Poor Goats… Concrete Salvation Proper 29a: Matthew 25:31-46 November 24, 2002 The Rev. Elizabeth H. Wheatley, Chaplain Church of the Resurrection, Starkville, Mississippi Blessed be the Name of God. "Sheep go to heaven. Goats go to hell. Sheep go to heaven. Goats go to hell."1 I have no idea the title of that song, the songwriter nor the name of the group who performs the song. I don't even know most of the words, but the words that I do know have gotten stuck in my head. "Sheep go to heaven. Goats go to hell." That's it. That's all I recall. I have no idea the intention or message of the song. I don't have any idea whether it's reality-based or satirical. The songwriter was so clever in putting those words to a catchy tune that whatever the point is is lost in the mantra rolling in my head: "Sheep go to heaven. Goats go to hell." For the past several days I have been throwing out this question to people: "Why do the stupid sheep get to go to heaven while the poor goats are relegated to hell?" Not really knowing what sort of answer to expect, but hoping that something would bounce back at me that would give me a clue, a direction, a springboard for my sermon, mostly what I got was confused looks or "What do you mean? Does the Bible really say that? How disturbing. Poor goats." Poor goats. I can't help wondering if Jesus inadvertently did the same thing as the songwriter. By so cleverly couching his point in the parable of the sheep and the goats, it is easy to get lost in questions like "Why do the goats have to go to hell?" "Am I a sheep or a goat?" "On the last day, will I go to heaven or hell?" "Am I saved?" We get stuck in the predicament of judgment - judging ourselves, judging others, judging God. If we push past the question of sheep and goats, past the question of heaven and hell, past the question of personal salvation, we encounter a transformative question: "Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison and did not take care of you?" To take it a step further, it's like saying, "If we had known it was you, Jesus, we would have done something to help. We would have taken care of you. If only we had known you were hungry… Christ, why didn't you tell us? We would have taken time out our busy lives to take care of YOU. We would have allocated funds to make sure you were fed and clothed. We would have visited you, Jesus. We would have made caring for you a priority. If only we had known you were in need. If only we had known…" How many times have we said that when it was too late: "If only we had known..."? It's easy to blame the hungry, the thirsty, the stranger, those who are naked, sick or in prison for not telling us, for not making their needs known, for not screaming or crying loudly enough to get our attention. It's easy to assuage guilt by making lists of excuses about the busy-ness of life or by pointing to our own troubles. It's easy to say, if you had just called and let me know… I would have been there for you. I would have cared for you, Jesus." Unfortunately, "If I had known…" and "I would have…" does not get the job done. Poor goats. As much as I do not want to encourage co-dependent behavior nor to enable victim mentality, as if people have no responsibility for taking care of themselves and for doing what they can to get help, nor do I wish to advocate for a Christian philanthropic imperialism or for a theocratic society, as if to presume that I or we - good intentioned, God-fearing Christians - know what is best for another person or group of people who do not live like me or us or have it as easy as we do, it would be equally wrong to go clear to the other end of the spectrum and preach a purely individualistic rule of life - look out for number one, take care of my own people. In fact, I feel sure that if I proposed to refute the message of the Gospel and reversed the fates of the sheep and the goats by sending those who didn't care for others to heaven and those who cared for others to hell, I would be met with disapproval and would not last long in the pulpit. Goats go to heaven? Sheep go to hell? Poor goats. So, what do we do with today's Gospel of hellfire and damnation? How do we reckon with the predicament of judgment? How do we hear what Jesus is saying to us without getting defensive and reverting to self-righteously singing the song - "Sheep go to heaven. Goats go to hell"- as if to boldly claim our rightful place amongst the sheep at the expense of the fearful goat that lurks within each us? We might begin again with listening to the question: "Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison, and did not take care of you?" And then listen to Jesus' response: "Truly I tell you, just as you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to me." Poor goats. Yes, annoying song or not, this is a gospel about judgment and it is a gospel about salvation. However, the judgment and salvation are not so much about what happens when we die - whether we go to heaven or to hell - as they are about what happens while we are alive. It is not so much about who we are, where we live or what we believe as it is about how to live. Salvation is about living. Salvation is about today, as well as eternity. Salvation is about feeding the hungry, giving drink to the thirsty, welcoming the stranger, clothing the naked, caring for the sick and visiting those in prison. Salvation is not about looking out for me and taking care of my own, securing my place in heaven with my loved ones. It is about looking out for and taking care of people who are in need, securing a safe and healthy place for them to live today. Salvation is in no way abstract. It is radically concrete. Salvation is about simple things: Food… Drink… Welcome… Clothing… Visiting… Caring for those in need. That leaves us with the question: Are we caring for those in need? Our Mission Statement, as printed on the back of the bulletin, claims that we strive "to create a loving a supportive community that shares spiritual and physical help with others." Are we sharing spiritual and physical help with others, not in an abstract manner, but in concrete, hands-on, face to face ways? Does our budget - how we spend our money - show that we place a priority on caring for others - feeding the hungry, caring for the sick? Do we spend our time and energy as a church, as members of the body of Christ, caring for others - giving drink to those who are thirsty, visiting those in prison? Do our buildings and grounds facilitate welcoming strangers and clothing the naked? Do we make it a priority in our everyday lives, not only at times like the holiday season of giving or when we have a little spare time, a little extra money or some unwanted cans of beets left in our cupboard? Do we come to church on Sunday to get fed solely for our own nurture or do we embrace the commissioning of the Dismissal: "Go in peace, to love and serve the Lord"? Listen to those words, again… "Go in peace to love and serve the LORD." And now, listen to the question that keeps coming back to us: "LORD, when was it that we saw you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison, and did not take care of you?" We are commissioned to love and serve the Lord and with that we are called to care for all those who are in need - regardless of belief, regardless of position in life, regardless of how they came to be in need - hungry, naked, sick or in prison. Loving and serving the Lord and caring for those in need are the same thing! They are inextricably bound. They are bound up in salvation -- the realities of life, the faces of people in need -- food, drink, welcome, clothing, visiting, caring. It's simple. It's concrete. It's not about fear and damnation. It's about hope and infinite possibilities of encountering Christ in our midst, God with us… here, now, and for eternity. In closing, I would like to share a poem by Ann Weems which expresses that very hope of our participation in a very concrete salvation: Our yearning after God, our hope for a better way creates infinite possibilities to touch the lives of the untouched to reach the hearts of the unreached to heal the wounds of the unhealed to feed the bodies of the unfed to accept the personhood of the unaccepted to love the being of the unloved Our gifts are gifts of hope; O God, touch reach heal feed accept and love us that we might love one another.2 …that we might feed one another. …that we might welcome one another. …that we might care for one another. Blessed be the Name of God. 1Since the offering of this sermon, several parishioners have provided the song title, group and words: "Sheep Go to Heaven" by Cake. Thanks Rick, Beth and Shane! 2Ann Weems, "Our Gifts are Gifts of Hope" from Searching for Shalom.