Sheep and Goats

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SERMON FOR SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 23, 2008
PROPER 29A – CHRIST THE KING SUNDAY
Matthew 25:31-46 The Judgment of the Nations


Most of you know, that 9 ½ weeks ago something happened to Mark and me that has changed us forever. We became grandparents. One of the great joys that has come from this, is that I get to take care of my granddaughter one day a week, while her parents are at work. I changed my day off to Thursday, so I can be home with Olivia.

But there’s one event at church that happens on Thursdays once a month, that I want to be at church for. It’s our monthly Elders’ meeting (a.k.a. Octogenarians Anonymous). This is a group, started by Anne Hotchkiss, that gathers every month just to talk about issues related to aging. Everyone who is at least 70 years old is welcome. (It started out for people at least 80 years old, but now they let some of the young people come.) They let me come, even though I’m a little behind them in life-stages.

A couple weeks ago, on the 2nd Thursday of November, I packed Olivia into the car and brought her to church, and she was a hit. Not only with the group, but with Susan in the office, and Susan’s friend who had stopped by briefly, and waited, on the rumor that Olivia might be making an appearance.

The truth is, everybody loves Olivia. All she has to do is exist, and people are crazy about her. Same thing with Molly here, and with the other children among us. There’s just something about a little one that makes people respond with love and care.

And on that Thursday, I began to wonder: what would it be like if we had that same wonder and delight in every human being? The joy and admiration we feel in the presence of a baby… what if we felt that way around everybody?

What happens to us, that makes that go away?

Competitiveness, perhaps… Possibly fear… Mistrust, based on experience… Defensiveness or protectiveness… Careful managing of our emotions…

Things we learn for our self-preservation, that help us not be taken advantage of, that help us differentiate ourselves and take care of ourselves, but that also put up walls between us.

Just this past Friday I attended the funeral on the West Side, of Jacob MacKenzie, the 15-year-old who was shot on his front porch, allegedly by his cousin’s boyfriend – most likely accidentally, the tragic unintended victim of gang violence.

I went to the funeral because this family are neighbors of Don Austin, and I was moved by his story of their need. I, too, have a son who died, and I wanted, if possible, to reach out to this grieving mother. And I thought, this is part of our geographical parish, our church neighborhood. Perhaps I, or St. Anne’s, can help. And as I sat in the back of the church, I wondered again how it is that we have come so far, as people, from simply taking joy and delight in the presence of one another? Violence, fear, anger, hatred because of things done and left undone…

Jesus told a story to his disciples, an image of the final judgment.
In this story, some are blessed and rewarded because they served the king when they saw him in need – hungry, homeless, in prison, thirsty… And others are rejected because they saw the king in need, but did nothing to help him. Both groups protest – When did we see you in need? And the king replies: whenever you helped anyone, even – perhaps especially – the least important ones, you were helping me. And whenever you turned your back, you were turning your back on me.

I think what’s key in this story is not how much help they gave or didn’t give. We can drive ourselves crazy trying to be the sheep in the story, and realizing that all too often we behave like the goats. In their book, Good Goats: Healing Our Image of God, Dennis and Sheila and Matthew Linn come to the conclusion that we are all “good goats.” Leading a retreat of older, retired Roman Catholic nuns, Dennis Linn asked the group,

How many of you, even once in your life, have done what Jesus asks, … and fed a hungry person, clothed a naked person or visited a person in prison?” All the sisters raised their hands. Dennis said, “That’s wonderful! You’re all sheep.”

Then Dennis asked, “How many of you, even once in your life, have walked by a hungry person, failed to clothe a naked person, or not visited someone in prison?” Slowly all the sisters raised their hands. Dennis said, “That’s too bad. You’re all goats.”

The sisters looked worried and perplexed. Then suddenly one very old sister’s hand shot up. She blurted out, “I get it! We’re all good goats!”

(Good Goats: Healing Our Image of God by Dennis Linn, Sheila Fabricant Linn, and Matthew Linn. Paulist Press, 1994, p. 49)

We’re all good goats. We all succeed and we all fail at meeting the needs of our fellow human beings.

But there’s another aspect of this story that I want to explore a little further. And that is that none of those gathered before the king recognized the king in his need. It’s especially poignant in the case of the goats. Their response is something like: “But Lord! If we had known it was you, of course we would have helped you.”

This story is not calling us to try singlehandedly to meet the needs of the world’s poor or solve all the social problems around us. This story calls us to practice recognizing Christ – to take delight in one another and in every human being, just because they exist. To respond to need, yes, out of love for God, whose children we all are.

The Sunday Club children have learned a new word this fall. Namaste. It’s a Hindu word of greeting, that means roughly “the Divine Spirit in me recognizes and honors the Divine Spirit in you.” A simple greeting, a reminder and daily practice of what we have promised to do: to seek and serve Christ in all persons.

Anthony DeMello tells this story:

(from Taking Flight: A Book of Story Meditations by Anthony De Mello. Image Books, Doubleday, 1990. p. 51)

A Guru meditating in his Himalayan cave opened his eyes to discover an unexpected visitor sitting there before him – the abbot of a well-known monastery.

“What is it you seek?” asked the Guru.

The abbot recounted a tale of woe. At one time his monastery had been famous throughout the western world. Its cells were filled with young aspirants and its church resounded to the chant of its monks. But hard times had come on the monastery. People no longer flocked there to nourish their spirits, the stream of young aspirants had dried up, the church was silent. There was only a handful of monks left and these went about their duties with heavy hearts.

Now this is what the abbot wanted to know: “Is it because of some sin of ours that the monastery has been reduced to this state?”

“Yes,” said the Guru, “a sin of ignorance.”
“And what sin might that be?”
“One of your number is the Messiah in disguise and you are ignorant of this.” Having said that the Guru closed his eyes and returned to his meditation.

Throughout the arduous journey back to his monastery the abbot’s heart beat fast at the thought that the Messiah – the Messiah himself – had returned to earth and was right there in the monastery. How had he failed to recognize him? And who could it be? Brother Cook? Brother Sacristan? Brother Treasurer? Brother Prior? No, not he; he had too many defects, alas. But then, the Guru had said the Messiah was in disguise. Could the defects be one of his disguises? Come to think of it, everyone in the monastery had defects. And one of them had to be the Messiah!

Back in the monastery he assembled the monks and told them what he had discovered. They looked at one another in disbelief. The Messiah? Here? Incredible! But he was supposed to be here in disguise. So, maybe. What if it were so-and-so? Or the other one over there? Or…

One thing was certain. If the Messiah was there in disguise, it was not likely that they would recognize him. So they took to treating everyone with respect and consideration. “You never know,” they said to themselves when they dealt with one another, “Maybe this is the one.”

Soon the atmosphere in the monastery became vibrant with joy. Soon dozens of aspirants were seeking admission to the Order – and once again the church echoed with the holy and joyful chant of monks who were aglow with the spirit of love.


My friends, the Messiah is here. Not just here in this room, but in our world. You will find him in disguise, in need… We will find him in those it is easy to love, and those we find challenging.

Greet him. Delight in his presence. Welcome him. Extend your helping hand. Practice recognizing him, and know that as you serve others, you are serving Christ.


- Lydia Huttar Brown

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