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LookoutToday we celebrate with Cheri, and some well known words of T S Eliot come to mind:
We shall not cease from
exploration
And the end of all
our exploring
Will be to arrive
where we started
And know the place for the first time.
Every aspect of Cheri’s life, every exploration she has made, has been brought to climax in yesterday’s service of ordination. Today, her exploration strides out on a new path, the path of priesthood. There is a paradox here. For Cheri, nothing is altered, and yet everything is altered.
Yet underneath these explorations there has been another, more fundamental journeying as Cheri has explored the meaning and breadth of her faith. Cheri is a passionate advocate of Christian Education – Education for Ministry, study groups, Catechesis of the Good Shepherd - anything which challenges the simplicities of folk religion; anything which lifts us to explore ultimate matters.
Simplicities are not for Cheri. When it comes to the Christian life and how it should be lived, it is questions and problems – exploration and depth - that are important. So Cheri truly has not ceased from exploration, and has now returned in such a way that she can now begin a whole new stage of her life and ministry, working as a priest, a leader and comforter among the people of God.
How fitting it is, then, that this morning’s Gospel reading cuts to the core of the Christian life.
Sheep and Goats. I suspect a common reading of this pairing is to think of one group - the sheep - as good; and the other – the goats - as the opposite; but the truth is not so simple. In that world both animals were valuable, otherwise why bring in the goats at all. Sheep, however, were more valuable. Sheep gave both wool and meat – food and clothing – while goats were kept more for their milk.
In the parable, the shepherd separates the animals in what is clearly a metaphor for judgement – the ultimate separation that looms before all of us. Those on the right – the “sheep” – are vindicated, while those on the left – the “goats” - are not simply less valuable, they are sent off to fire and torment. At this level, perhaps the metaphor does not quite hang together.
The moment we introduce the idea of judgement, we are speaking in terms of expectations. All judgement occurs against particular expectations or criteria, and whether or not we want them to, the criteria reflect the values of the judge.
As a teacher of English, I frequently had in front of me essays analysing some work of literature. Of course the very best were superbly written and made profound comment on the topic; but they, lamentably, were few. May I put before you two imaginary, but more usual pieces of work? The first, in my left hand, is entirely accurate: neither a spelling nor a grammatical error to be found, but the content is ultimately pedestrian. The second, in my right hand, is indifferent in matters of accuracy, but offers some profound insights. How do I react? How do I judge? Well, I am certainly not immune to the charms of beautiful writing, but ultimately it is the second, the one with the deeper insight, that would gain the better mark. The act of judging reveals where my true values lie.
In the same way this morning’s Gospel reveals the core values of God’s Kingdom, for what the King really values – the criteria he uses for his judgement – is how people have responded to the needs of those around them: people who were so poor they were hungry, thirsty or inadequately clothed, people who were lonely, homeless strangers, and people who had been deprived of liberty.
There
are other important values in the
Christian tradition: faith, devotion, good intentions - but this
parable of the
kingdom bypasses them. It is not these, but people, people in their
extremity,
who are important; and it is our reactions to their needs which are
ultimately
important in the
All this sounds rather like good old charity: being kind, giving out temporary relief to those in need. There is nothing wrong with charity. Charity has saved many lives and lifted many out of desperate situations, but in the end charity is temporary and uncertain, dependent upon the generosity of the giver and expecting the gratitude of the receiver. Charity works on an individual basis, creating relationships of patronage and dependence, and it has the real possibility of being fickle in the way relief is distributed.
This morning’s gospel points beyond charity to a new set of values, values which I shall call – have already called - Kingdom values.
“I was hungry and you fed me, thirsty and you gave me a drink, a stranger and you welcomed me; naked and you clothed me, in prison and you visited me.” Who was Jesus speaking about? The poor – obviously - and more likely the poorest of the poor; but maybe we can go further.Until about 200 years ago, the chief purpose of imprisonment was not punishment. Imprisonment meant holding someone until trial, after which came the punishment - either corporal or capital. At the same time it was a very convenient way of keeping ones enemies or opponents out of the way, sometimes indefinitely. Imprisonment was often a political act.
Marcus Borg’s work on Israel at the time of Christ, under Roman occupation, has led him to the conclusion that life in the countryside, towns and villages was far harder, far closer to poverty and subsistence, than had previously been thought. The picture he paints of rural life under Roman occupation is grim. The tax burden was doubled. People funded both their own Jewish ruling class and also an annual tribute to Rome. It left people living so close to subsistence or starvation that they borrowed to tide themselves over, got deeper still into debt and eventually lost everything. Such is the story of oppressed people everywhere.
I suspect it is no accident that Jesus constructed this parable around the true victims of oppression: the poor, taxed beyond their ability to pay; the stranger, forced to roam; and the imprisoned – those who have reacted to their impossible situation by actively opposing the existing regime. Of such people was Jesus’ audience composed. When Jesus says “Hungry, thirsty, stranger, naked, and in prison,” we can safely assume he was speaking very directly to people who knew all about these things: people whose friends and family were hungry or in prison; people who were struggling to hold together a struggling family or village. Jesus’ parable is direct. He is not speaking to or about victims of simple bad luck or feckless behaviour, but about the victims of an oppressive domination system, people he mixed with every day.