King of the Goats

'Jesus said, “When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, then he will sit on the throne of his glory. All the nations will be gathered before him, and he will separate people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats, and he will put the sheep at his right hand and the goats at the left. Then the king will say to those at his right hand, ‘Come, you that are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world; for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.’ Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food, or thirsty and gave you something to drink? And when was it that we saw you a stranger and welcomed you, or naked and gave you clothing? And when was it that we saw you sick or in prison and visited you?’ And the king will answer them, ‘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.’ Then he will say to those at his left hand, ‘You that are accursed, depart from me into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels; for I was hungry and you gave me no food, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, I was a stranger and you did not welcome me, naked and you did not give me clothing, sick and in prison and you did not visit me.’ Then they also will answer, ‘Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison, and did not take care of you?’ Then he will answer them, ‘Truly I tell you, just as you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to me.’ And these will go away into eternal punishment, but the righteous into eternal life.”'

--Matthew 25: 31-46

My mother loved goats. On South Fork Road, a little less than five miles from the house where I grew up, there was a hillside that, for years, had goats roaming across it. Mama used to say that someday she wanted to live with goats – that never happened, and maybe for the best, since she had no idea how troublesome they ae. One year our priest, Fran McCoy, preached on this Gospel text from Matthew 25. I was too young to remember exactly what she said, but there was something about separating sheep from goats. Likely thinking of my mother, I went up to Fran after the service and asked, “What’s so bad about goats?” Fran later told me that she knew then that I would be a priest. I’d like to think both my mama and my priest were having a nice chuckle in heaven watching me preach this past Sunday. 

Totes m'goats!

Fran never really answered my question, but I’ve come to understand that the answer was, nothing. There’s nothing bad about goats. They’re goats – totes m'goats, if you will – they only act the way God intended for them to. Living in a society of shepherds, Jesus uses the imagery of sheep and goats less because goats are evil and more to highlight how those in his audience would naturally try to keep the sheep and the goats separated. This kind of imagery is used by Jesus when giving his final parable about the eschaton, the coming of the kingdom of heaven, what is sometimes called the Second Sermon on the Mount because it’s given on the Temple Mount in Jerusalem mere days before Jesus’ death. A king, he says, will separate folks out – righteous from unrighteous - like a shepherd separating sheep from goats.  

And what is it that characterizes the righteous from the unrighteous? The righteous are those who clothed the naked, fed the hungry, gave drink to the thirsty, visited prisoners, and all around showed care and love for those in need. In doing so, the king says to them in the parable, you did all of those things to me. The unrighteous, though, are the ones who saw such needs and did nothing, as though they were ignoring their own king by ignoring the needs of others.

It's not a stretch, I believe, to say that the entire Christian ethic for how we care for anyone in need, is right here at the end of Matthew 25. Why clothe the naked, feed the hungry, or visit the prisoner? Because in doing so we do it to Jesus himself. But did you notice one little detail? When the king in the parable tells the folks standing before him at the end of the age about the kindness they showed to him, they ask when was it that they saw him in such states? They didn’t help those people because they thought they’d get credit for it. They didn’t do it simply because it was an expectation or to assuage their guilt. They did it for the sake of being in relationship with the other, going out and meeting those folks where they were, finding out what their need was, and helping in the ways they could. Maybe if the so-called unrighteous knew this they would’ve actually done something, but that’s the point of the parable. To serve their king was to serve others, especially when they weren’t even aware they were doing so.

This past Sunday marked the end of both season we call Ordinary Time and our church year as a whole. That day we wore white to make what is known as Christ the King Sunday (or Reign of Christ Sunday, in some contexts). The Feast of Christ the King was created in 1925 by Pope Pius XI. The world was just seven years removed from the Great War, but fascism was on the rise, and in less than 15 years there would be a Second World War.  In response to the growing popularity of authoritarianism, the pope wrote in his encyclical Quas Primas, that the faithful should gain strength and courage from the celebration of this new feast, as they were reminded that Christ must reign in their hearts, minds wills, and bodies, and that the leaders and nations would see that they were bound to allegiance to Christ, not the state. It is Jesus alone who is our sovereign, the one from whom we take our cues, and the one to whom all of our praise and adoration is directed because he is the only one worthy of any of it. Something tells me we need to remember that today, as we head into an election year.

But the portrait of soverignty painted by Jesus in this parable in Matthew 25 flies in the face of what we are told authority is meant to look like. Top-down, right? Power-over?  Not so with Jesus. This is what makes the Gospel so radical. The very principles of power held by nearly every single civilization that has ever existed are turned on their respective heads in the person of Jesus.  Kings are seated on thrones in palaces, they eat at banquets and are clothed in splendor.  Not this Jesus.  Not this king.  His is power-with, not over. He dines with the riff-raff of society.  His clothing is tattered.  He covers himself with a newspaper when he sleeps on the park bench.  He reaches his hand out to us and asks us to help him.  This is our king, this Jesus, and we meet him every single day.

Homeless Jesus statue outside of the Cathedral of St. Matthew the Apostle in Washington, D.C.

The mark of salvation, according to Jesus in this parable, isn’t that we have faith it’s how we do faith. How am I – how are we – doing faith in real, meaningful ways? We hear Jesus’ words in this parable and we are prone to say, “Yeah, I’m on board with that!” and so we go out and volunteer at a soup kitchen or take donations to a second-hand store. That’s really nice, but what then? We return to our lives segregated by race, or class, or religion. How often are we transformed by those experiences and forge new relationships through them? When do we ask ourselves what’s our motivation for doing what we do? Is it simply because Jesus tells us to do things, or because we might get some merit points for the afterlife? Or, is what we do for the sake of being changed by forming relationships with people, understanding that it is in the eyes and hearts of the other that we meet Jesus, our king? What's stopping us from going out and meeting people where they are, addressing their need, and forging new, transformative relationships?

Many understand, for example, the importance of inviting people who don’t look like us to come to church, especially if there’s a guest preacher or program promoting racial equality, but what’s stopping us from going to their church to sing their songs, pray their prayers, and be changed by them there? We raise money and sometimes volunteer for charitable organizations, but why not actually spend time with the people who go there seeking help; after all, Desmond Tutu said it’s not enough to pull people out of the torrid waters, we must go upstream and find out why they’re falling in.

The parish where I currently serve is next to one of the Finger Lakes. It's a gorgeous location, and very often we see folks fishing off of our lakeside, despite signs up saying they're not supposed to. But - I asked our parishioners on Sunday - what if we went out and met them, learned their names, heard their stories, and let them know they were welcome here? What might happen? What’s stopping us from going out and meeting the folks who fish off our lakeside, hearing their stories and letting them know they’re welcome here? 

Such are the places where we’ll find Jesus, where we’ll find our king, and it’s in those relationships that we forge with the other that our own relationship with Jesus finds meaning and purpose. 

At my ordination in 2012, Fran told me, “Now, Joe, your job is to go be with the goats.” Jesus has a way of bringing people into our lives at the most inconvenient times, making unreasonable requests. What is asked of us is not to fix or be someone’s savior, they already got one of those, but to just be with those in need where they are and do what we can however we can. That’s how we love and serve the Lord, serve our King Jesus. King of glory, king of peace, we will love thee!

Apocalypses Right Now

While living in New York City in 2011 you couldn’t help seeing posters saying the world would end on May 21 of that year. The group Family Radio and its founder Harold Camping were so convinced that Jesus was coming back that day, that they spent millions of dollars on an ad campaign in the biggest city in the country. Not to keep you in suspense, but it didn’t happen; in fact, I preached on May 22 at my home church of All Saints, Norton, VA and began by observing that, I didn’t know about everyone else, but I was surprised to be there. Once again, it seemed we had avoided the apocalypse. It wouldn’t be the last time.

One of many, many signs around New York City in 2011 heralding the end of the world.

Now there’s an appropriate word for today: Apocalypse. It conjures up images of pain and death. It ain’t pleasant. Yet the word itself is merely Greek for “unveiling” or, more popularly, “revelation.” Even though we don’t read from the last book of the Bible this week, it’s worth pointing out that the actual Greek title of the Book of Revelation is The Apocalypse. And just as that complex and illustrative letter from Saint John the Divine tears the veil away from the hardships faced by Christians in the 2nd century, our readings for this week also are apocalyptic in nature. But whereas we often associate apocalypse and apocalyptic literature as something portending a terrifying fate, what’s really going on is present-moment truth-telling.

'Thus says the Lord, the God of hosts, the Lord: Alas for you who desire the day of the LORD! Why do you want the day of the LORD? It is darkness, not light; as if someone fled from a lion, and was met by a bear; or went into the house and rested a hand against the wall, and was bitten by a snake. Is not the day of the LORD darkness, not light, and gloom with no brightness in it? I hate, I despise your festivals, and I take no delight in your solemn assemblies. Even though you offer me your burnt offerings and grain offerings, I will not accept them; and the offerings of well-being of your fatted animals I will not look upon. Take away from me the noise of your songs; I will not listen to the melody of your harps. But let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an everflowing stream.'

--Amos 5: 18-24

Amos is my favorite prophet. He was a poor farmboy from the southern kingdom of Judah, called by God to travel to the northern kingdom of Israel and preach this apocalyptic message to the king. On the surface, Israel was thriving. The economy was great. They weren’t engaged in any wars. But behind the scenes, if you pulled back the veil, the poor had been neglected. The widows and immigrants in the land had been forgotten, and so Amos came preaching to the king that the day of the Lord – God’s breaking through human history at the end of time – was not something for which they should look with anticipation. For them who had mistreated the marginalized, it would be a day of consequence. Amos’ prophesy was a warning, an attempt to bring the people back to living the way God intended for them, but it fell on deaf ears, and soon the northern kingdom was conquered by the Assyrians. 

'We do not want you to be uninformed, brothers and sisters, about those who have died, so that you may not grieve as others do who have no hope. For since we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so, through Jesus, God will bring with him those who have died. For this we declare to you by the word of the Lord, that we who are alive, who are left until the coming of the Lord, will by no means precede those who have died. For the Lord himself, with a cry of command, with the archangel's call and with the sound of God's trumpet, will descend from heaven, and the dead in Christ will rise first. Then we who are alive, who are left, will be caught up in the clouds together with them to meet the Lord in the air; and so we will be with the Lord forever. Therefore encourage one another with these words.'

--I Thessalonians 4: 13-18

Remember that most, if not all, Christians in the first three centuries after Jesus believed that the Day of the Lord – or the Eschaton, Day of Resurrection, or Second Coming - was coming very, very soon. This included the people of Thessalonica, who were afraid that when that day came the living and the dead wouldn’t get to be together. Paul wrote to reassure them that, in fact, the dead would be raised and that, in his words, “we who are alive” would join them. See what he did there? He believed, as they all did, that he would be around to see the end. For the Thessalonians, Paul’s words brought comfort that they would be with their loved ones during a time of great hardship, even though he pulled a Harold Camping.

'Jesus said, “Then the kingdom of heaven will be like this. Ten bridesmaids took their lamps and went to meet the bridegroom. Five of them were foolish, and five were wise. When the foolish took their lamps, they took no oil with them; but the wise took flasks of oil with their lamps. As the bridegroom was delayed, all of them became drowsy and slept. But at midnight there was a shout, ‘Look! Here is the bridegroom! Come out to meet him.’ Then all those bridesmaids got up and trimmed their lamps. The foolish said to the wise, ‘Give us some of your oil, for our lamps are going out.’ But the wise replied, ‘No! there will not be enough for you and for us; you had better go to the dealers and buy some for yourselves.’ And while they went to buy it, the bridegroom came, and those who were ready went with him into the wedding banquet; and the door was shut. Later the other bridesmaids came also, saying, ‘Lord, lord, open to us.’ But he replied, ‘Truly I tell you, I do not know you.’ Keep awake therefore, for you know neither the day nor the hour.”'

--Matthew 25: 1-13

We’ve mentioned many times this year how the theme of the Day of the Lord runs throughout the Gospel of Matthew. This is due largely to the destruction of the Jewish Temple in the year 70 AD, which resulted in folks reading less of the Torah and more of the prophets, reinterpreting their warnings and truth-tellings in light of their own personal tragedy. Matthew, writing around the year 80, has folks asking Jesus over and over what that day would look like. In this section from the beginning of chapter 25 Jesus hearkens back to the language of prophets like Amos., warning people to be awake, to be prepared, like the wise bridesmaids who brought enough oil to get them through the night.  

An Orthodox icon of the Parable of the Ten Bridesmaids.

When we read texts like these, so very long after they were recorded, are we supposed to freak out about the end or wonder if things we see happening were foretold long ago? We might feel a little less flummoxed if we accept that time is a made up construct. We literally reset out clocks last week and just pretended like that was normal. But that sort of proves the point. We invent time, and we give it meaning: what will happen in the future, we ask? But in the Kingdom, there is no future, there is no time. It’s a concept called the Eternal Now, and it’s what I’m referencing when I talk about Communion happening “round the clock” in heaven.. It’s we who fret about the future, and in the midst of crisis – like Assyrian occupation or the destruction of the Temple - folks thought they were right smack in the middle of the Day of the Lord and that the veil of time has been ripped away and the future was now. That’s apocalypse. When evangelicals and folks like Family Radio try predicting a future event using these texts, they miss the whole point of apocalyptic literature like these, which is that they speak to a present reality, not some far off future to fear.

Folks treat the prophets, or Paul, or even Jesus, as if they had some clairvoyance that let them see the future, but all they were doing was paying attention to what was happening in their time. They didn’t see what the status quo wanted to be true, but what was actually true, and their message was clear: stay on this course and it’s ain’t gonna be pleasant. They read events around them and understood the consequences of those events. It’s a wake up call, not judgment.

It's still true, even now. If you look reality in the face and fully take in what is, you’ll tear the veil away, and can see the writing on the walls. There are simply, actions – or lack thereof – that, if continued, will lead to a disastrous future. 

The insanity of the last three years has ripped the veil away, wouldn’t you say? Little mini-apocalypses have popped up – teenagers who just want to go to school without fear shouting for gun reform, people marching to remind others that Black Lives Matter, women who’ve been treated as second-class citizens defending their reproductive rights, scientists insisting that climate change is real, and doctors and nurses begging people to be vaccinated. These voices reveal hard truths about who we currently are and offer us a wake- up call for who we want to be. Even now, in the land where these texts we read, study, and venerate originated, innocent people are slaughtered, and folks, rather than paying attention to what the suffering is revealing, are taking hard sides – some even rejoicing because they falsely believe apocalyptic biblical texts say all this has to happen for Jesus to come back. We often place our trust in stories of the past, and in so doing ignore the prophetic voices, the apocalyptic messages for our own time. Not messages of doom and gloom that are far off, but cries for justice and a turning around toward the mercy and love of God right now. 

March For Our Lives, one of the many apocalyptic messages being sent in the last few years.

Where are you seeing the apocalyptic moments, revealing hard truths for the present and pointing us to a changed future? Pay heed to them, as the audiences for these holy texts of ours tried to do. Let the unveiling of our present inform the future selves that we want to be, not for the sake of the kingdom that is to come – God’s got that taken care of anyway in the Eternal Now – but for the sake of the kingdom that is already here

Someone Is On Your Side

In the second act of Stephen Sondheim’s musical Into the Woods, the four remaining lead characters – the Baker, Cinderella, Little Red Riding Hood, and Jack – come together to sing the show’s penultimate number called No One Is Alone. After the long, arduous journey they’ve been on, each one having experienced tremendous heartache, they try to understand the consequences of the things for which they have wished throughout the show, and they begin to decide to place community wishes over their own. The song itself serves a dual purpose: first, to show that each of the characters’ actions – and by extension our own – are not made in a bubble and that no one is guaranteed to be the protagonist of their own story. And second, and I would say most importantly, the song demonstrates that even when life throws its greatest challenges at us, we do not have to face them alone, that there are still people who love us, believe in us, and are cheering for us.

No One Is Alone, from the final act of Into the Woods.

I would add, even when we cannot see them. For that is what the Feast of All Saints is about, the companions we have had along our journey through the woods of our own lives, those who showed us the way, who may have gone on to glory, but whose lessons, whose love, whose spirits live on and inspire us to keep going and remember, to borrow the last line of that song: things will come out right now/we can make it so/someone is on your side/no one is alone.

Most of y’all, I suspect, are familiar with the Paschal Triduum, which are the three sacred days of Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and Holy Saturday. They are the holiest days in the Christian calendar, marking Jesus’ passing over from death to life. This springtime Triduum of life is mirrored by a Triduum of death in the fall of All Hallows Eve, All Saints Day, and All Souls Day, which happen in each on October 31, November 1, and November 2, respectively. All Hallows Eve was the day when Christians remembered that death doesn’t have the final say, and thus is not something to be feared, so they dressed up and mocked demons and devils to their faces. All Saints marked the celebration of the apostles and martyrs, confessors and doctors of the church, the big deal folks who have stained glass in their honor and stuff named for them. All Souls, then, was the day to remember everyone else, all the faithful departed. Over time, though, and because All Saints is one of the few major feast days we can move to the following Sunday, All Saints and All Souls got conflated and merged together, while All Hallows Eve became a purely secular holiday that a lot of Christians even openly opposed. 

Which is where we found ourselves this past Sunday. All Saints Sunday is not just about remembering folks like James the Greater, for whom this church is named, but all those who we love but see no longer. Personally, this day takes me back to little All Saints Episcopal Church in Norton, VA, a place where the directory is the front and back of one sheet of paper. This place baptized me – along with my mother and sister, the only triple baptism in their history – confirmed me, and ordained me – and later my dad. And while they didn’t have a staff or lot of programs, they have lived into their name. Saints that have worshiped there included Joe and May Straughn, who sang in the choir. Frances Herndon, the faithful altar guild chair who insisted I preach her funeral even before I was ordained. The Rev. Fran McCoy, the priest responsible for me even being here today. And my mother, Susan Mitchell, who I still see in the second pew on the right in every place I preach. They are just some of the saints, the companions on the way, the ones who reminded me and many others that none of us is alone.

My mother and me after my first mass as a priest at All Saints in Norton, VA (June, 2013)

And that is what the saints truly are to us, our companions. That word is taken from the Latin com, meaning “together or with,” and pan, meaning “bread.” Our companions are literally the ones with whom we share bread. And just as your closest companions are the ones you invite to share bread at your dinner table, at the eucharistic Table that is the altar of God, Christ brings us together – he who himself is the bread of life, the bread of heaven, the bread that feeds and sustains us . We share that Bread with each other, yes, but when we come to the rail and reach out our hands we do not do it alone. None of us is alone. The heavenly banquet that we know our loved ones are sharing right now is nothing less than the Eucharist itself. In the great prayer of the Church we hear Jesus’ words to his apostles, echoed through eternity for all the saints, “Do this for the remembrance of me.”  Remember.  We do not partake in this holy meal to simply recall an event in history, no.  We re-member; that is, we become a member again, we reconnect with Christ and with all the saints who partake in this communion, we reaffirm our place in the communion of saints by the communion of Christ’s own body and blood.  With those words of his, the lid is blown off of time.  The past is brought into the present, and the eternal is now.  We are tied to all who have ever offered this prayer before us, bound together with all throughout history who have shared the Bread and Cup.  We are united through the future to the heavenly banquet, where the feasting never ends.  In the midst of that celebrating, while moving beyond time, we are joined by the saints of God at this very rail, kneeling – or standing - beside us.  Our fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers, sons, daughters, grandparents, grandchildren, and dear friends.  They are here.  We will name them shortly, and soon and very soon, we will share with them in what Saint Ignatius of Antioch called “the medicine of immortality.”

No one is alone. Salvation is not something we achieve on our own – contrary to popular opinion, we do not go out and “get saved” by ourselves. We pray, we break bread, we study, we grow, we fail, we fall, we repent, we forgive, and we keep moving closer and closer to salvation together. The lives of the saints remind us of that fact. They remind us that no one is alone.  

It is into this promise today that we baptized Brooks Matthew Binga at St. James in Skaneateles on Sunday. The Feast of All Saints has always been one of the Church’s principle baptism days. It connects the living to the dead and the assurance that, as members of the Body of Christ, our bond with them can never be broken. Brooks now has taken his place today as part of that great cloud of witnesses, and everyone in the parish promised to uphold him in his life in Christ. We baptized him into the same baptism for the forgiveness of sins as his ancestors, but not because he has sinned but so that he will know the promise of forgiveness whenever he does fall – which he will, like all of us. All Saints Sunday is the Church’s chance to let Brooks and all those joining the Body of Christ through the baptismal waters know that they will never be alone. And as we were all splashed with those same holy waters through which we have been redeemed, we remember that promise for ourselves, our connection to one another, to the saints, to the assurance that none of us is alone on this journey toward salvation.

Sometimes I’m asked why we Episcopalians pray for the dead; after all, they’re fine now because they’re with God. There’s two reasons, really: 1) to remember that, as the prayer says, in death life is changed, not ended, and that those we love are still alive in the presence of God, and 2) because they are praying for us. On that side of the Kingdom is the Church Triumphant, those who have finished their earthly course and have found their triumph with Christ, and it is their ministry to pray for us here in the Church Militant – a term we use for us here on earth who are still in our struggles. We pray for them because that relationship is not over because it rooted in love, which is the very nature of God. I am fond of reminding folks that love is the most powerful force in the whole universe, it cannot be destroyed by time or space. Love never dies. Love is what unites us, the living to the dead, and reminds us that we are not alone.

For all the saints, who from their labors rest, who thee by faith before the world confessed, thy Name, O Jesus, be forever blest. And let the church forever say: Alleluia! And Amen.