One of those churches that have the changeable signs out front was advertising the sermon topics for the Sunday morning and the Sunday evening worship services one week.  “Sunday morning,” the sign said at the top, “Jesus walks on the water.”  And then, at the bottom, it said, “Sunday evening – Looking for Jesus.”

Well, if the image of looking for Jesus with scuba equipment and fish sonar strikes you as a little bit odd, I can only imagine what this morning’s gospel lesson might do to you.  Imagine saying that if you’re looking for Jesus – if you want to find Jesus – that perhaps your best bet is to just go on down to the County Jail, or to the Napa Food Bank, or to the Church Women United Clothing Center, or Kaiser Hospital, or Piner’s Nursing Home – or even look under the First Street Bridge.  And yet that seems to be the inescapable conclusion from these profound words: 

“Lord, when did we see you…?”

“Just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.”

We come to “Christ the King” Sunday, a day deliberately named to bring to mind thrones and crowns, power and glory, royal robes and beautiful palaces – and we get to read a text from Matthew’s gospel in which Jesus fully identifies with those people who have none of those things.  Some kind of a misprint on the back of our bulletins?  Some kind of a mistake from the lectionary planners?  No, not at all.  In fact, this familiar parable from the twenty-fifth chapter of the gospel stands as the climax, the apex, of all of Jesus’ teaching that Matthew records.  More than any of the others, Matthew’s is the “teaching gospel.”  From the beginning to the end, Matthew presents Jesus as a teacher and preacher of great wisdom and authority.  From the Sermon on the Mount at the start of Jesus’ public teaching, to the very last verses of the gospel in which Jesus instructs his disciples (his “students,” the word literally means) to go into all the world and teach people all that Jesus himself has taught, Matthew’s gospel is the teaching gospel.  And the lesson plan is simply this: 

            “When the class is completed, students will have learned what it means

            to be a follower of Jesus.”

 Jesus teaches them; and in this parable he teaches them a profoundly disturbing thing:  that the one who has come into the world in all lowliness and humility, as a baby born into poverty - the one who went out of the world, arrested as a law-breaker and put to death on a cross between two common criminals – is still in the world, incarnated in the lives of the least and the last and the lost.  And what it means to be a follower of Jesus is to respond in compassion to the needs of those forgotten ones, whether we recognize Jesus in them or not.

This is the startling thing in the parable – well, one of the startling things, anyway, among others – that neither of the two groups (the sheep or the goats, as they’re called) recognized Jesus in the face of the poor and the isolated.  Neither group recognized Jesus there, but the one group responded with compassion to them anyway.  Not because they thought it might be Jesus, mind you, but just because they saw a need there and responded with sympathy and loving service.  Of course, we have an advantage over them now.  We’ve heard the parable.  We’ve been instructed.  We should know.

Jesus calls me on the phone here at church every month or two.  He uses the name “Bernice” when he calls, and if you saw him as her, you’d think he was just a low-income woman, not much education, a little slow (as she calls it) – just scraping by.  She’s been homeless at times in her life, but for now she’s found some Section Eight housing, and the little government check she gets each month is just enough to provide for her basic, minimum needs.  I didn’t realize the first time she called the church a few years ago that it was Jesus calling, of course, but she set me straight on that right away.  She called to ask if the church had any food that we could give her, and I said no, that we supported the Napa Food Bank and it would be best if she just went there.  “I don’t drive,” Jesus said; “So will you give me a ride?”  I explained that I really didn’t have the time to give rides to strangers who called on the phone, that I was busy working.  Well, that answer didn’t sit too well with Jesus.  She said, her voice rising with some combination of irritation and frustration, “Aren’t you a church??  Aren’t you supposed to help people?!”  I wasn’t sure if I should laugh or blush at her forth-rightness; I think I probably did both, and then I got directions to her apartment so I could give her a ride to the Food Bank.  And so now Jesus calls me every month or two, and off we go together to the Food Bank.  And sometimes she’ll ask if we can make a quick stop at Rohlff’s Manor, because she knows an elderly gentleman there, and he’s lonely, so she likes to stop by and say Hello when she can.  I don’t know what his name is.  But I suspect it may be “Jesus,” too. 

I think it was Mother Teresa who used the phrase, “finding Jesus in the distressing disguise of the poor.” 

Our Presiding Bishop, Mark Hanson, issued a statement this month following our presidential elections, congratulating Senator Obama on his victory, thanking Senator McCain for his ongoing commitment to public service, and sharing his hope that the new administration will be wise in setting policies and priorities for the next four years.  One paragraph in his statement caught my eye in relationship to this gospel text we’re reading today.  Bishop Hanson wrote,

            “We as Lutherans bring to the public square a longstanding and effective

            commitment to serve our neighbors and a conviction that government is

             instrumental in God’s purpose for humanity when public officials work

            for justice, peace, order and the common good.  Scripture is clear about

            what should matter to us as Christians in public life: hospitality to strangers,

            concern for people in poverty, peacemaking, and care for creation.”

Scripture is clear about what should matter to us: hospitality to strangers, concern for people in poverty, peacemaking, and care for creation.  “As you did it to the least of these, you did it to me.”

It’s called “Need-oriented evangelism,” a phrase we hope you’ll get to know and love as well as you did with “passionate spirituality.”  Go… see… share.  Go out and see what needs to be done, see who needs you, and then share the love of God in word and in deed.

I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know.  This is a parable which has had a great impact in Christian history and tradition.  It’s a parable that has already sunk deeply into the consciousness of this congregation.  I know that’s true.  I know it, because I was the one who got to deliver the food you all brought with you to worship last Sunday, and it more than filled up the trunk of my car – a little more than 300 pounds to help stock the shelves of the Food Bank.  When I dropped it off, they said, “Tell your people, ‘Thank you.’” 

I know the parable has already been at work among us because Eleanor B. had a big smile on her face last Sunday when she reported that her little group of volunteer knitters had made 162 caps this past year to distribute to the homeless in the area – the most caps they’ve made in one year, so far. 

And a couple dozen quilts, made by our faithful Piece Corps workers and sent off to who knows where, to serve people’s needs in Africa or Latin America or Asia.

Endowment grants for Palestinian housing and the Solano-Napa Habitat for Humanity; benevolence dollars to a Hmong congregation in Fresno; another year of gift-giving to the families at the Samaritan House Shelter; youth and adults making plans to travel to New Orleans to help with literacy classes as part of the ELCA National Youth Gathering. 

Are there people in American Canyon who need to hear about Jesus, who could benefit from having a Lutheran Church in their own growing community?  Maybe we can start a church there. 

Are there people in Napa who might be helped by having a garden plot available for them, to supplement their food supply?  Let’s let them plant vegetables on our property. 

Yes, this congregation has heard this parable before, and we’ve learned some of those places where Jesus can be found.

I stopped by Napa Nursing Home on Tuesday to say goodbye to Bob A. before he and Anita left for their new home in Ohio.  While I was there, two more folks from our church stopped by to say farewell.  After they left, Bob said, “They’re a nice couple.  They’re part of that group from our church who go visit people who can’t get to church anymore.”   The funny thing is, that when I got there, I found Anita and her daughters gathered around the nursing station, with a cake on the counter, and then discovered more cupcakes in Bob’s room.  “Oh,” I said, “the staff is throwing you a party.”  “No,” Bob said, “we brought the cake and the goodies for them – they’ve been so good to us, and people who work in places like this don’t always get the thanks they deserve.”  To every nurse and helper who came into the room, Bob would say, “Be sure to have a cupcake.”  Who was ministering to whom?  I guess there was plenty of Jesus to go around that day, and plenty of disciples, too.

Yes, we desire to live out the lesson of this parable.  We aspire as a congregation to speak words of faith and hope to those in need, to feed the hungry, to clothe the naked, to visit the lonely, to welcome the stranger.  We even wrote it into our mission statement, right?  “We are a welcoming community, living our faith, sharing God’s unconditional love.”  We’ve learned to find Jesus in a lot of different places. 

But here’s the challenge that this parable always gives, even when you think you’ve heard it all before:  Jesus is still found in unexpected faces, in people who might shock or surprise us, in places we might not think to look.  “Lord, when did we see you?”

Until we’ve looked into those eyes, and seen Jesus looking back, this parable is not yet done with us.

Amen.