"Anything you did for even the least of my people here, you also did for me" (Mt 25:40)
(Lectionary Focus: Matthew: 25:31-46)
It is Tuesday of Holy Week in the chronological setting of this week's gospel lectionary text. At the moment, it may be hard for us to place ourselves there in our minds. For us, after all, it is the end of the liturgical year, the Sunday before Thanksgiving, the week before Advent. The Tuesday of Holy Week seems very far away.
But in the context of one of the most famous Christian parables--the one before us today--it is Tuesday of Holy Week. Just two days ago, Jesus entered Jerusalem triumphantly, igniting the enthusiasm of disciple and stranger alike. Just yesterday, Jesus turned over the tables in the Temple and threw out the money changers and healed the blind and the lame. Just this morning, Jesus taught in the Temple using stories to explain the coming reign of God while hotly debating theological assumptions with Pharisees and Sadducees.
Just a few minutes ago, Jesus warned us--his disciples--of the persecution yet to come. We still do not understand he is talking about the cross. We still do not know our Jerusalem mission will end in defeat. We still do not know the rebirth of hope the resurrection will bring.
It is Tuesday of Holy Week. That place in between the joy of Palm Sunday, the agony of Good Friday, and the exultation of Easter.
From this in-between place, Jesus offers a vision of the kingdom of God, the last one recorded by Matthew before the Passion begins. "I was hungry, and you gave me food. I was thirsty, and you gave me something to drink. I was alone and away from home, and you invited me into your home. I was without clothes, and you gave me something to wear. I was sick, and you cared for me. I was in prison, and you visited me" (Mt 25:35-36).
It is the clarion call for Christians around the world and for many of us, the essence of our faith. When people are in need, you help them, especially the ones with the least access to power and resources. "Anything you did for even the least of my people here, you also did for me" (Mt 25:40).
And it is true that we should always read this parable as a call to serve the most vulnerable, in our communities and around the world, as a direct way of serving Christ. Even when we worry for our own economic future. Especially when we worry for our own economic future.
But it is also true that Jesus, himself--in a very literal way--will be hungry and thirsty, naked and in prison, in the days following this Tuesday of Holy Week. Jesus, himself--the strong leader, the very son of God, the one we have always expected to help us--will very literally need us to help him. And most of us will fail to recognize how very much he needs us until it is too late.
"I was hungry, and you gave me nothing to eat. I was thirsty, and you gave me nothing to drink. I was alone and away from home, and you did not invite me into your house. I was without clothes, and you gave me nothing to wear. I was sick and in prison, and you did not care for me" (Mt 25:42-43).
It is not always easy to recognize the need in those we expect to be strong. It is not always easy to recognize the need in those who have always responded to our need. We are so used to seeing them as the ones who do have everything that we cannot always see what they lack.
And it may be even more difficult to admit we have become the one in need if we are accustomed to being the one who always helps others. It may be even more difficult to admit the true financial consequences of losing our job if we have always expected job security. It may be even more difficult to admit the weakness that accompanies an illness if we have always expected vigorous health. It may be even more difficult to admit the crushing burden of our ever-mounting debt if we have always expected the resources to pay it off. It may be even more difficult to admit the depth of loneliness that paralyzes our thoughts if we have always expected a community of support.
If we are accustomed to serving others as "the least of these," how very hard it is to humble ourselves to receive such service in return.
But Jesus models that, too, in the chapter following our lectionary.
It is Wednesday of Holy Week. One more day before betrayal and imprisonment. One day after the parable about the "least of these." A woman approaches Jesus with an alabaster jar filled with expensive perfume and pours every last drop of it onto his soon-to-be-crucified body. Yet when the disciples complain that the money should have been given to the poor, Jesus rebukes them, admitting his own need. "This woman poured perfume on my body to prepare me for burial," he declares. "I tell you the truth, wherever the Good News is preached in all the world, what this woman has done will be told, and people will remember her" (Mt 26:12-13). The "least of these" really is Jesus, the one we expect to be strong. A woman sees his need and fills it, sparing no cost to herself. But the disciples are blind, and later run away.
"Anything you refused to do for even the least of my people here, you refused to do for me" (Mt 25:45).
I would suggest that our invitation this week, as we turn toward Thanksgiving, is to open our eyes beyond our common assumptions about the image of Christ who is hungry and thirsty, naked and alone, sick and in prison. Yes, there are the obvious places, and we should never ever neglect them. But the deepest needs of another person may not be as obvious as we think. We may actually find "the least of these" in that strong leader among us, who cries out for help but is misunderstood by the ones who claim to know him or her best. If we are honest, we may even find "the least of these" to be ourselves.
May God grant us eyes to see and ears to hear and mouths to express the depth of our need, and then grant us the ability to respond. Amen.
Gusti Linnea Newquist
(additional lectionary texts for this week: Ezekiel 34:11-16, 20-24; Psalm 100; Ephesians 1:15-23)
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