Separate

Sermon

In preparation for this sermon, I was in a Zoom meeting with some other clergy from around the United States. The Reverend Angie Shannon is a Lutheran pastor, an African-American woman, who serves a congregation in Maryland. Her grandmother lived to age 100. As Angie said, “She seen some stuff. She saw how you hold onto your faith, when people can do anything to you, and you have no recourse.” Angie’s grandmother used the Matthew 25 passage (that we just heard) to teach her grandkids. She said, “We see Christ in every single person. Just assume that. Even if you are upset with them, you still have to see them through the prism of Christ. You might have to go on an excavation mission, baby …  When you are acting like a fool, hope they see you through that same prism.”

Well, that’s the sermon! This pretty well sums it up, right? Isn’t it true that too often, Jesus’ lens is different from our lens?

The Gospel of Matthew emphasizes that we ARE living in God’s Kingdom when we are living in compassion. Keep in mind that when this scripture was first heard, there were sharp polarizations—deep rifts between Jewish Christians and non-Jewish Christians. The divisions were a source of serious conflict. In Matthew there was a consistent warning to Jesus’ followers against an attitude of superiority towards those who were in the wrong.

The warning to the faithful was to NOT condemn but to reclaim. To see those in the wrong through the prism of Christ. Ironically, the metaphor of the king separating goats from sheep has often been used by Christians to separate out different “others” from our midst. But that is actually the opposite of the intent. This passage begins with the Son of Man in Glory, gathering “all the nations” to the throne.

“All the nations” means everyone, Jewish and non-Jewish. The Son of Man sorts out people not by their profession of faith, or the attendance in church or tradition, or their heritage or their esteem in society, but by their compassion for others.

Pastor Elle Dowd remarked that “Matthew tells us that the Reign of Christ is among us, now, in the kindness and dignity we show to the people that the world deems disposable.”

Disposable. Take a deep breath. Imagine now whom the world treats as disposable. Who do you picture when you think: unlovable? And now, see them through the lens of Christ. Not disposable, God’s beloved.

Think about the contrast. Human rulers build walls, claim territories, redraw maps, separate by class, by race, by sexual identity, and by gender. But the Kingdom of God is not a country with borders. There are no imaginary walls drawn by imperial powers declaring who is in or out.

What this story of the Last Judgment tells us is that the people who are citizens of the Reign of God are recognized by the way they treat each one. And the sorting out of people is not our job.

Separate. Separate. Of course now, when we think of separation, we think of the involuntary separations we are experiencing as a result trying to stop the spread of the COVID-19 virus. Many of us are feeling the pain of separation from loved ones. Our youth groups, who were enjoying socially distanced meetings, are back to virtual gatherings. Families and friends will Zoom rather than gather together this Thanksgiving.

We are trying to imagine what Christmas Eve will be without gathering here for our candlelight service and singing “Silent Night” together. It’s so difficult. I know it is. If you are struggling, be gentle with yourself. It’s a rough time.

I suggest this: This Thanksgiving, it will be easier to give genuine thanks if rather than focusing upon what is missing we focus upon how we might show kindness and recognize the dignity in one another.

That’s what it means to be in the Reign of Christ. This is captured by poet Esther Elizabeth.

Can You Spare A Dime (by Esther Elizabeth)

He approached me

on the corner of 5^th and Alder,

Ma’am, can you spare me a dime?

Sorry, I only have one dollar, I said.

That will do. Stay here and I’ll be

right back with your change.

Yeah. Sure, I said.

A few minutes later the burly, unshaven,

Unkempt man returned with 90 cents.

Here’s your change, Ma’am.

I treated him to black coffee

and a toasted wheat bagel with cheese.

He added four packets of sugar

and stirred his coffee nonstop.

I listened to some of his story.

I’m Richard. My friends call me Big R.

I’m a Vet, home from my third tour of duty

in Afghanistan.

I’ve had misfortunate times of late.

Don’t know why exactly.

Maybe it is karma.

Maybe it is because I killed those

people over there. Had to, he said,

as if fearful I was judging.

We went there to establish democracy,

to free the people. Then we’re told

to kill them. It never made sense to me.

But I did it. And now I wonder

about this karma thing.

I don’t think it is karma, I said.

It’s the system. We don’t know

how to take care of the people

we send off with guns.

Tell me what you would like

For your life, I asked.

I’d like to have my dignity back.

The conversation continued until

I needed to catch Bus 44 and head home.

Thanks for the dime, Ma’am.

Thanks for the change, I said.

What would the world be like if today, and tomorrow, and the day after, if every single one of us saw another person through the prism of Christ? What would our lives be then?

May our bounteous God through all our lives be near us,

with ever joyful hearts and blessed peace to cheer us;

and keep us in God’s grace, and guide us when perplexed.

And free us from all ills in this world and the next.

(Now Thank We All Our God)