This weekend, we celebrate the Feast of Christ the King (technically, “The Solemnity of Our Lord Jesus Christ, King of the Universe”). At Mass, we’ll hear Matthew’s account of the Last Judgment (25:31-46), in which Jesus tells a parable about a king who sets the criteria for separating (saved) sheep from (damned) goats:
I was hungry and you gave me food,
I was thirsty and you gave me drink,
a stranger and you welcomed me,
naked and you clothed me,
ill and you cared for me,
in prison and you visited me.
What always moves me about this story is the cluelessness of both the condemned and the righteous. When?!? they both exclaim. When did we see you and do (or not do) what you said? (Cue Felix Unger in The Odd Couple: “When? When? When was I redundant?)
The actual recognizing of Jesus, interestingly, is not the thing rewarded; it’s the behavior alone. The question is not what we professed, but what we did.
We’re not much into monarchs now unless they’re butterflies, but back in Jesus’ day, a monarch was revered (or at least feared). The idea that a king would be present in every human being was astounding—and should be behavior-upending.
Ideally, the conviction that Jesus abides in every person should transform our own random acts of kindness into persistent habits of character and courageous action on behalf of the common good. Yet, too often, Matthew’s warning stirs only a sporadic awareness that any given hungry / thirsty / strange / naked / ill / imprisoned character we meet might be Jesus—as though He had a side hustle as a mystery shopper or undercover boss. The notion fails to compel, as evinced by our own behavior.
After reading Matthew Desmond’s Poverty, by America for the Sanctuary Farm book club (follow-up session January 24; stay tuned), I began wondering what Christ the King might say to us today. How about:
- I was hungry, and you wouldn’t open a decent grocery in walking distance of my home, forcing me to pay more for less at the corner store.
- I was thirsty, and you got me hooked on sugary beverages while overlooking the contaminated water flowing from my tap.
- I was a stranger, and you zoned your neighborhoods so I’d never be able to live there.
- I was naked, and you flooded the market with cheaply made clothes and other consumer goods that keep profit margins high and workers’ wages low.
- I was ill, and you wrung your hands and said what a shame it was that the nation couldn’t afford to provide me with health care.
- I was in prison, and upon release you limited my housing and employment options so severely that I wound up right back where I started.
When?!? we bleat, clueless as a damned goat. We didn’t do ANY of these things personally. Why blame us?
More and more, I’m becoming aware that we are responsible not only for what we do, but for what we tolerate—especially when we benefit from policies that subsidize the already-affluent while penalizing the poor. I am not going to pretend that our societal ills have easy solutions. But if we take Matthew 25 seriously, we have to acknowledge that anything we consent to have done to the “least of these,” we consent to have done to Jesus.
It’s a sobering thought—as befits an end-times Gospel. May you be blessed with friends who keep you thinking.
Christine Marie Eberle 