Christ the King Sunday – Sermon by The Reverend Loree Reed

Matthew 25: 31–46
Lord, may we hear your voice in the words spoken in your name. Amen.

The other day I heard a phrase I’d never heard before. The phrase was “Indigo Children,” and it’s used to describe children who see things that adults around them can’t see – like angels standing by peoples’ shoulders. Or, they sense things no one else seems to sense – like the presence of a beloved grandmother who died years before, now coming back to encourage the child.
Now, I don’t know what you make of such reports – whether you believe them or disbelieve them. Modern science simply calls gifts like these “extra sensory perception.”  Churches, though, tend to be more wary, concerned that gifts like these might verge on the occult. And yet, in the Apostles’ Creed, every time we say that Christ arose from the dead, we are talking about something no one actually saw as it happened. And in the Nicene Creed, when we say we believe in the Communion of Saints, we are agreeing that the line between this world and the next is exceedingly thin. Indeed, it can be bridged – just as it was on the night Jesus was born in Bethlehem . . . and angels caroled that good news to the shepherds, abiding in the fields with their sheep.
But knowing that something is true and acting on it are two different things. And that’s the problem the saints in Matthew’s Gospel this morning are discovering, as they stand in heaven around the throne of Jesus. For there in heaven Jesus is judging them, not on the basis of what they believed, nor on the basis of what they actually saw in their time on earth, but simply on the basis of how they behaved, how they acted.
And every one of them — the righteous ones he calls his sheep and the ones he condemns, the goats — are utterly baffled by his judgment. “Lord, when did we see you hungry and not feed you . . . or lonely and not visit you . . . or naked and not clothe you,” the goats cry. And the sheep are no less baffled, for they can’t remember seeing him either. “Lord,” they say, “when did we see you a stranger and we welcomed you or in prison and we visited you or thirsty and we gave you something to drink?” Jesus’ answer to both groups is the same. “Truly I tell you,” he says, “just as you did it – or didn’t do it – to one of the least of these, you did it to me.” And with that he sends the goats into eternal punishment and the righteous into eternal life.
Now, I don’t know about you, but this whole passage is unsettling to me. For I am not someone who sees angels standing at people’s shoulders or, for that matter, the face of Christ in the face of every poor person I encounter. But I know I’m supposed to act as if I did. That’s what I’m saying every time I recite the Nicene or the Apostles’ Creed – that I believe Jesus Christ came to this earth, bridging the gap between heaven and earth. And when he returned to heaven he sent the Holy Spirit to help us all perceive the holy in the midst of everyday life. And by that gift of his Holy Spirit, his presence is still with us – not just here and there on special occasions, but everywhere – sometimes in the unlikeliest people.
So Christians are to act as if Christ might easily be in the people they encounter: in the stranger they might otherwise fear; in the prisoner, whose acts they might find reprehensible; even in the hungry who may or may not welcome their approach.
That’s why I often say as we get ready to leave this church –
“Go in peace to love and serve the Lord.”
And you respond, “Thanks be to God!” – agreeing with me that this is what you’re about to do. “Thanks be to God that we have the chance to serve Him – in the poor and the hungry and the sick and the lonely. Thanks be to God!”
But if you are like me, the minute we leave this church the questions, the dilemmas, arise. Will just one handout to a panhandler satisfy our obligation – or am I to give to everyone who asks? Does it count that I call or visit the lonely now and then, or will Jesus one day remind me of the times I let that ministry lapse for awhile? And what about prisoners? How can I help them, especially in this time of Covid?
I was wrestling with these questions when I came across the story of a man named David Neeleman, who, years ago, asked himself the same questions. He had been, he says, an undistinguished student at the University of Utah when he decided to spend two years with a church group in the favelas or slums of Brazil. As a boy, David and his well–off family had lived in Brazil and had appreciated the big homes and nice country clubs they’d enjoyed there. So he thought he knew the country. But the Brazil he came to know as a young adult was entirely different.
In fact, the Brazil he came to know as a missionary was a land of desperate poverty, where the arrogant rich seemed to feel entitled to their wealth. They also seemed to think that their wealth made them somehow better than the desperately poor in the slums. And yet, David discovered that the poor seemed happier than the rich, and were incredibly generous in sharing with one another the little they had. And finally, David realized that despite the desperate poverty of the place, he was happier too.
As his two years of service to the poor in Brazil ended, another missionary, an older man, said to him, “David, when you go back to your life in the United States, everything you do will be for you. You’ll be in school for yourself, earning money for yourself, and so on. In fact, you’re never going to be as content as you were here unless you feel like you’re serving other people.”
David never forgot that. He returned home, finished school and went into business. Today, David Neeleman is the founder and CEO of Jet Blue, as well as five other airlines around the world. In fact, his is one of the great modern success stories of the airline industry.
And he owes that success, he believes, to what he learned serving the poor in Brazil. For what he learned in those two years has profoundly affected his business philosophy and the culture of the airlines he runs. For example, Jet Blue has eliminated many of the stark differences that affect the way customers are treated by airlines. Jet Blue has only one class of seats – and the seats with the most leg–room are in the back of the plane, for those who have to get off last – and therefore spend the most time in those seats. Inflight services are provided to all passengers with equal attention.
At their corporate offices, there are no reserved parking places. The coffee served is the same as the coffee served on Jet Blue flights. And the desk and chair in the CEO’s office is the same desk and chair everyone else has in their offices. Whenever David Neeleman takes a business flight, he assists the flight group in serving drinks and snacks. And he tells his pilots, “There are people who make more money at this company than others, but that doesn’t mean you have to flaunt it.”
Finally, under David Neeleman’s leadership, Jet Blue has established a crisis fund that every employee contributes to voluntarily. That fund, over and above standard corporate health benefits, provides help to employees facing a family crisis, such as paying for child care during an emergency.
It’s all part of what this man learned as he worked among the poor in Brazil. He sees Christ in others – not in some special kind of vision, with his eyes – but with his heart. And because his heart has changed he honors others — because he believes they possess the very life and dignity of Christ. And as he serves others in the same way he would serve Christ, he transforms his community into the very Kingdom of God here on this earth – where the peace and justice of Christ reign.
On this Christ the King Sunday, I pray God will grant us the same kind of vision in this, our own community.
Amen
 
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