No Strangers Among Us

Matthew 25: 31-46

A Sermon Preached by Lynn Welton

University Baptist Church

Minneapolis, MN

June 29, 2003

 

 

It has been just over a year since Susan and I began worshipping with you - silently at first, not revealing too much of who we were and why we were joining you occasionally on Sunday mornings. The fact is, we were “spying” on you. We wanted to know first hand just who you were and how you were as a religious body known to us only as University Baptist Church. We were testing the waters hoping to determine if we would be welcomed as sheep or condemned as goats. Would we be spiritually fed? Or, would we walk away thirsting for more? I thank you for this past year and all the gifts we have received as you have welcomed us into the flock of UBC.

What a year this has been. Together we have journeyed through a most difficult year - politically and socially. Many of us lost a friend and a hero with the untimely deaths of Senator Paul Wellstone, his wife, daughter, and friends. We journeyed through not only the threat of war, but through the United States launching of a full scale military initiative against the people of Iraq. The mid-term elections resulted in a shift in political power and represent a significant change in the quality of life we have come to know as Minnesotans. And through it all, you have remained united as a community of believers committed to social justice and inclusivity; both here, within these church walls, as well as within the greater community. Social justice and inclusivity aren’t just buzzwords here at UBC. Social justice and inclusivity are in the fabric of our being; it is our nature. I witnessed UBC’s commitment to inclusivity and justice yesterday at the Pride celebration in Loring Park - it almost felt like fellowship hour as so many members and friends of UBC gathered at the UBC booth. It was a joy for me to take my turn in staffing the booth and to talk with folks about UBC and Soulforce. It was exciting to see one person’s face light up when I shared that we had recently completed the installation of our elevator. He has been a quadriplegic for 25 years and has wanted to visit UBC but found accessibility to be problematic. Another visitor to our booth commented on meeting UBC folks in Phoenix last week through his own involvement with Soulforce. It’s through experiences such as these that I see Jesus walking among us.

When Jesus appears to us in the gospels, he seems familiar enough to us. We’ve known his name since childhood. We’ve heard his stories throughout our lives. We expect to encounter him in the scriptures. But that very familiarity may keep us from realizing just how truly strange he is. As soon as he starts talking in this morning’s reading of Matthew 25, his words sound strange to our generation. He speaks of the ultimate judgment of God. That’s strange enough, because we think of Jesus as the one who reveals a God of mercy and love. None of that hell-fire talk from him. But this Stranger in our midst faces us with the claim that God - however merciful, however loving - is going to make a judgment about us. This is a reversal of our mindset. If the mere idea of judgment is strange to us, the objects of judgment are stranger still. We might expect strangers to be judged. If people are poor - there must be a reason. If people are sick - again, there must be a reason. And, if people are lesbian, gay, bi-sexual or transgendered - there must be a reason. Poverty, sickness, homophobia - these are just a few of the forms of judgment that fall upon sinners. This is a familiar idea to the righteous. But here, in the gospel of Matthew, Jesus is not talking to sinners. He’s talking to his disciples. He’s talking to us.

One year ago, Susan and I came to you as strangers - and you welcomed us. Last fall, I came to you as your seminary intern - and you have offered your guidance and encouragement - you have fed me spiritually. Last month, I stood before you as you voted to license and faithfully support me through my ordination process. You counted me among the sheep - no longer was I relegated to the status of the goats as has been my experience of the church many times throughout my journey.

 

I’d like to share with you a bit of my history as a lesbian in the church:

As a teenaged youth I received considerable emotional and spiritual support from clergy and members of my local Church through my participation in the youth program. Upon graduation from high school, I explored religious life as a Catholic Sister wherein I lived and worked for several months in a religious community with other similarly interested women. Determining that life as a Catholic Religious was not my calling, I sought other avenues for living out my faith. Eventually, I became involved in the Catholic Worker Movement and was one of four founding members of two Catholic Worker Houses which provided food and shelter to homeless and needy families. As a member of the local Catholic church, I became involved as a musician and played guitar at Mass every Sunday morning. I was also employed as a Youth Minister at the Catholic Church. It was here that I encountered the most pain-filled experiences of my life.

Forcibly “outed” as a lesbian by a member of my local parish community, I was asked to leave the Catholic Worker House, it was requested that I no longer play guitar at Mass on Sunday mornings, and I was terminated from my employment as Youth Minister by my beloved church. Shortly thereafter, while attending Mass at the very church of which I was a member and had been employed, I was refused communion on the altar. I found myself abruptly unemployed, nearly homeless, and wholly abandoned by my faith community. Cast out in the name of Christianity, I had become less than “the least of these.” I had been separated from the sheep; reduced to the status of a goat; and I was forced out of my beloved Church. This experience called to mind a t-shirt I once saw while in the Castro District in San Francisco that read:

Jesus hates me, this I know, for the Christians tell me so.

 

That was 20 years ago and a lot has happened since then. But, it still seems that many Christians continue to believe that the Bible and we lesbian, gay, and other sexual minority folks are enemies. In many ways we have been. More than any other weapon, the Bible has been used to beat us down. Yet, many of us grew up loving the church, loving the bible, and found that the church and the bible gave meaning to our lives. I have learned that when adversaries come to love one another through a deeper understanding of one another, then transformation can take place. And in my own questioning as to the relevance of the bible and the church in my life, I have come to understand the bible in light of my experiences as a lesbian in the church. I have come to understand the gospel as the story of God in Christ Jesus coming out of the closet - God’s self-revelation through Christ Jesus. As an invisible minority, I walk on the boundary. Unless I reveal my sexual identity to others, it is assumed that I am “like” everyone else. In this hidden state we may participate fully in the society that otherwise would relegate us to the status of the goats. We walk on the boundary between clear identities and the world that denies us.

Jesus also lived on the boundary. Through much of his life, his identity did not fall clearly in any one category. People continually asked who he was and the source of his authority. At times, he forbade those who recognized his true identity to reveal it (Matt 8:4, 9:30). He responded ambiguously to those who directly confronted him: “Who do you say I am?” To Pilate’s inquiry about his title Jesus responds, “You have said so.” (Mark 15:2). As sexual minorities, because we live on the boundaries of the dominantly defined world, we stand just beyond social control. By staying on the boundary, we hold the power; we control our own identity - not quite conforming but not explicitly failing to conform. By refusing to let society label him easily, Jesus also defined his own identity.

Life on the boundary gives us status; awards us power. Even as it protects us and lets us determine our own identity, it tempts us. It shows us that all will be ours if we deny ourselves by accepting the identity that society offers us rather than the identity “gifted” to us by God. Understanding the power of life on the boundary leads us as sexual minorities to confront the truth of the cross. Just as we come to understand the nature of power on the boundary, we must also understand how Jesus gave up that power. Jesus’ surrender of power was no simple act of non-violence. Even as he yields to human domination, Jesus makes absolutely clear that no one dominates God. God controls God’s own identity - as both earthly Jesus and resurrected Christ. God breaks the boundaries that first protected Jesus and ultimately excluded him. Every step toward clarity placed Jesus farther from the boundary - more fully on the other side. When we come out, we surrender the power of boundary life. We move from the boundary, wholly to the other side.

As our generation’s debate about the inclusion of persons of all sexual orientations continues to rage in many denominations, it is easy to think that the Church must have something better to do with it’s time. When we wonder, “why all this fuss?” we must remember this morning’s gospel reading about the last judgment. The writers of Matthew suggest, I think, that human beings have pressing needs that we must help meet. Some are obvious to us - food, drink, clothing, shelter. But included with these is another need which we may think of as optional, while Matthew seems to think it essential - that of welcoming. People need to be welcomed, invited, received, gathered, embraced. “When did we see you a stranger and welcome you?” Learning to gladly open our doors and hearts to those who may seem strangers to us - because of their culture, because of their able-bodiedness, because of their sexuality or because of any other factor - learning to honor and love each other is how we experience Christ’s radiant presence among us, isn’t it?

On this Pride Sunday, when not everyone feels welcome in church or at the table, I hope that we will continue to welcome the stranger and to break bread and to drink of the cup together - knowing it is in our power, because of Christ’s power, to create changes in our churches. Jesus was a shaker, and I don’t mean the furniture-making kind. He turned our world downside up, bringing a message of comfort for the disturbed, and disturbing the comfortable. Jesus set for us a banquet and the invitation read: “As you have done it to one of the least of these, you have done it unto me” (Matt 25). We are challenged and renewed by Jesus. By the power of the spirit we dare to be the people of God. We dare to become the embodiment - the body - of Christ. As we seek to embody Christ in our lives, we also experience Christ’s vulnerability; and all too often, we relive the brokenness of Christ at the hands of others. For me, coming out was not left for me to decide. After I was “outed” I mourned the loss of my social power, but I eventually came to recognize that true power belongs to God. Surrendering the power of the boundary that for so long had protected me, I was forced to rely on God’s power. In coming out and “losing everything” I found my greatest power. I felt free, undominated, and fully human. When I came to you last year, I was hungry, I was thirsty, I was a stranger, and I was held captive by my own fears. As a church, as a community of faith, you welcomed me, you fed me, you encouraged and defended me. You are Christ’s church: a church whose heart and whose spirit and whose courage are large enough for us to bear witness to the limitless power and love of God. For we are all Children of God. We are all Sheep of the One Shepard. And there are no strangers among us.