Ordinariness

September 6, 2009

I was hungry and you fed me,
I was thirsty and you gave me a drink.
I was homeless and you gave me a room,
I was shivering and you gave me clothes,
I was sick and you stopped to visit,
I was in prison and you came to me…
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.”
Matthew 25:35-36; 40-43

This passage is a part of a larger teaching, called the Parable of the Sheep and the Goats, or, The Great Judgment (Mt. 25:31-46). I've been staying home with a sick child this week, and it has really been on my mind. When we read this story, it seems simple enough, right? The passage probably sounds familiar to many of us, and we find ourselves nodding and yawning. After all, this is the essential message of our faith – Christianity 101. Feed the hungry. Give drink to the thirsty. Welcome the stranger. Clothe the naked. Care for the sick. Visit the prisoners. We get it. It’s simple, right? Is there no twist in this final parable in our series? It seems strikingly clear.

So, why is it that I feel overwhelmed when I read this passage? When I read of the final judgment, why can I not easily align myself with the good sheep? I want to fidget in my seat. Why is that? I think it has to do with feeling overwhelmed with need. Do you ever feel this way? Overwhelmed with hurricanes, break-ins, terrorism, violence. Overwhelmed by which charity to support and who will be good stewards of what we can give. Everywhere we look there are needs – schools, hospitals, homeless persons, the poor. In our homes, there are so many needs – bills to pay, houses calling out to be cleaned, who gets a lunchbox on which day and what goes in it, what we must have just to walk out the door…

And then I read the words of Jesus and think, what if we miss something, or someone? It sounds like if I miss a need, I am suddenly no longer with the snuggly sheep but the dastardly goats! It sounds unfair, for Jesus to judge us, not by what we did but by what we did not do. Not sins of commission but of omission. It’s frightening. In the midst of these vast needs, we might miss one who is hungry, naked, or thirsty. It makes us feel inadequate, blindsided, out of control. It sounds like Jesus is saying nothing about our faith, our spirituality, our piousness. It sounds like all that matters in the great and final judgment is some things we are not even sure if we did or not! We can’t be all things to all people – I am positive we will miss someone in need. I can barely keep up with my to do list as it is! I’m just overwhelmed at the unfairness of judging me for what we missed doing. The whole thing makes me want to chunk my Blackberry in the garbage and sit on the sofa eating bon bons. The parable leaves me so diffused.

And just the sheer obviousness of the parable should unnerve us. As we know, when reading the parables of Jesus, there is never a sense of whole and peaceful clarity in them. The disciples themselves are dumbfounded by them over and over again. There always seems to be a twist. So, with what we know about parables packed in our pockets, when we come across one that seems so easily packaged we should be uncomfortable. What is it we are missing? What is it we aren’t getting?

It happens in three little words repeated four times in the passage. “When was it?” Both the sheep and the goats ask, “when was it that we did these things or did not do these things?” And the insinuation is – they didn’t know. IF they had known, they would have done more! Neither knew of what they did or didn’t do! If they had only KNOWN it was Jesus, they would have responded differently. So, why didn’t they know? They didn’t know because these acts of kindness weren’t necessarily walking for charity, spearheading a campaign for justice, serving food to the hungry. Oh yes, these things matter, and matter greatly. But in this parable, there is a hint of something more… or is it something less? By the mere fact that they didn’t know, for good or for bad, tells us these acts were so small, so ordinary, so every day, that they didn’t even notice. Rather than a spiritual to do list, it is more about our general character, how we live our lives.

Years ago, my mother lived this first twist in our parable. She never quoted Matthew, but she taught me a life lesson. When I was very young, there was a young girl in my class that was extremely unpopular. I still remember her name, and the way her hair was matted and unbrushed, and that her clothes were worn out completely. It was clear that she had no friends, and that if you wanted friends yourself, it would be smart to stay clear. This girl was painfully shy and lonely, which came as no surprise, then or now. That Christmas, as my family bought surprises for other children that were friends at school, my mother purchased a small gift for me to take to this little girl. Despite my trying to convince her otherwise, she insisted quietly that I take it.

I must admit, I was mortified. I still remember walking across the room, and I am embarrassed to say that I hoped in the chaos of ripping gift-wrap I prayed no one would notice me sharing a gift with her. I said quietly and as kindly as I could muster, “this is for you.” For as long as I live, I will never forget the face of my peer looking back at me, eyes alive with delight and tears, as I handed to her the only package she received that day. I do not for the life of me remember what was in that gift-wrap. And this is by no means a commentary on myself – I was desperately embarrassed at my situation and somewhat distressed with my mother. And what my mother did that day, to my knowledge, was never spoken of again until now. No announcements were made, no awards were given, there were no pats on the back, no thank you notes written by anyone. There was no campaign started, there was no fund for the family set up. There was simply a moment of grace, where one child saw the depth of pain in another, and what it looks like to see a genuine look of thankfulness from a heart breaking open in gratitude. I have never forgotten. My mother was, as Barbara Brown Taylor so eloquently describes, a "detective of divinity." She saw an ordinary need and met it. She may not have even known, but she was the miracle.

Jesus had already invited the disciples to be the miracle. Just a few chapters earlier, in Matthew 14:16f, more than five thousand people come to hear Jesus – more than five thousand people that were sick and hungry. The disciples were tired in the evening, and asked Jesus to send the people away to get food for themselves. And Jesus said to them, “They need not go away; YOU give them something to eat.” YOU give them something, YOU meet their needs, YOU have the power, YOU be the miracle. The disciples protest… but Jesus says, “Bring them to me.” Jesus took the loaves, and the fish, and broke them and blessed them; but the disciples feed the crowds. We are told “all ate and were filled” and there were pieces left over. Normal day, normal food, hungry people, Bread of Life. Ordinary things turned into extraordinary things, by the invitation of Jesus himself to see heaven in the simplest of actions.

We are trained to fix the big problems of the world, and so often miss the little ones. It is as if the parable could read:
For a friend had a new baby, and you took them dinner.
Your child was thirsty, and you made Kool Aid.
You invited a new neighbor into your home and welcomed them to the area.
A colleague forgot their coat, and you offered an extra in your back seat.
You stayed up all night with a sick parent in the hospital and cleaned up their vomit.
You visited with and listened to an acquaintance who felt imprisoned by their life situation.
Truly I tell you, Jesus says, when you did these things, you did them for me.

In THESE things, Jesus says, these things, these little acts of kindness, so small we chalk them up to sheer dailiness – in these things, Jesus is king. And we didn’t even know.

Leading up to this passage, Jesus teaches other parables warning the disciples to be aware, be prepared, stay awake, watch. And just before the Passover meal, Jesus teaches this parable. So important is our parable today that it is Christ’s last word to the disciples before the passion. Jesus says – YOU do it, YOU have the power, I have given it to you – the ability to care, to love, to make a difference.

God of the ordinary. God of the tiniest holy moments. Will we miss them? Absolutely. The parable indicates by “when was it?” that the things Jesus speaks of are so ordinary, so every day, that we won’t even know. We don’t have to be all things to all people after all. We are called to be some things to some people. Parents. Friends. Lovers. Healers. Peace bringers. Gift givers. Hands of God. Noticing little moments of grace in the ordinariness.

Don’t miss them. Moments of grace await you. And they beckon you to change the world. Amen.

In Wisdom,
Brandi Calhoun Diamond

This Apple is a partial reprint from my sermon entitled "Ordinariness," 2005.