Ezekiel 34:11-16; 20-24; Psalm 95:1-7; Ephesians 1:15-23; Mt. 25:31-46
As much as I love the sound of the bagpipes, the brilliance of the red, the fragrance of the incense and all the excitement of today as we celebrate the feast of St. Andrew, I know we as St. Andrew’s Church are to be about much more than dressing up in the finery of our glory.
As our patron saint knew so well we are to be about following Jesus.
This Jesus we are to follow is the very embodiment of compassion and love and mercy, especially toward those most in need.
And this Jesus we are to follow has some startling, radical words for us this morning.
As our gospel opens with that vivid description of the Son of Man’s coming in glory, Jesus says to those at his right hand “when you did it (when you fed the hungry, welcomed the stranger, clothed the naked, cared for the sick, visited those in prison) when you did this to one of the least of these my brothers and sisters, members of my family, you did it to me.”
“When you did it to the least of these… you did it to me.”
I never hear these words without thinking about “Chidima”.
When I first met Chidima I could barely look at her.
Truthfully she was disgusting to me.
She was tiny and vulnerable and utterly helpless.
She was imprisoned by an incubator.
Naked.
Hungry.
Thirsty.
Sick.
You see, Chidima was a one and a half pound African baby girl, born ten weeks prematurely.
Her mother, Juliet, was one of my patients when I was a chaplain at Georgetown Hospital.
Shortly after giving birth Juliet asks me if I will go up with her the following morning to see her baby.
Trying to respond enthusiastically, a forced “sure” comes out of my mouth but deep inside I can feel this overwhelming sense of dread.
The NICU – neonatal intensive care unit - scares me.
Deciding maybe it would be easier if I first go alone, I head for the nursery.
I scrub my hands, put on a hospital gown, take a deep breath, open the door and slip inside.
The NICU is a busy place.
Incubators are humming and monitors beeping.
I search around and find Chidima.
Peering into her incubator it is just what I thought and feared.
A baby so frail as this does not look human.
Babies are supposed to be cute and cuddly and it pains me to see such suffering.
Leaving quickly my only question is “Why God?”
The next day as planned I get a wheelchair and go to Juliet’s room.
We make our way to the NICU.
We wash our hands.
Put on a gown, open the door and enter the nursery.
Juliet, of course, knows exactly where she is going.
As we near the incubator, surprisingly my sense of dread quickly changes to expectancy.
I can literally feel Juliet’s love for her child.
Pure unconditional love is in her eyes.
Standing in silence, gazing at little Chidima, my eyes refocus.
Now through the eyes of love I see Chidima as a precious child of God.
Simply looking is now not enough, I want to touch her.
Asking the nurse if we can reach into the incubator, she enthusiastically encourages us to do so.
“The sense of touch is comforting to her” the nurse says.
I stand to the side and watch as Juliet reaches in and tenderly caresses her child, speaking lovingly as only a mother can do.
Then it is my turn.
My heart is pounding so hard I can hear it.
She is so small I can hardly breathe.
Hesitantly I take the tip of my index finger and place it gently into Chidima’s tiny hand.
Know what she does?
She holds on.
Little Chidima, weighing only a pound and a half, one of “the least of God’s family” touches me.
Little Chidima whose African name means “God is so good” finds me.
We find each other.
Through God’s love we become sisters.
With God’s love I see the face of Christ.
The words in Matthew’s Gospel reading today are the last teachings Jesus gives to his disciples.
And we, his followers today, are left with the same teaching—that in daily life, the way we treat the lowly, the needy, and the unimportant is of greatest significance.
It matters how we treat others.
It matters now and it matters in our life to come.
Yes, it takes courage to open our hearts and hands but that’s what we are called to do.
This is what it means to follow Jesus.
This is what it means to love as Jesus loves.
Notice in this last judgment there is nothing here in these words of Jesus about theology, creeds, or intellectual discourse.
There is nothing about worship practices or denominational polity.
There is only one criterion here, and that is whether or not you saw Jesus the Christ in the face of the needy and whether or not you gave yourself away in love in his name.
This, my friends, is what scares me.
For I know the world and this community desperately needs a church in which faithful people honor the poor, offer radical hospitality to strangers, visit the sick and minister to those in bondage.
I know the world and this community desperately needs a priest and a people who clearly see the cost of being a follower of Jesus and are willing to pay the price.
I know the world and this community desperately needs us to confront injustices in the world and respond to the needs of others with love and compassion.
I know the world and this community needs a church where all persons are seen and treated as equals; a church that continually seeks to be the body of Christ in loving ways.
I know all this and yet feel utterly helpless at times to be this kind of priest.
But I actually think this is the point—the point of the gospel.
On our own we cannot love as God loves.
On our own we cannot know this kind of complete trust and intimacy and vulnerability and caring.
On our own we are lost.
God wants to save our souls and transform us and give us the gift of life in Christ—true, meaningful, authentic life as human beings created in God’s image.
God wants us—each one of us.
God wants to transform us by touching our hearts with love.
God wants to transform us by urging us to look around and respond to other human beings who need us.
God wants to save us from obsessing about ourselves, our needs, our wants, our desires by persuading us to forget about ourselves and get on with the ministry of loving and caring for others.
The fundamental lesson, the secret, the truth is that to love is to live.
It is only through opening our hearts to God that we are able to love deeply.
It is only through God’s love that we are able to love the Chidima’s of the world.
May God give each one of us the grace and the courage to love others as Christ loves us.
In the words of the prayer Joyce prayed at the end of our Vestry meeting this month…
Open our eyes that we may see the deepest needs of people;
Move our hands that we may feed the hungry;
Touch our hearts that we may bring warmth to the despairing;
Teach us the generosity that welcomes strangers;
Let us share our possessions to clothe the naked;
Give us the care that strengthens the sick;
Make us share in the quest to set the prisoner free.
In sharing our anxieties and our love, our poverty and our prosperity, may we partake of your divine presence. Amen.
With All God’s People: The New Ecumenical Prayer Cycle (Geneva: WCC Publications, 1989), 344.
Sermon source: commentary by John M. Buchanan in Feasting on the Word