Judgment in the Toy Store

 

One November, back in the days when people would actually shop at the mall, I found myself in a huge toy store, searching for a child’s Christmas present.  As I wandered through the overstuffed aisles, a strange kind of claustrophobia came over me. I suddenly felt trapped inside of tainted wrappings that needed to be ripped away. Weighing on my soul were rows of plastic guns thicker than a child’s arm; piles of hideous toy monsters lumbering through their own apocalypse; ranks of half-dressed Barbies trapped behind their plastic windows; and shelves of rigid baby-dolls with shocked mouths and jaded eyes. Glaring colors on cheap cardboard screamed from overburdened shelves, “Buy me, want me, need me now!”

Tired holiday music seemed forced out of loudspeakers against its will, sucking the very air from the room. Fluorescent light streamed down from the ceiling like yellowed curtains that I longed to part. My eyes desperately searched the store for an opening, for a tear in this gaudy, early Christmas wrap. Scanning with judging eyes the ceiling and walls of my prison, I remember thinking frantically, “There has to be a corner somewhere that they forgot to tape up, an edge where I can start ripping, a tab that I can pull to yank away the world’s wrappings with a flourish of my hand.”

These days, with all the turmoil and suffering around the world, we can feel trapped by evil. We want to cast off all that is broken. We long to smash what is sinful in order to make room for goodness. There’s such dissonance between the way things are and the way they should be. We want God to rip away what is false, to act in some powerful way to restore peace and joy and right relationship in the world. Such feelings are nothing new, however. When Pope Pius XI first established the Feast of Christ the King in 1925, it was in reaction to a post-war world gone awry with violence and hatred; it was a proclamation that God is in control and will bring justice in the face of chaos.

Both the prophet Ezekiel and Jesus in our Gospel reading also describe for us today, in the language of sheep and shepherds, a vision of God acting to set things right in the world. In both readings, a powerful yet loving God swoops down to gather the nations and the peoples together and then sorts out good and evil once and for all, upholding the good and tossing away the bad. Now, we Episcopalians shy away from picturing God as judge, don’t we? I certainly winced and cringed internally as Deacon Jan read Matthew’s words about the “accursed” departing into eternal fire. Threats of hell and images of a stern and judging God have done so much damage in the hands of preachers over the centuries.

But when I think about my experience in that toy store, I have to admit that my prayer would certainly have been to see Christ breaking through the ceiling with power and great glory. I would have cheered as Jesus swept up all the tired children into his arms and cast those toys into the outer darkness. As God does with the sheep in our lesson from Ezekiel, I can picture Jesus gently feeding all the children in that store, rocking them to sleep, tenderly singing them angelic lullabies. I can picture him soothing the harried mothers and fathers, too, and binding up the sore feet of the underpaid store clerks. And of course, I can see him  tossing out anyone who is there to overcharge, to sell dangerous merchandise, or otherwise harm the innocent.

Yes, I take pleasure in imagining an angry Jesus in that store, turning over the money-changers tables. I rejoice as he energetically tosses out all of those plastic guns and rips the fangs and claws from the monsters. How satisfying it feels to picture Jesus bashing out the walls to let in sunshine and fresh air and hurling the harmful toys into a heap of broken plastic. “I will save my flock,” God says to Ezekiel, “and they shall no longer be ravaged …. I will feed them with justice.” So often these days my heart, too, cries out: “Hurry, O King! Come with your mighty justice and fix this broken world.”

A careful look at our Gospel lesson, however, turns my cries for speedy and retributive justice to ashes in my mouth. Jesus takes the biblical call for justice and moves the expectations up a notch. Jesus, our King, clearly identifies himself with the outcast. He’s a King who abides in the lowly, a King who is welcomed and cared for when we welcome the outcast and feed the poor. The majestic King of Glory, the One who has the power to judge and create and destroy—this King abides quietly in the hearts of the hungry and naked ones. He dwells in the bodies of the persecuted and the prisoners. The Son of Man with all his angels is to be identified with an emaciated beggar slumped on the Temple steps. In Jesus’ story in our Gospel, the righteous don’t understand this paradox any more than the unrighteous do. They both stutter in bewilderment: “Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry … or thirsty … or naked …?”

Why are we so surprised to find the risen Christ abiding in the needy and forlorn? After all, the only kind of crown put on Jesus’ head during his lifetime is a crown of thorns. His only earthly throne is a Roman cross. Jesus is a King surrounded by condemned criminals, rather than by emperors and empresses. He is a King who is shamed, scorned, and put to death by the powers of the world, rather than enthroned by them. He’s a King who saves others, but won’t save himself. He’s a King who rejects the power that forces and controls others. He embraces only the power of self-giving love.

          There’s only one way to serve such a king, isn’t there? To love and serve him, we must love and serve the stranger, the widow, and the orphan—all those on the margins of society. In Ezekiel, it’s the bullying sheep who face God’s displeasure--the ones who push around the weak and who trample the pasture that all must share. It should come as no surprise to us, then, that Jesus moves from divine judgment straight into his expectation that we feed the hungry, give drink to the thirsty, care for the stranger, clothe the naked, and visit the prisoner. Such concrete acts of compassion-- “suffering with” the suffering children of God until they suffer no longer--are clearly what Jesus demands of us, no matter how desperately we try to focus on other things. As one preacher writes, “We care for the poor not out of guilt, [nor] ascetic renunciation … [nor] some communist ideal …nor because the poor are virtuous. Rather, in serving the poor we care for our own souls by imitating the character of God himself. Only in heaven, said Mother Teresa, will we understand how much we owe the poor for helping us to love God like we should.”[1]

How quick we are to leave the loving to God, but to take on the judging role for ourselves. Jesus, however, expects the opposite: we’re to engage in acts of compassion, and leave the judging to God. Those images of hellfire, gnashing of teeth, and the wicked being thrown into outer darkness don’t need to fill our imaginations. Reproach, fear, and condemnation aren’t the tools that a crucified King would use to shove us into his Kingdom.[2] Instead, our King invites us to love as he does.

In that toy store, where consumerism and greed were strangling the life around me, what if, instead of begging for God to step up and judge, I had bought some toys and walked purposefully out of that store with them. What if I’d taken them over to A Precious Child? Or to Lutheran Family Services in Denver? What if I had put aside my schedule and started volunteering at EFAA, or serving as a CASA volunteer? What if we asked, along with the composer Scott Soper, in “Child of the Poor:”

"Who is the stranger, here in our midst,

looking for shelter among us?

Who is the outcast?

… This is Christ revealed

to the world in the eyes of a child,

a child of the poor.

Bring all the thirsty, all who seek peace;

bring those with nothing to offer;

strengthen the feeble, say to the frightened heart,

“Fear not:

here is your God.”[3]

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[1] Dan Clendenin, “The Sheep and the Goats,” November 19, 2023. Found at https://www.journeywithjesus.net/lectionary-essays/current-essay?id=3636.

[2] Rowan Williams, A Ray of Darkness, 103.

[3] Scott Soper, “Child of the Poor,” 1994. Found at https://authorchristinachase.com/2013/12/30/child-of-the-poor.

Bridesmaids and Beach Vacations

 

Choices are a part of life, but both our reading from Joshua and our reading from Matthew today seem to give us choices that are presented as uncompromising binaries. Joshua warns the people of Israel that they stand before a life-changing fork in the road—and they had better choose to follow in lock-step down the path that leads to the Lord God... or else.  Matthew’s Jesus, too, paints an uncompromising picture of foolish choices that lead to a dead end, with doors barred to God’s Kingdom.  Both of these passages mess with my sense of fairness. They seem to go against the grace and love and generative possibilities of the God that I know. So let’s see if a little update might help us out with our Gospel parable, at least.

Instead of bridesmaids with oil lamps, let's say there are ten travelers down at gate B-23 at DIA. In Denver, it’s a cold, grey day in January, with chilling 20 mph winds and dark skies. The travelers are settling in to await a 5 p.m. flight to the warm sands and blue skies of the Caribbean islands. As life would have it, half of these travelers are foolish, and the other half are wise.

          The foolish travelers brought their carry-on bags but didn't think to bring any food or snacks with them. They’re too excited for their dream vacation to deal with planning details. Who’s hungry when a week on the beach awaits? The wise ones, however, are prepared. They’ve brought sandwiches and fruit in their carry-ons.

          As anyone who has traveled recently might imagine, things don’t go smoothly for these travelers. Crazy weather patterns delay the plane. Then there’s a mechanical problem. Then there’s a crew shortage. The travelers sit and sit at the gate, as each new promised arrival time comes and goes. Exhausted, they all begin to doze, slumped over in their chairs.

          By 9 p.m., hunger pangs wake them up. It's now way past dinner time. The airline representative at the counter announces that their plane could land any minute now, and tells them they need to stay near the gate! The wise travelers pull out their sandwiches and start munching.

The foolish travelers plead, "Hey, could we please have some of your food? We're too hungry to last much longer."

The wise travelers grumble, "No way! We may not have enough if we share with you. Just go down the concourse and buy your own food."

The foolish empty-handed travelers head off as fast as they can down to the nearest fast-food joint. But what do you know …. While they’re on their way to buy food, the plane arrives!

The travelers who stayed at the gate board the plane, and the attendants shut and secure the door with a bang.

Just then, the foolish travelers come running up to the gate, MacDonald's bags in hand. "Please, please," they pant, "Open the door for us! We need get to our beach vacation!"

But the airline official refuses, and the plane taxies off down the runway. They are left behind in cold, dreary Denver.

 

          What kind of an awful, unfair story is this, Jesus?[1]

First, it’s not fair that the so-called "wise" travelers get rewarded for hoarding their food. They have enough, but they won't share. Yet they're the ones who get to go to the beach.

Secondly, it’s not fair that anyone has to suffer because the plane is late. If the plane had just been on time, then everyone could have gotten on without waiting or needing any extra food. Flights are supposed to run on time.

Also, it isn’t fair that the attendants bar the plane door so quickly. Couldn't they have waited a minute on the passengers who went to get food? They could have a little pity! It’s past supper time, for goodness’ sake, and everyone had been waiting for so long.

As usual, Jesus is messing with our minds in telling us such a bizarre and unfair story. He's always shaking us up, trying to get us to see God and one another differently. There’s never one way to see a parable. In this parable, instead of assuming that we know what it’s all supposed to mean, let’s ask ourselves: Who is really wise and who is really foolish in this story? As soon as we think we know what wisdom and folly are, we might just remember the words of St. Paul: "If you think that you are wise in this age,” Paul writes in I Corinthians, “you should become fools … for the wisdom of this world is foolishness with God."[2] Are the foolish travelers the ones we should emulate? As soon as we tell ourselves that God rewards the ones who pack a dinner and refuse to share, Jesus says, "many who are first will be last, and many who are last will be first."[3] As soon as we decide that the attendant who shuts the doors of the plane on the late arrivals is supposed to represent God, we hear Jesus say: "Woe to you, teachers of the law and Pharisees, you hypocrites! You shut the kingdom of heaven in [people's] faces."[4]

So instead of trying to make sense of this crazy story, let's enter into it. I bet we’ve all been excited about a vacation before, right? And I bet we’ve all been in the situation of waiting for hours for a delayed flight, hungry and tired and bored and upset. Can you imagine yourselves back there in that place for a moment? It's a demoralizing and desolate place to be, isn’t it? You want to be at your destination, having fun, but instead, you're uncomfortable in body and in spirit. You get rather hopeless and desperate sitting there, maybe even angry. You feel captive. You're not in control, and nobody seems to care about your situation at all. You wonder why you even bother to travel anymore!

          The world we live in can make us feel like that, too, sometimes, can't it? Not only are we trapped in airports, but we’re also trapped in a crazy political circus, in looming climate catastrophe, in geopolitical turmoil. We can also feel trapped in illness, in poverty, or in the grips of health insurance companies, student loans, and other debt.  Our lives certainly can feel as frustrating and joyless as sitting trapped at a gate at the airport. They can feel like sitting in the darkness of midnight, with no oil to light your lamp.

          Here’s the thing. When we find ourselves in this dark world, we often try to deal with it on our own. We're told that if we can just be prepared, then we can survive whatever comes our way. So we tie ourselves in knots of anxiety. We haul around bags and bags of stuff that we think will protect us from want. We buy weapons or build walls that we think will keep us safe. We run around in a panic like the so-called foolish travelers, thinking that we can buy our way to comfort and security and contentment. Or we turn inward like the so-called wise travelers, bent on looking out only for Number One. Or, like the airline employee, we exchange compassion for strict rules, barring the door and refusing to welcome the wayward traveler on board with us. We human beings can play any of these roles, can’t we? There are certainly enough poor choices made in this story to go around. No one is exempt from them.

          In trying to hoard, and exclude, and rush carelessly around, we forget that we’re all headed to a Caribbean beach vacation, to God’s Reign of Joy and Light. That the plane is on its way, and nothing can stop its eventual arrival. What if travelers had shared in this joyful expectation at that airport gate? What if—in their waiting--the food had been shared equally, stories had been recounted, songs had been sung, prayers had been offered, new friends had been made? Yes, we do have life-altering choices to make as human beings. But those choices don’t need to be made out of fear of punishment. They can be made out of joy and delighted anticipation, in community.

          We may all be waiting for God, but in Christ, we don't play a zero-sum game. In Christ, we carry one another's burdens and lift up one another's joys. We have no need to run off somewhere to get our own food, because we receive Christ himself in bread and wine, and he is inside of us, loving us and building us up from within.[5] This is the vision of God's Kingdom that Jesus brings to our troubled world.

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[1] My interpretation of this parable is based on a sermon by David R. Henson, "The Breaking of the Bridesmaids: Rethinking a Problematic Parable." Found at http://www.patheos.com/blogs/davidhenson/2014/11/the-breaking-of-the-bridesmaids-how-scripture-undermines-a-parable/

[2] I Cor. 3:18

[3] Matt. 19:30

[4] Matt. 23:13

[5]John Shea, On Earth as it is in Heaven: The Spiritual Wisdom of the Gospels for Christian Preachers and Teachers , Matthew, Year A (Collegeville, MN: Order of St. Benedict, 2004), 317.