"Tell me I'm a Good Person"
A Sermon of The Rev. Dr. David A. Killian, Rector
All Saints Parish
Brookline, Massachusetts
Feast of Christ the King
Last Sunday after Pentecost
November 20, 2005
Text: Matthew 25:31-46
I
The other night I saw again the movie, "Saving Private Ryan." You may remember the story. It's World War II and three of four Ryan brothers were killed in action. U.S. government policy stipulated that a sole surviving son should be removed from combat and returned to his family. Tom Hanks, the captain, and his platoon are ordered to bring back the surviving son, Private Francis Ryan, who is fighting on the front lines. Ryan is found and brought to safety but at a terrible cost. Several in the platoon are killed and the captain himself is fatally wounded. As he is dying, the captain asks Ryan to come close and he speaks his final words, "Earn this. Earn it." In the closing scene of the movie, an aging Private Ryan, fifty years later in a cemetery with his wife and children, is standing before the captain's grave. Ryan turns to his wife and says, "Tell me I'm a good man." And his wife assures him, "Of course, you're a good man."
In the final judgment scene in today's Gospel passage, the whole human race stands before the King. I imagine that they are like Private Ryan wanting some assurance from the King. I imagine each of them saying, "Tell me I'm a good man. Tell me I'm a good woman." The King doesn't answer immediately, but first separates them into two groups.
The King doesn't divide them the way our contemporary society separates people: into male and female, homosexual and heterosexual, black and white, blue state and red state, republican and democrat, rich and poor, first world and third world, college graduate and high school drop-out, winner and loser, Christian and non-Christian, believer and atheist. No, they are separated the way a shepherd divides sheep and goats. Both groups, like Private Ryan, want the assurance that their lives were worth while: "Tell me I'm a good man. Tell me I'm a good woman."
The King tells the first group: Of course, you're a good man. Of course, you're a good woman. For I was thirsty and you gave me drink. I was hungry and you fed me. I was a stranger and you welcomed me. Of course, you're a good man and a good woman because if you did it to the least among you you did it to me.
II
Those who fed the hungry, gave the thirsty a drink, welcomed the stranger, clothed the naked, or visited the prisoner were shocked when Christ thanked and praised them for caring for him. But they could have remembered that in his earthly ministry, these are the ones with whom Jesus spent most of his time, the ones neglected by others. If we are filled with the spirit of Christ, we will be drawn toward "the least of these."
Perhaps the "goats" in the parable thought they were filling their time with very important activities; that's why they had no time or awareness for their neighbor. Indeed, if they had known their neighbor was Christ incognito, they would have gone out of their way to help him! But that's the point. If I fail to see God's image reflected in the "least" of my neighbors, who is to say I would recognize Christ? Dr. Martin Luther King once remarked that the tragedy of the civil rights movement was not the evil done by the bad people but the indifference of the "good" people, those who missed the opportunities open to them.
Ezekiel compares not sheep and goats, but fat sheep and lean sheep. It is God's intention to seek out the scattered sheep and bring them back to his safe fold, where there is plenty and sustenance and nourishment and safety. If the fat sheep have gotten fat by pushing aside the lean, by abusing and hoarding, there would come a time of judgment for them. God's intention is to gather the scattered sheep under one shepherd and that shepherd shall feed them and be their shepherd. God would save the flock, and prevent them from being ravaged. God's preference is toward the scattered and ravaged, and God will set things right because of God's love for them.
III
On a Thursday, when I see people from All Saints Parish carrying pots of food that they have prepared in our kitchen out to their cars for delivery to the meal for the homeless at St. John's Church on Bowdoin Street, I say to myself: This is Matthew, chapter 25, in action: "I was hungry and you gave me to eat." When I see lay ministers from our parish going to the pre-release center at Mattapan I say to myself: This is Matthew 25 in action: "I was in prison and you visited me." When I see our parish joining with the Greater Boston Interfaith Organization to work for better working conditions in nursing homes, I say to myself: This is Matthew 25 in action: "I was sick and you took care of me." I would like today's Gospel passage from Matthew 25 to be the standard by which we are identified as a parish. This should be our charter: To show our gratitude to God for the blessings we have received by caring for others.
And we must not just care for those outside of our parish, as important as that is. Jesus' parable directs us also toward those who are closest to us, people in our own household, people in our family circle. The Brothers Grimm told a story about an old woman whose husband died. Since she was all alone, she went to live with her son, his wife, and their young daughter. As time went by, the elderly woman's sight diminished and her hearing got worse. Sometimes at dinnertime her hands trembled so much that the peas would roll off her spoon and the soup would run out of her bowl and onto the table. After a while, the man and his wife became irritated at the mess she was making. One day, after she had accidentally knocked over a glass of milk, the couple decided that enough was enough. So they set up a small table for her in the corner, next to the broom closet, and made her eat her meals there. At breakfast, lunch, and dinner she sat all by herself there, looking at the rest of the family silently with tears in her eyes. Once in a while the family would speak to her, but usually it was to chastise her for spilling her food or dropping a fork. One evening as dinner was being prepared the little girl was busy on the floor building something with her blocks. When her father asked her what she was constructing, she replied, "I'm building a little table for you and mother, so you can eat by yourselves in the corner someday when I get big." The mother and father stared at each other and began to cry. That night they returned the elderly woman to their table, and from then on that is where she ate every meal. And when she spilled something, no one really seemed to mind a bit.
Amen.