Delivered at Ames UCC on April 7, 2019
©The Rev. Eileen Gebbie
Sermons are the result of pastoral preparation, congregational presence, and Holy Spirit participation. Please join me in that mysterious but always delightful process at 10:30 a.m. on Sundays, except in July and August when times vary. Check the calendar for details.
Today’s passage from the gospel of Matthew is commonly referred to as The Final Judgment. In it, we are told that the Son of Humanity will come to Earth as a king, dividing the good and the bad according to their treatment of the hungry, the thirsty, the stranger, the sick, and the imprisoned. On the right hand are sheep, who have done well. On the left are goats, who have not. Sheep get to go to heaven and goats are shuffled off to hell.
I am not a believer in a unique day of judgment, a singular returning of Christ that will result in a cataclysmic change, despite what this scripture says. Such a prediction does not resonate with my experience of God or my study of the whole canon of scripture.
Birth, death, and resurrection are cyclical, not linear as a final day of judgement would imply. The Christ is always being born, always being denied and made dead, always persisting, nevertheless.
Having said that, there is an extra-Biblical description of a second coming that feels wildly accurate to me. It is a poem by William Butler Yeats. It reads, in part:
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Now, that is an apocalypse I can believe in.
In Matthew’s vision, there is no room for humanity as we are and as we always have been. Which is to say both fallible and occupied, body and soul, by God’s own self. The blanket condemnation in Matthew does not align with a God ever-present and well aware.
Yeats’ poem, though, feels painfully familiar. Right now things are falling apart, from sodden soils to norms for public behavior. Anarchy is loosed upon the entire word. I don’t need God to send anyone to hell; we are doing a perfectly good job of going there together ourselves.
Despite the number of times and myriad ways we as individuals and as a congregation, as with so many other individuals and organizations, have cared for the hungry, thirsty, foreign, sick, and imprisoned, it feels like things are falling apart at a greater and greater rate. The original goodness of creation feels all but lost.
Because remember that in the beginning, everything was good.