*Adapted from a sermon preached at Peace Mennonite Church, May 14, 2023
Joanna Harader

We can easily read Jesus’ words here as a list of all of the nice things we should do: make sure people have the food and clothing they need; visit people who are sick and in prison; offer welcome to strangers. It becomes a list of things we can check off to make sure we are doing Christianity right—and I don’t think this is the most helpful way to approach our faith in general or this scripture in particular.

Don’t get me wrong, acts of kindness—like providing food and water and care–are wonderful. But I think we minimize the significance of Jesus’ teaching when we reduce it to “just be nice.” If niceness were the heart of the Gospel, Jesus would not have been executed.

Right before today’s Lectionary passage, Jesus has told a parable in which a rich and powerful master rewards those who exploit others to earn profit for him. Jesus moves directly from this “parable of the talents” to this morning’s familiar teaching: “When the Son of Man comes in his glory.” In Greek, though, there’s an extra word that gets left untranslated and left out of most English versions: de. It’s a pesky little “conjunctive particle” that can mean, among other options, “but.” Jesus has told a parable about how the world works—the rich profit off of the backs of the poor–then says but this is how the kingdom of God works:

‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world, for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.’

Jesus’ vision of who gets rewarded and who gets punished turns the status quo on its head. It’s not about a cozy hospitality of serving tea on our fancy china—or even serving meals at the soup kitchen. This is about what philosophy professor Robert B. Kruschwitz calls “untamed hospitality.” This kind of hospitality, says Kruschwitz, “builds communities that can welcome outcasts and strangers, and it publicly challenges the status quo of the culture.”

Religious studies professor Timothy Simpson notes that it is the nations that are gathered before Jesus in this image of final judgment. It is not only individuals who are supposed to provide food, water, clothing, and healthcare for those in need, but nations—societies, communities—are supposed to function so that all people are provided for and cared for. Nations will be judged based on how well they treat their most vulnerable. Which is a sobering thought.

We can look at any of these commands and see how our society—at least for those of us in the United States—is failing to care for the vulnerable. For example, consider: “I was a stranger and you welcomed me.” I commented to a friend that this seemed like an umbrella phrase—that the thirsty, the hungry, the naked, the sick could be considered strangers that we should welcome by caring for them. This friend lives close to the U.S. Mexico border, and she was pretty sure that stranger here specifically meant people from foreign countries.

Turns out she was right. The Greek word translated “stranger” is xenos—as in xenophobia, as in foreigner, alien. This call for the nations to welcome people from foreign countries rings loudly as we consider the failed immigration policies of the U.S. and the many people suffering on our southern border.

As I know you already know, it’s a mess. People fleeing violence and poverty in other countries are exhausted, terrified, separated from loved ones. It seems impossible to figure out what immigration policies and procedures will be workable, just, and humane. The churches and other organizations seeking to care for people crossing the border are completely overwhelmed.

In reading about the crisis, I’ve been struck by the wide range of services being provided to migrants. All of the words from Jesus certainly apply to this situation:
I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison [or a detention center] and you visited me.’

To this we could add: I was exhausted and you gave me a place to rest; I did not speak the language of the new country and you provided interpretation; I needed to travel to where my relative lives and you got me a plane ticket; I wanted to get in touch with loved ones and you provided a phone charging station and wi-fi.

There is good and loving work being done. And so very much to do.

Now, it seems, we’ve come full circle back to the simple yet powerful acts of individual care that we generally associate with these beloved words. So if we want to follow the teaching of Jesus here, which is it? Provide basic care for those in need or work to change unjust systems? Volunteer at the food bank or march with the Poor People’s Campaign?

That’s one of the beautiful things about the teachings of Jesus: they don’t let us off the hook for the big stuff—systemic changes toward equality and justice—and they also affirm our faithfulness in performing daily acts of service and kindness. The path of Jesus involves all of it: working to meet people’s needs where they are and working towards systems, communities, nations, that function to minimize the needs people experience by creating just and equitable communities.

So come, you who are blessed, and live out the reign of God prepared for you from the foundation of the world. Come to give and to receive the care we are called to in the beloved community.