Listen to this Sermon (Part 1)
Listen to this Sermon (Part 2)
Texts: Matthew 25:31-46; Ephesians 1:15-23
What’s past is prologue. This phrase comes from William Shakespeare’s play The Tempest where Antonio says:
Wherof what’s past is prologue; what to come,
In yours and my discharge. (Act 2, scene 1)
Translated, it roughly means: “What’s already happened in the past merely sets the stage for the really important stuff to come – and it’s the decisions we make, and actions we take, today and tomorrow, on which our reputations and the meaning of our lives rest.”
What’s past is prologue. Today is the last Sunday in the Church year – it’s called Reign of Christ Sunday. ‘High churches’ have a slightly different name – Christ the King Sunday. To me the notion of Christ as a ‘king’ is too much tied to power structures in the world – but, it’s an image preferred by many – not only some high churchs, but also by those in Christendom who see the promise of Christ’s kingdom brought about through some great military victory that Jesus will enforce on the world. So, for me, ‘Reign of Christ’ fits better. Whatever we call today, it is the end of the church year, and next Sunday is the beginning of Advent – the new church year. The past is prologue. What the Church, and TUMC within it, have done in the past year, and before, both influences and sets the stage for what we do in the years to come.
What’s past is prologue. Today also is called Eternity Sunday – a day when many churches take time to think about life and death, remembering loved ones who have finished their life journey – being aware that each of us will join them one day. In this celebration we remember how those who’ve gone before contributed to our lives, and shaped how we think and what we do. The past is prologue.
Today’s Lectionary readings, notably from Matthew 25, provide a lens through which to think about eternity and the meaning of Eternity Sunday.
Part I
The reading on the Parable of the Sheep and Goats is about the coming of the Reign of Christ. It is the third of three parables in the 25th chapter of Matthew’s Gospel. These three parables embody the farewell instructions Jesus gives his disciples just before he goes to Jerusalem to face death. The remainder of the Gospel leads to the Easter week events.
At the beginning of the chapter, in the parable of the ten bridesmaids, he tells them to be prepared for his return, something they never will know when to expect, an event that may come suddenly, or may be delayed. In either case, he says, learn a lesson from the foolish bridesmaids – to be wise, watchful, ready.
And in that meantime, don’t just sit around waiting, he says. Use the gifts God has given you, like the bold and enterprising stewards in the parable of the talents, so that they multiply for the sake of the reign of God. Don’t just sit on what God has given you.
Then we come to the Parable of the Sheep and Goats. Here he gets to the bottom line. When the Son of Man comes, all the nations will be gathered before him, and he will separate the people one from one another as a shepherd separates sheep from goats, rejecting those who have failed to serve and love their neighbours – the goats, but embracing and welcoming those who have – the sheep.
In my youth I found this parable more than a little unsettling. It didn’t help that some travelling evangelists used it to highlight the image of an all powerful celestial king descending on earth from the great beyond, with people from all nations seemingly cowering before him, awaiting his judgment and punishment – for all eternity. I almost felt sorry for the poor, ignorant goats who didn’t know what they were doing. Sheep to the right; goats to the left! I’d like to think I’m a sheep. But, what if I’m a goat? Don’t want to be a goat – nope! It was the Great Final Exam of all Final Exams.
I’ve learned others have had similar thoughts. We really don’t want to presume too much about our own place in the kingdom of God – much less anyone else’s! It’s much more comforting to stick with the image from Psalm 23 and elsewhere of God as the Good Shepherd, seeking for his lost sheep, bringing them home from darkness and cold and injury. It’s tempting to think of Jesus as ‘our’ Shepherd, and God’s pastures as ‘our’ home, and then exclude those who don’t fit – a convenient way to sort goats from sheep!
Yet, this parable doesn’t allow such an interpretation. The message is plain. There are some who align themselves with God’s will – others who don’t. And, in the end, in the context of all eternity, it matters what you do. That’s the bottom line.
But, neither is this parable about a great and terrible judge meting out punishments for major sins. The goats weren’t sinners in the usual way we think of that. There’s no mention of theft or murder or sexual offences. They just didn’t do anything when they saw their sisters and brothers suffering.
Like others of Jesus’ parables, if one attends only to what is on the surface, then we’ve missed the point of it.
A more careful reading reveals a deeper picture. The apocalyptic, dramatic event at the beginning – the angels and the Son of Man coming in glory, and the gathering of the nations – captures our attention. But, it just just sets the scene, in one brief paragraph. The important message follows. While some groups in the church like to draw attention to all this glory and implied power, that is NOT what Jesus does. Through the parable, Jesus draws our attention to the down-to-earth things he did throughout his ministry: he noticed people in their need and responded. It’s these people he’s concerned about, and about how others respond to them. It’s the stuff he summarized in the Beatitudes and other teachings. That’s the basis of deciding who is a goat and who is a sheep.
The facinating thing in the parable is that neither the goats nor the sheep saw Jesus in the suffering and needy people they encountered. Both are surprised by the judgement received – the sheep didn’t remember when they had fed the Son of Man, or invited him in; the goats didn’t remember when they hadn’t done so. The difference between them is that those identified as sheep responded as Jesus would have, out of “an awareness” of the need. They did what they did almost as a matter of habit, certainly out of an ingrained sensitivity. The goats didn’t respond, and the Son of Man implies that they should not have needed a flashing neon sign telling them what to do. They knew what kind of response was life-giving, and chose to ignore it.
It’s worth noting that in the parable there’s no question about whether we’re ‘born again’, or whether we believe the Bible is 100% literally true. It doesn’t talk about how loudly or how often we’ve proclaimed our faith. It merely asks whether we’ve acted on it.
The question this parable raised for the disciples, and ourselves as their successors, is whether we have internalized the Christ’s core teachings to the point we act on it without even thinking; or, as Mother Theresa puts it, whether we have become intimate enough with Jesus that we recognize him even when he looks at us through his ‘distressing disguise’.
On Eternity Sunday this kind of unspoken question comes to mind, as it does when attending a funeral, or sitting with a loved one as he or she dies. It’s on these kinds of occasions one becomes particularly aware of our own mortality. Each one of us will die – no exceptions – the only question is when.
Such events also prompt thought about oneself in relation to eternity. All sorts of questions come to mind. Have I become intimate enough with Jesus that I would recognize him? How can I possibly respond to
all the needs there are? What if the help I try to give only makes things worse? How can I be perfect?
Rather than worrying on these kinds of questions, though, the parable also helps us think constructively.
There’s no reason to believe the sheep were perfect, to believe that they responded to each and every need encountered. There is, of course, an immense amount of need in the world about us. It’s helpful to remember that Jesus didn’t respond to all need in his time. Satan tempted him to use his powers to do so just as Jesus was beginning his ministry, and Satan was rejected. Rather, he responded as he could on a person-to-person level. When Jesus says “As you did it to one of the least of these….” I suspect he is saying we do what we can. It is only when we do not have the listening ear, the sympathetic eye – the will to care – that we are condemned.
We also know that, sometimes, responding to what appears to be a need may not be helpful at all – it may even lead to more difficult needs. There are many examples of ‘do gooders’ creating more problems than they alleviate for those they seek to help. So, one could get ‘tied into a knot’ worrying about whether we’ve done enough, or done the right thing.
The thing about sheep is that they trust the Shepherd to guide them, to nudge them in the right direction if they are off the mark. So, rather than seeking to be perfect in our actions, we are invited to relax in our relationship with God so that we can act on the lessons of the Sermon on the Mount – because it’s the natural, instinctive, response of a loving heart touched by the love of Christ.
In short, the parable is about being secure in our relationship with God – about having confidence we ARE beloved daughters and sons of God – and then allowing that confidence to infuse our relationships with those about us – including the outcast and the needy.
On this Eternity Sunday, as I think on the people I knew well who have passed away in the last few years, I’m struck by how well many had internalized this lesson. The most recent was a brother-in-law. We last visited with him in July. He was ready to go home, he said. He was looking to join Helen, his beloved wife who he missed dearly after her death some five years earlier. We celebrated his life at a funeral in August.
Arnie was a cowboy. He also was a poet and a singer, and a husband and father, and leather worker, and many other things. But, at the core he was a cowboy. For much of his life he managed a large community pasture where farmers would bring their herds of cattle for the summer months. Roping and branding and moving cattle from one pasture to another was his joy, through good weather and bad.
And while the cowboy life can be a lonely one, that wasn’t Arnie. He loved to organize community barbeques and horse rides for kids and adults alike. And he loved to tell stories. At any social event, people would naturally gravitate towards him and the stories he’d tell.
His theology was pretty simple. It was to treat everyone else as he’d want to be treated. The church was at the center of their lives. He loved to play his guitar and sing songs of faith, supported on keyboard by Helen. When they retired they left their little country church and gravitated to the city where they continued this ministry. They would bring sheep to church for the children’s Christmas program, invite city kids over to their place for pony rides. And he, with his guitar and a yodel in his voice, kept Nutana Park Mennonite Church in Saskatoon in touch with the simple songs of faith that were an important part of his life.
Arnie wasn’t
perfect. He could be irrascable and stubborn on things that mattered to him. But, that was just Arnie. Everyone knew if ever they were in need of help, he would be first in line.
Arnie died well. He had lived the life of the sheep in today’s reading.
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Remembrance of loved ones
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Part II
The past is prologue. As each of us walked forward to place a carnation in remembrance of a loved one, or as we remained in our seats and pondered on our current or past relationships with grandparents and parents and brothers or sisters and partners or friends or children, what comes to the fore in one’s mind – at least sub-consciously if not consciously – is how those relationships have influenced one. The influence is made known by the loss one feels.
When someone you love dies, or even when a significant relationship is broken, a big hole appears in one’s heart. The companionship, the love, the history together is suddenly emptied, drained away like water out of a giant bathtub. The space inside one’s soul echoes. You call, and there’s no answer. Those of you who’ve lost someone you love know how lonely and alone you can feel.
Grief gathers and pools and you begin to feel even more alone as you realize that no one else is grieving for David or Sara or Tommy precisely like you do. No one was friends like you were. No one has exactly the same memories that ache in the same way your memories ache. You are alone.
Such grief can extend all the way to your relationship with God. One can feel desolate, Godless, alone in the world. “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” Why did you let this happen?
And yet, in the midst of this aloneness, God’s presence sometimes makes itself felt. You can sense that God is near, that Jesus understands our pain, that the Holy Spirit is the great Comforter.
Just as you feel alone, and separated from the people around you, you realize that others feel grief too. Everyone loses people they love. Grieving is part of the human condition. And other people are missing David, Sara or Tommy too, maybe not in exact the same way you do. That’s the marvelous part of sharing memories. One discovers many facets of those we’ve loved that we never knew about. Each person is like a diamond – the reflected relationship between David or Sara or Tommy and one person is different from that with another. Through death we gain a much more rounded appreciation of the person. We are enriched. That is one of the particular beauties of a faith community.
The past is prologue. The carnations placed in the vase remind us that, in our loss, we are not alone. We are surrounded by what the Apostle Paul calls ‘a great cloud of witnesses’. The people we remember have joined that great cloud of witnesses in the kingdom of God, of which we are a part.
Are the faithful who have died before us all literally watching us every moment? We don’t know. Despite a fair amount of research, what happens after death remains a mystery. But through the ages, Christians have taken great comfort and encouragement from the idea that the faithful who have died watch us, and encourage us on our way.
The past is prologue. In remembering those who’ve died, we also remember their lives in faith – particularly how they expressed their faith in action. And, this memory becomes a strength to draw on in shaping our own faith lives.
This memory illuminates not the rational part of ourselves, but it illuminates the eyes of the heart, as Paul says in Ephesians. It reinforces the lesson of the sheep and the goats – that faith in action is the place where love and faithfulness meet together; it’s where righteousness and peace kiss each other.
And, it is an encouragement to relax in our relationship with God – having confidence we ARE beloved daughters and sons.
Amen? Amen!