Should we blame Jesus for the age-old bias against left-handers? In this week’s Gospel reading, he spins a vision of the Son of Man seated in glory with all the nations gathered before him, sorting all the people like livestock. The blessed go to his right hand, the cursed to his left:
“All the nations will be gathered before him, and he will separate people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats, and he will put the sheep at his right hand and the goats at the left.”
Why do goats stand in for the cursed? Why must there be any cursed? For that matter, why must the judgment involve separating the sheep from the goats? (Or, for Episcopalians, the chic from the gauche… ba-dum-bum…) Why must there be a judgment at all? And do we need to fear it?
How literally should we take Jesus’ words here? I said yesterday this was not a parable in the same way as Jesus’ other stories, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t use symbolic language to convey a spiritual truth. He wants his followers to know that our choices in this life do have consequences – and that we will be judged in large measure by how we do or do not care for the most vulnerable among us. Or, put another way, How well did you love your neighbor as yourself?
Most church-goers I encounter these days are profoundly uncomfortable with the idea of a Final Judgment. I am too. We don’t know what will be. We only know that in the gospel accounts handed down to us, Jesus referred to such an event occurring at the “end of the age.” He was right in line with the testimony of Israel’s prophets, all of whom refer at some point or another to the Judgment or the Day of Wrath or the “Great and Terrible Day of the Lord.” Christian preachers who try to “scare folks into heaven” come by that approach honestly – our scriptures are full of dire warnings.
I prefer to “love people into heaven," and I suspect you do as well. As we will see when we explore the details further tomorrow, Jesus associates salvation not only with how we treat others, but how well we recognize him. He is our “ticket to heaven,” if you will.
But I wonder: do we truly want a heaven from which some are excluded, even if they’ve excluded themselves? Do we want to be sorted? I confess I can think of few visions sadder than people sent to the left side, cut off from the Promise. Okay... how about those who behead their captives? Would I be sad to see them sorted out? On some level yes, even them. I don’t want to think anyone is beyond hope, beyond the reach of God’s power to transform. Black hearts have turned before. Witness John Newton and a thousand others.
It is so hard for me to find the Good News in this scenario. It’s not enough to think “I’m safe.” The promise has to be eternal, the offer good forever, for all time, all people.
This reflection is full of doubts and wonderings and question marks. Perhaps the only answer is to pray. To pray for those who seem to turn their back on God, on Jesus, on the good, whether it’s because of disorder or trauma, or because they’ve made a full-on choice to get what they can in this world, no matter who they trample or torture.
Maybe when we pray we can see a speck of room for Jesus in them, and we can pray that he will heal and gently guide them home with the rest of the sheep.
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