“God’s Final Exam.” That was the title of a homily I heard on the 34th Sunday in Ordinary Time, the Solemnity of Christ the King, some 30 years ago. It came at a time in my life when my own difficulties were such that I was self-absorbed. The words were like rockets that shot through me and exploded.
God has a final exam? And the final exam is not about what I believe, but about what I have done? And the questions on the exam are not only about what sins I have committed, but also what I have failed to do?
In the complacent theology of the 1990s in an ordinary parish, that message was profoundly thought provoking. If I wanted to go to heaven, I should feed the hungry, give drink to the thirsty, welcome strangers, and care for the sick and imprisoned?
That homily shook me from my self-absorbed complacency. Among other things, I recognized that I and members of my family were at that time all too much among “the least of these,” and that I and members of my family were in great need of others reaching out to us with God’s loving action. The Christian world was not doing that—quite the opposite, in fact.
Suddenly, I understood why this Gospel is so important: it is Jesus’ final advice about creating the Kingdom of God. Spread the Gospel to those in need. Start with meeting their need in the name of God, then, through relationship and experience, gradually pull them toward a full life in Christ the King.
In the end, we all must be ready for that full life.
I recalled then what also comes to mind today: a similar Sunday morning in my same parish church 20 years earlier when I sang, “Whatsoever You Do” as I went to communion and realized that in my little newly-wed world I didn’t even know where to find the hungry, the thirsty, a stranger, or those who needed special care. Certainly, in those very good days, it never entered my mind that in time I would be among the least of these in great need of someone being God’s arms reaching out to me.
And now, this week, the passage blows through me again—this time from yet another direction.
In preparation for writing this, I read a commentary that went to great length to avoid the direct meaning of what Jesus said. It basically said, “Well, yes, the church has always taught to be good to the needy, but there is no call to general outreach or goodness to everyone.”
What that writer doesn’t realize and what I didn’t know in the 1970s or the 1990s is that the church has through the ages recognized that Christianity calls for a “preferential option for the poor.” Some early writings about this come from St. Basil the Great in the 4th century. In a homily, he said,
“When someone steals another’s clothes, we call them a thief. Should we not give the same name to one who could clothe the naked and does not? The bread in your cupboard belongs to the hungry; the coat unused in your closet belongs to the one who needs it; the shoes rotting in your closet belong to the one who has no shoes; the money which you hoard up belongs to the poor.” ~ Saint Basil
St. Basil’s standard is much stricter than mine, so his words give me pause today. Am I still too far from Jesus saying to me, “Come, inherit the Kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world?”
This was Jesus’ final story to his disciples. In all three of the stories we have heard these three weeks, Jesus is preparing his disciples to become apostles. He told them to keep watch for the unexpected, including when he would come again. He told them to invest what he had given them; they have what they learned from him, but it truly belongs to God and should be invested for God.
Now, he tells them to do what he did: Seek and help those who are in need–because THAT IS WHERE HE WILL BE. It is in their service to the “least of these that Jesus comes again–to them, and through their interactions, into the world.
And, he expects to meet them and those they have brought along when he comes again at the end of time.
Seeing Jesus in the least of these is the key here. If it is Jesus, we are not “doing a good deed to the needy.” Instead we are honoring God by serving others with the respect we owe and want to give to God. That is a radical shift from where I can be. We don’t reach down to the poor, we reach up through the poor to bring Christ into the world.
This not only good for those helped, it is good for the helper and for God.
Where am I today? Worship and belief are still very important to me. And I help others doing those Works of Mercy things. But, today, the privilege of doing Works of Mercy as a way to honor God by serving Jesus “in distressing disguise” bursts on me, burns in me with with a great sense of the GLORY and kingship of God in such actions–and awareness of what a privilege it is.
I was helped to get there by reading the description of Mother Teresa’s spirituality in an article by Brandon Vogt, quoting from his book, Saints and Social Justice: A Guide to Changing the World.”
“From the time of her birth in 1910, Agnes Bojaxhiu (Mother Teresa) was trained to respect the dignity of others, even those society ignores. Each weeknight Agnes’ mother invited poor people into their home for dinner and conversation. She especially welcomed women in distress: old widows with no caretakers, homeless women with no roof, and unwed mothers shunned by family and friends. Agnes’ brother later commented that, “[Our mother] never allowed any of the many poor people who came to our door to leave empty handed. When we would look at her strangely, she would say, ‘Keep in mind that even those who are not our blood relatives, even if they are poor, are still our brethren.’”
It was through serving these visitors that Agnes first discovered “Jesus in his most distressing disguise.” She came to value the poor not because of what they could do or produce, not because of their job or credentials, but because they radiated the image of God. According to the Catechism of the Catholic Church, “The dignity of the human person is rooted in his creation in the image and likeness of God” (CCC 1700). Thus from the beginning until now, every man and woman bears the divine image and so bears within an inestimable dignity.
People often asked Mother Teresa why she loved the poor so much, how she could honor dignity in such difficult situations. In response, she liked to grasp their hand, slowly wiggle one finger at a time, and explain: “You-did-it-to-me.” In her mind, you could count the whole Gospel on just five fingers.
She was alluding to Matthew 25 where Jesus teaches about the final judgment. Our Lord explains that at the end of the world he will judge people by their deeds of mercy. To the kind and giving, he will say, “Come you who are blessed by my Father…For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, a stranger and you welcomed me, naked and you clothed me, ill and you cared for me, in prison and you visited me.” But his surprised listeners ask, “Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you a drink?” Jesus replies, “Amen, I say to you, whatever you did for one of these least brothers of mine, you did for me.”
For Mother Teresa, this passage wasn’t just a pious metaphor. It described reality. The secret to her infectious joy and boundless compassion was that in every person—every paralytic, every leper, every invalid, and every orphan—she recognized Jesus…
Mother and her sisters celebrated Mass every morning at 4:30am. For them, the liturgy, the Eucharist in particular, was key to living out Matthew 25—to seeing Christ in the poor. In the Eucharist, Jesus becomes present under the form of ordinary bread and wine. When the priest says the words of consecration, Christ becomes substantially present even though he’s not evident to our senses. Our faith helps us transcend sensory experience to spot the divine image in its most ordinary form.
Mother Teresa knew how crucial this was. Seeing Christ in the Eucharist enabled her to see him in the streets. “If we recognize [Jesus] under the appearance of bread,” she explained, “we will have no difficulty recognizing him in the disguise of the suffering poor.” This is why Mother Teresa could say, “I have an opportunity to be with Jesus 24 hours a day.” Whether in the chapel or the slums, the pew or the hospital, she recognized the Lord everywhere she went because she trained herself each morning at the altar.”
Full article may be found at https://www.wordonfire.org/articles/jesus-in-his-most-distressing-disguise/
Prayer:
Lord, on this Thanksgiving weekend in the US, I am thankful for your being a hound of heaven to me through the decades via this passage of St. Matthew. You have met me where I am again and again and moved me. This time you convict me that there is unity between loving you in the Eucharist and loving you in the streets, and you move me to dedicate myself to both. You are the same Christ the King–yesterday, today, and forever.–on the altar and in the streets. Heal us, Lord, from divisions about worship and social justice. You are never divided from yourself. You are present in the Eucharist, whether people perceive you there or not. You are present in the least of these, whether people perceive you there or not. Be the king of my heart, all of our hearts, yesterday, today, and forever. Amen.
