Proper 29, aka Christ the King. Year A, Ezekiel 34:11-16, 20-24
Alright: so I'm tired of the sheep and the goats in Matthew. Why, you ask? Because that reading is a true two-edged sword. On the one side, the blade cuts cleanly. Its challenge to take seriously the needs of the needy is poignant, and few passages of Scripture state the challenge so plainly. But on the other side, the sword is jagged. Too many people hear this Matthew passage and are quite sure that they know who the sheep are (us), and who the goats are (them). What's more, I would rank this passage among one of the most guilt-inducing in all of Scripture. Doubtless, some of this guilt is needed--how seriously are we taking the needs of prisoners? Not very, in this country. But I've also seen this passage eat the life from people, sucking joy away and leaving in its place a permanent dis-ease about what side of the sheep/goat line they 're standing on. Read out of context, the passage encourages people destroy their gifts in attempting to insure that they are certain to be on the non-goat side.
So, let's take a spin on the wild side. Let's talk about the end of all things through Ezekiel's eyes. Oddly, he too is fixated on the woolly side of life.
Honestly, what is it with Scripture and sheep? Roast them whole and eat them whole with loins girded; make Jesus our sacrificial lamb and priest; David only understands why having a man killed for his sex-life is bad when he's compared to a sheep-stealer; Abel keeps sheep, and God likes that better (gets him killed by his brother, though); shepherds, presumably sheep at hand, are among the first to hear of Christ's coming. At least Paul makes tents rather than tends sheep. Someone's gotta branch out.
At any rate: Ezekiel leads us on a different kind of sheep-chase from Matthew, and perhaps one that might change how we hear words about God's coming judgment. Ezekiel doesn't seem to refer too overtly to the end of all created reality. This business about a return after a day of clouds and thick darkness sounds a bit like "The Day of the Lord," the day when the Lord comes to settle accounts and un/re-make the world--like in Joel. But it's not entirely obvious--instead, Ezekiel seems to be thinking of a Great Return after a Great Scattering, and it's almost like he intends to leave it in those archetypal terms.
Of course, he also has something far more specific in mind--namely, the Exile, and then the Return. Israel was carried off to a foreign land, the nation ended and worship was ruined. Thick darkness indeed. But, says Ezekiel, this will not be a permanent state of things. God will come pull them back together. Indeed, it sounds like God is taking a personal interest in it. The verses prior to this passage talk about how the supposed shepherds of Israel have blown it, and blown it big time. It's not that they made small foul-ups--they've totally neglected the sheep. So, God has decided to become involved personally, and now God is going to gather up the sheep. In fact, a verse or two later, God says: I myself will be the shepherd.
These are hopeful words to a hurting people. The pastoral images are all ones of fullness--taking a break in meadows, having enough to eat and drink, no longer hunted by predators. This is what those earlier shepherds should've been doing, but now God is going to make sure this is accomplished. These are hopeful words for those punched aside. Ezekiel proceeds to describe the total-failure shepherds as fat sheep.
And Ezekiel makes a strange statement: that God will feed them justice. The 'them,' strangely, seems to be both the fat and lean, the bad shepherds and abused people. Justice will be given to them all equally--some it will destroy, others it will lift up. It's a fascinating image, that in the end, we all share one diet with many effects: justice.
That's an image we've lost sight of: that we'll all receive the same thing from God. That from God, we all will eat one thing together, and that thing will be justice. Sweet to some, not so to others.
Part of this is that we no longer believe in justice. I increasingly find this to be true. I think we as Americans have relegated justice to the recycling bin of idealism. We believe not that the Supreme Court deals in justice, but that by stacking certain appointees, we can have certain outcomes. We all believe that the more money a defendent has, the more likely they are to get off. We have all watched Gitmo now for a years, a land that we are told it quite literally outside the bounds of justice, where no one can know the reasons for being there, not even at trial, and no one can leave. The very fact that we have slang for it that appears in pop songs--"Gitmo" and not Guatanamo Bay--suggests how used to the idea we are, whether we think it acceptable or not. We've all seen police beat protesters, rioters beat police. We don't believe in justice anymore--as a people, we seem more inclined to believe that 'justice', meaning a victory, goes to the one with more money or a bigger.
We don't talk about justice much anymore because we think justice is a matter of opinion, a codeword for covering up the rule of the strong. And because we all accept this, rather than try understand our different understandings of God's justice, we try to 'win' through changing the justices, stacking the court, altering the jury, and we yell at each other in harsh rhetoric because, of course, only the heaviest hammer could damage our opponent.
But not so for Ezekiel. Ezekiel promises that in the end, we do all share one thing in common: God's justice. God is not affected by race or bribes, and he will come personally and make sure that we receive our justice.
So, is that good news or bad? It's tough to say, and that is the mystery of speaking about the end of the world. That's what gets old about that passage we hear today in Matthew--too many of us act as though it strips all mystery away, even though if we'd read the passage carefully we'd notice that everyone is surprised to discover what side of the sheep/goat dichotomy they end up on. But the end of the world is both good and bad news: it's justice for all, and that's bound to be good for some, and bad for others. Ezekiel does not believe that the world will go on forever. Someday, God will gather us back together, and God will see to doing what we have been so bad at doing ourselves--sharing our resources, offering justice to all regardless of class, race, and gender.
So let's say it: there's bad news about the end of the world. It's hard for us as Americans not to notice that it's the fat sheep that are in trouble, that it's the bad shepherds who have let everyone down. That feels too much like us. And justice might not feel very fair to someone who has hidden his head in the ground, never noticing those nearby.
But let's also say it: the good news from Ezekiel sounds really good. If we have learned to love God's justice, it probably won't taste so bad. And at the end of things, it won't be some bribed corporate jerk who comes to give us a pink slip. It'll be God, personally looking into our case. And this is the same God who shows a depth of love that is amazing. This is a God who will personally see that the predators are one day gone and arrange it so that we can finally drink some fresh water.
So, if we have a call from this lesson, it's the call to get to know God's justice, learn to love it, start practicing it now. If we're not sure what God's justice looks like, well, it's about to be a whole new liturgical year. That would be an interesting New Years resolution: this year, I'm going to learn some things about God's justice. We are called to learn something about care for our neighbors, and start doing something for those least among us. We are called to learn to love others as much as ourselves. We are called to work at loving God with whatever we've got, because whatever we've got will serve perfectly well.
Because in the end--and things will end one way or another--there will be only one thing to eat. What will it taste like? Will it taste like lamb? That would be both ironic and weirdly appropriate.
But, for us, the call of the Christian life is to learn to love the taste of God's justice, to create schools that teach how to love the taste of God's justice, to participate in communities that revel in the taste of God's justice. And as the mystics and deeply spiritual among us have reported for thousands of years, the more we follow the course of God's justice, the more it tastes like love. Who knew? The end of the world tastes like justice, and that justice tastes like love. Perhaps there is good news here after all.
Here's to the end of a liturgical year--may we all enjoy the taste of God's justice and love in this world and the next.
