Recently, I’ve had the occasion, in some casual conversations, to describe the role of a priest. A priest, of course, administers the sacraments, preaches God’s word, pronounces God’s blessing, and gives absolution. But a priest does much more. A priest visits the sick and dying. A priest cares for those in need. A priest is there at all times for pastoral needs. As I frequently tell others, these things are just what you do because you’re a priest.
This is true for other roles in life. The parent ensures that her or his children have the necessities they need for a good life. The teacher provides a quality education so that the world can be enriched by future leaders. The doctor upholds the Hippocratic oath and goes to great lengths to honor it. It’s just what you do.
Actions, tasks, and responsibilities become second nature. Although they may, at times, be difficult, challenging, and even frustrating, they are nevertheless a seamless, integrated part of a particular calling. The doctor doesn’t think twice about doing everything possible to save a life, nor does the nurse. The parent does the same for her child. The priest expects to be awakened from time to time by an emergency call to go to a sickbed. It’s just what you do. The calling itself is inseparable from what you do. Its very essence is defined by it.
I wonder how we could describe the calling of the Christian. Are we easily able to examine the Christian life and say, that’s just what you do? The second century Christian writer Tertullian remarked that pagans observed of Christians at the time, “See, how they love one another!” Is that what Christians do? Of course, it’s what they should do, but is it what they really do? The reason I think we need to identify what a Christian does is because when I look around, I’m confused by what I see. The things that Christians “just do” don’t always seem so obvious. And I often don’t see Christians doing the obvious ones.
Matthew at least gives a window into what a Christian is supposed to do throughout his Gospel. Matthew consistently emphasizes that the life of discipleship is deeply shaped and expressed by ethics. And this culminates in the great judgment scene when the Son of man comes in all his glory with his angels, which we have heard today.
The Son of man’s scattered flock is gathered back in to be separated into the good and bad, the sheep and the goats. Matthew is very specific about what the good and the bad do. Righteousness and unrighteousness all hinge on whether the hungry are fed, the thirsty are given something to drink, the stranger is welcomed, the naked are clothed, and the sick and imprisoned are visited. Failure to do these things is a failure to do them to Christ himself.
It’s an astounding statement about who we are as Christians. We have a place prepared for us by Christ himself, who is seated at the right hand of God the Father. To do something or not do something for another, is to honor or dishonor Christ himself. It seems that God’s estimation of us as humans is rather high.
And yet the clear directives of the Son of man, about what one is supposed to do, are not quite as evident as they might seem on the surface. When the sheep and the goats are sifted according to their deeds, each group claims a certain degree of ignorance. “Lord, when did we see thee hungry and feed thee, or thirsty and give thee drink? And when did we see thee a stranger and welcome thee, or naked and clothe thee? And when did we see thee sick or in prison and visit thee?” The sheep and goats are nothing short of baffled.
How could the righteous and the unrighteous not know what to do? Isn’t it simple and straightforward? The two instances of confusion are different, though, in their degree of innocence. It seems that the righteous are innocently ignorant of the magnitude of what they have done. What they have done, without even thinking of it, is just what you do. The righteous have absorbed a way of being, in conformance with the mind of Christ, deep into their very bones.
The trained pianist knows how a particular scale falls under her fingers. And so the trained Christian knows what it feels like to be a Christian. After all, it’s just what you do. And any experienced musician or sportsman will tell you that what you end up doing, is not manufactured, because it’s just what you do. Actions are not laboriously reconstructed with each new endeavor. Sometimes, what’s performed is not even conscious, because it’s just what you do.
So, the righteous before the glorious throne of the Son of man plead ignorance and are righteous precisely because their right hands are not aware of what their left hands are doing. They are not seeking to earn their salvation or get into heaven by visiting the sick or clothing the naked. They don’t practice charity because they feel guilty about their own privilege. They are righteous because the faith they have absorbed into their very bones guides them in what to do.
On the other hand, there are two ways to look at the actions, or lack thereof, of the unrighteous. Perhaps they are so self-consumed or preoccupied that they have failed to learn what to do. Or a more sinister interpretation is that the naïve question of the unrighteous to the Son of man is not quite so naïve.[1] They feel entitled to a reprieve of harsh judgment because they supposedly don’t know the things you should do, or they want things all spelled out for them. Either way you slice it, they miss the point.
And so for us today the question still remains: can we look around and notice the Christians because of what they do? Is it really that clear after all what you’re supposed to do? Has not ethics become more and more complicated in a vastly technological and modern age? Or are we simply succumbing to the reasoning of the unrighteous? Lord, when did we fail to do these things to you, because we didn’t know what we were supposed to do? Matthew may tell us to be perfect as our heavenly Father is perfect, but we know we can’t ever achieve it in this life. Whatever are we to do?
And I think that Matthew gives us a pretty good answer. It’s not a laundry list of specific actions in our Gospel passage today, although those are good places to start. It’s not a heavy list of obligations. It’s not about performing works of mercy as a way to alleviate personal guilt. It’s about none of those things. It’s about placing ourselves under the reign of the Son of man. It’s about whom we choose as our shepherd, and when we choose the right one, and when we let that shepherd form our lives, we are shaped into the right kind of people. We begin to do the right things because it’s just what you do.
Look at what the Good Shepherd does. Both Ezekiel and Matthew tell us. The Good Shepherd gathers the sheep in and provides. He doesn’t scatter us to the wind and leave us helpless. The Good Shepherd is the only King who can give us the authority to do the things we should do.
What shepherds are reigning over our lives, even if we’re not consciously aware of it? And what are Christians around us doing, perhaps without even knowing it? Are they more interested in scattering people than in gathering them in? Are they woefully absent from sickbeds and prison cells? Are they shamefully ignorant of the shivering person on the corner with no coat? Are they immune to the hungry, thirsty people all around us? Are they more interested in separating the sheep from the goats than in proclaiming the Gospel, and as such, usurping the judgment allotted only to the Son of Man? Are they further crippling the crippled? Are they content with butting out the less well-off and scattering them away, where they have nothing on which to feed? Are they putting their trust in bad shepherds rather than in the Good Shepherd, the only true shepherd we have?
Because if we’re honest, we can admit that this has become the behavior of many who profess our faith. And it’s characterized by self-infatuated ignorance or willful neglect. Lord, when did we not do these things to you? We never saw you is the implied answer. And the corrective to this ignorance or failure is one thing only: to direct our eyes again to the images in Scripture of what the Good Shepherd does. When we have a glimpse of that reign, it begins to form and shape us.
Being righteous, as Matthew describes it, is not about performing a perfunctory list of good works. It’s not about saying the right things. It’s not about getting your own house in order while others are crumbling down around you. It’s about getting Jesus into your bones, so deep, down to the marrow, that you are being a Christian without even knowing it.
And when you get Jesus down in your bones, it’s a seamless integration of right actions into a life well lived. It’s an integrated life that, even in spite of its occasional sorrows, is a happy, flourishing one, because its infrastructure is laid by the King of kings who provides the only sure foundation for our house. And when you get Jesus into your bones, you do all the right things, not because you’re checking them off a list, but because it’s just what you do.
Preached by Father Kyle Babin
The Last Sunday after Pentecost: Christ the King
November, 22, 2020
[1][1] See https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/christ-the-king/commentary-on-matthew-2531-46.