THE GREAT DIVIDE
A sermon preached by
Rev. Dr. Randle R. (Rick) Mixon
First Baptist Church, Palo Alto, CA
Sunday, November 23, 2008
If you happened to be driving cross-country, say from Kansas to California with a carful of kids, who are alternately excited and cranky, you might make a game of challenging them to be the first to spot the Continental Divide. If all those children had ever known was the flat plains of Kansas, then the old Buick’s climb into the Rockies would be awe-inspiring. Suddenly, as you crested one more mountain pass, there was the sign – Continental Divide. The identity of the child who saw it first has faded into oblivion but the wonder of the moment remains. Of course, there was the inevitable question, “What is the Continental Divide?” with the response that “It is an imaginary line, running down the crest of the Rockies, from Canada into Mexico. On one side all the rivers run to the Atlantic Ocean, on the other side, they all run to the Pacific.” If you’re a kid from Kansas, it will be a few more days and a few more miles before you’re finally confronted with the sweeping grandeur of the ocean where all that mountain snow eventually deposits itself.
Now a little older, a little more experienced and, hopefully, a little wiser, you get to choose which side of that great divide is for you. There is all that established power and tradition centered on the eastern seaboard. The Atlantic makes its impression as it pounds the rocky coast of Maine or laps the shores of the warm Florida Keys. On the other hand, there is the glamour and youthful promise of the Pacific coast as Highway 1 winds its way from the forested cliffs of the north to the long, sandy beaches of the south. Which do you prefer? On which side of the great divide do you come down? Your choice may reflect your sense of home and belonging, your social style or, your cultural ideals. It may be a matter of taste, or it may be your preference for seeing the sun rise or set on the vast expanse of water that determines your choice.
Today’s text speaks of a great divide that, in its own right, is as awe-inspiring and life-shaping as the Continental Divide. In this final element of Jesus’ final discourse in Matthew’s gospel, Jesus gives, not so much a parable, as a dramatic scene, a word of eschatological prophecy about how things may all work out in the end. Today we don’t much like tales of judgment; they don’t really fit our view of God. But Jesus has a story to tell. What he shares is the fate of two groups with a great divide between them. One group does the work of bringing God’s realm to reality and the other group doesn’t.
Clearly this is an account of ultimate consequences. Here is Christ appearing in all his glory, a vivid description of the second coming for which Matthew’s community longed. This is that final return to which the preceding parables of the wise and foolish maidens and the one-talent servant have referred. Here we experience a full-fledged Cecil B. DeMille production, we see Michelangelo’s exalted painting on the front wall of the Sistine Chapel, we hear the thunderous music of the Dies Irae from Verdi’s Requiem. Christ in all his majesty, sitting on the throne of glory, all the angels with him and all the nations gathered before him. “Holy, holy, holy, Lord God Almighty! Heaven and earth are full of your glory.” Who would have imagined this humble son of a day worker and a peasant girl from Galilee in such an exalted state? Yet, here he is. This is the one to whom we have pledged our allegiance.
But there is great irony as the scene of the judgment unfolds. To the group on his right hand, Christ says, “Come, you that are blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world.” You can imagine the excitement and joy within that group; what is unexpected is their response, because they don’t really understand what it is they’ve done to deserve such a blessing. And when the Judge dismisses those on his left hand to eternal punishment, these are not only distressed and frightened, their response is similar to the first group’s, “What did we do to deserve such punishment?”
The irony continues to unfold, for the criteria are not so much what great and mighty wonder have you wrought in the name of Jesus, what countries have you conquered for Christ, what scriptures have you quoted on your ascent to high political office. The Judge is not interested in the size of your congregation, the majesty of your cathedral, or your power and influence in society. He uses a single, simple criterion, “What have you done for the least of these, God’s children, my sisters and brothers, our family?’ It is in caring for the hungry and thirsty, the stranger and the naked, the sick and imprisoned that the nations and their inhabitants are judged righteous or unrighteous.
In reflecting on this text, Barbara Brown Taylor says, “Sheep and goats alike, they thought that he occupied one space at a time just as they did, and that the way they behaved in his presence was all that really counted. Meanwhile, that left them lots of free time for being with the other people in their lives, including the ones who did not count – the little ones, the least ones – the waitresses, the door-to-door magazine salesmen, the nursing home residents, the panhandlers, the inmates, the strangers at the grocery store.” But, she says, “The biggest surprise of all is that such people are not unknown to the king.” This Jesus who “is everywhere “counts everything done for them as if it had been done for him, and everything not done for them as if it had not been done for him.” What matters is “how we behaved when we thought God was not around.” And it’s not just in holy time or sacred spaces, because God is all around us all the time, like the parent with the eyes in the back of the head. “We are called into relationship,” Taylor continues, “even when that relationship is unlikely, momentary, or sad. We are called to look at each other and see Christ...” (Barbara Brown Taylor, “Knowing Glances” in The Preaching Life.)
But, wait, is this so simple after all? Scholars continue to debate the meaning of this brief, dramatic scene. Is Jesus really talking about a great divide of all the people of creation as we usually think of the scenario today? Or is he talking, more narrowly, about how the rest of the world receives his disciples as they travel throughout the world on their missionary journeys? Is he judging nations or individuals or both? Is he suddenly lifting up a category of “works righteousness” in which one is supposed to earn salvation after all, in spite of all the witness to God’s grace and forgiveness? These are thorny and difficult questions, not easily resolved.
Even if we accept the notion that the judgment laid out here is essentially for those who are not hospitable to Jesus’ followers when they attempt to bring the good news to the ends of the earth, there is an implication that some who do not hear or receive that news directly may still find themselves in the company of the blessed, because they have intuitively lived godly lives and done kingdom work. Mind you, it’s not because their charitable work itself is salvific but because they understand, at the core of their being, what it means to live love that they are included. These folk don’t seem to consider the consequence of choosing to live their lives in service to those in need, they just do it because it’s right. This may apply to some who name the name of Jesus and it may apply to some who don’t. The great divide is between those who get it, who understand the message and ministry of Jesus, who catch a glimpse of God’s in-breaking realm, and those who either don’t see or see and don’t respond with understanding and compassion
There may be a social dimension to this judgment as well. The concern of Christ may also be for systemic salvation, for the ways in which we create and sustain institutions of society, of government, of economic practice. Are these just? Do they provide adequately for the least? How is Palo Alto or Santa Clara County or California or the USA doing with the hungry and thirsty, the stranger and the naked, the sick and imprisoned? It is true that we make good-hearted efforts to support EHP or Friends Outside or the Chettis or our friends in Corinto. Still, is there more we could do to help bring about systemic justice in the world in which we live? In a recent Christian Century, James E. Brenneman argues that “Christ’s message of hospitality to the strangers among us is crucial to our national health.” He says, “Jesus is fundamentally interested in systemic institutional commitment to the stranger, and he commands whole nations to treat those on the margins of life with dignity and love. How we as a nation help those who are poor, infirm, imprisoned and otherwise estranged determines what our ultimate judgment will be” (James E. Brenneman “Living the Word” in The Christian Century, 11-4-08, p. 20.) Or in the words of Sir William Deane, former Governor General of Australia, “The ultimate test of our worth as a nation is how we treat the most vulnerable and disadvantaged of our people.”
If Jesus’ primary concern for the least of these is for his own disciples in their missionary work of spreading the good news to the ends of the earth, how well are we responding on this front as modern-day disciples? We might ask ourselves if we have any good news to share. In fact, let’s take a minute to consider that. What is gospel for you today? What good news do you have to share as people of faith living here and now? And how frequently do you share that news and with whom?
In the end, we may ask if this is a word of actual judgment, or is the judgment an implied threat as we look to the future? I know I may be going back a little on my critique of my old Sunday School teacher who advocated scaring people into heaven rather than letting them burn in hell, but maybe that’s what Jesus is doing here, getting the attention of his listeners - and us. “Pay attention folks, here’s the way it works. You’ve got to take care of one another. That’s what it means to be children of God. And, no, it can’t be just the people you like, who look like you and think like you and are in your socio-economic class. It’s all of us, everyone. Yes, even the least, the hungry and thirsty, the stranger and the naked, the sick and imprisoned. Folk like that.”
Will the God of compassion extend grace and compassion to us, our failures and limitations notwithstanding? It seems most likely so to me. Some have even tried speculating beyond the actual circumstances of the story Jesus tells to wonder how the “sheep” might have responded to the distress of the “goats.” Can these blessed sheep, these beings with love and compassion so firmly rooted in the soul, let the others, the goats, who are also their sisters and brothers, go into eternal punishment without speaking and acting on their behalf? Only time will tell.
Meanwhile, in a timely seasonal reminder, Paul Nuchterlein suggests looking at this ancient word by comparing Hebrew prophecy with Charles Dickens’s A Christmas Carol. He says, “The three ghosts show Scrooge the past that led him to his present and, most importantly, his possible future given the trajectory of his behavior. We know from the ending of the story that Scrooge changes his future through repentance. The third ghost didn't show him a 'prophecy' that locked him into a certain fate. Likewise, the purpose of showing him his likely future was not to cement Scrooge into fatalism but to prompt him into exactly what he did, repent and change his ways, so that a new future could be written…God sent the prophets not to lock us into a certain fate but to lovingly invite us to repent.” It is in this tradition that Jesus stands when he shares this scene of final judgment. Whatever it may be and whenever it may come, final judgment has not come yet. We live in a present in which the word may still take root to transform our lives. Let those who have ears to hear hear and respond. Perhaps the great divide can yet be bridged and we can live and work in solidarity, sheep and goats together, sisters and brothers all.