of a church spiritual care team experienced in matters of domestic violence. After a few sessions with the lay ministers, the woman came to the decision – excruciating, yet necessary – to leave her husband and take their two children with her. There was no permanent place for them to live. For she had come to the conclusion that, for them, life might become harder – but it would certainly become safer.

 

After the woman had departed in tears from the church office where they had been meeting, one of the lay ministers looked over to the other, smiled, and said, “I am so glad we were given the opportunity to represent the Christ to that woman today.”

  

You may see where this is going.

 

The second minister was taken aback. “We were given the opportunity to be the Christ to that woman today?! We were given that opportunity? My dear friend: That woman represented the Christ to us! ‘As you did it to the least of these, you did it to me!’”

 

 

A child … on the hump.

 

An alcoholic … on the brink.

 

A woman with children … on the move.

 

Encountering the face of Jesus in the face of his equals: the least of these.

 

 

 

God to us, and for us… God with us, and among us … God as us – like us ...

 

How to encounter this God? The immediate… The intimate … The profound … The raw?

 

“Discipleship is not an ascent into popularity … “but a descent into solidarity.”

 

Go – and seek his face, there. Go – and seek her presence, there.

 

Whoever has ears to hear … let them hear.

 

 

¹Adapted from Thom Shuman's "Lectionary Liturgies", Reign of Christ - A, www.lectionaryliturgies.blogspot.com.

 

²Cited by Linda Wertheimer on National Public Radio's "All Things Considered", September 22, 1996.

 

 

In these insecure times, Jesus does not promise us economic, homeland, or national security.

 

For Jesus does not say to us, “Be secure.” Jesus says to us, “Fear not!”

 

“Fear not!” he cries – for us … with us … as us.

 

The shortest verse of Scripture is also one of the most powerful: Jesus wept.

 

Do you hear him cry? Do you hear her cry?

 

It’s not too late.

 

Listen.

 

And let us go out into the world in peace, to love and serve our servant Lord.