The Stranger in Our Midst Part TWO

Part Two

The Stranger in Our Midst

For many Christians, dealing with these strangers in our midst in this condemning and excluding way feels so normal and natural, it does not seem at all strange to do so. But it would be strange if someone appeared among us who held a totally different attitude in response to strangers. Let us move now from the strangers in our midst to the Stranger in our midst.

The Stranger

When Jesus comes among us in the gospel this morning he seems familiar enough.  We’ve known his name since childhood and expect to encounter him here in worship. It may be that very familiarity which keeps us from realizing how very strange he really is. But as soon as he starts talking in Matthew 25, the words he speaks sound strange to this generation of modern minds. 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 here he speaks as though humans are somehow accountable to God for what they do and that their destiny somehow hangs on it.

What could be stranger than that?  To think that we are accountable for our decisions and actions at all is becoming an increasingly strange idea in our time. Children don’t feel accountable to teachers; citizens don’t feel accountable to government; employees don’t feel accountable to employers. So why would anyone think they are accountable to God? Or, could it be that our failure to recognize a divine accountability is the source of our failure to feel responsible to others? But this Stranger in our midst faces us with the claim that God, however loving, is going to make a judgment about us. That is a reversal of our current mindset. It is like the story of the man who knew nothing about art taking a tour of the French Museum of Art. After looking around for awhile, he said to curator: I don’t think much of your pictures. To which the curator replied, Sir, it is not the pictures that are on trial here.

If the mere idea of judgment is strange to us, the objects of that judgment are stranger still. We would expect strangers to be judged. If people are poor, there’s a reason. If people are sick, there’s a reason. Those are forms of judgment the righteous know come upon sinners. So, that sinners would be judged is a familiar idea. But here, Jesus is not talking to those folks. He’s talking to his disciples. He’s talking to us. That is very strange, because we thought we were the ones to do the judging, not the ones to be judged. But the strange thing about Jesus is that whenever he has the chance to condemn a sinner, like the woman taken in adultery, he does not do it. And whenever he has the chance to reward the righteous for their earned worth, he doesn’t do that either. For example, two men go up to the Temple to pray, a publican and a Pharisee. The publican confesses his many sins and is justified, while the Pharisee prances his impressive achievements before God and is judged.

If the objects of judgment are strange, the basis for judgment is even stranger. If there were a final court before which we will stand, we would expect a verdict based on how well we have avoided doing bad things. We know what bad things are: they are things that hurt people. In our view, we will stand up under the divine judgment if we live up to the ethic of our day: I can do anything that feels good, so long as I don’t hurt any one in the process.

But the Stranger in our midst turns that dogma inside out. Divine judgment is not based on the avoidance of hurting others; it is based on our involvement in helping others. 
I was hungry and you fed me. I was thirsty and you gave me to drink. 
I was naked and you clothed me. I was sick and you visited me. 
I was a stranger and you welcomed me. I was in prison and you visited me. 
We don’t need Jesus to tell us not to hurt each other. That we could figure out for ourselves. But God judges by a higher ethic than we humans would set for ourselves. What Jesus introduces into the equation of accountability is this second mile of responsibility for the health and welfare of others.

The idea is not new with Jesus. It goes back at least to Moses who taught Israel not to harvest their whole field, but to leave some grain standing for the strangers and sojourners passing through their land. The principle goes back to when Cain killed Able and God asked Cain, Where is your brother? Cain replied with the question so typical of our day: Am I my brother’s keeper? To which God’s answer is, Dah! More than that, it is not just your brother, but your neighbor who you are to love as you love yourself. More than that, your neighbor includes not just those in your circle, but those outside of it: the stranger, the foreigner, even your enemy. Or, so said Jesus. But then, what did he know?  Just whom does he think he is to lay such unnatural demands upon us? He is the Stranger in our midst indeed, telling us of our responsibility for the strangers in our midst. And he is more.

Perhaps the strangest thing we notice about Jesus is the correspondence between what he said and what he did. He not only taught us to include those we would naturally exclude, but he actually did it himself. Look at the places where you find Jesus in the New Testament. You find him in the Temple only twice: once when he was twelve and once when he drove out those who were desecrating it. The Temple was not his favorite place. You find him occasionally in conversation with the Scribes, the Pharisees, the Sadducees and other leaders in the religious community, with their concern for righteousness. But more often than not these conversations were encounters of conflict over their narrowness or his graciousness.

You know where Jesus could usually be found: among the strangers most religious people considered unfit for their presence and deserving of exclusion from their company. He was constantly among those classes of people he taught us to care about: the tax collectors, like Matthew and Zacchaeus; the sinners, like the thieves on the cross; the women, like Martha and Mary; the children, like those he took up into his arms and blessed, over the protest of his disciples; the Gentiles, like the Syrophoenician woman who was willing to eat the crumbs that fell from Israel’s table; the poor, like the widow who gave her last mite; and the lame, the halt, the blind and the lepers, like the ten he healed and received thanks from only one. What’s a nice Jewish boy doing hanging around with people like these? He is the Stranger in our midst because he is in solidarity with the strangers in our midst.

Paul W. Egertson, Ph.

Building An Inclusive Church Conference

Minneapolis, Minnesota -- April 17, 1999

An advocate whose eldest son is gay, he chose to participate in the ordination of a lesbian pastor in Minnesota i 2001, eight years before his denomination officially opened its doors to gay and lesbian clergy in committed relationships. In the storm of controversy that followed the ordination, Egertson resigned at the request of denominational leaders a month before his term would have expired. After the resignation, the synod assembly named his as Bishop Emeritus. People speak highly of his courage, advocacy and leadership as a pastor and teacher.