Keeping God at a Distance: Taking Seriously (Our 'Un-Belief of) Matthew 25

Ryan Fasani and Eric Paul-

‘For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you clothed me, I was sick and you visited me, I was in prison and you came to me.’ Then the righteous will answer him, saying, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you drink? And when did we see you a stranger and welcome you, or naked and clothe you? And when did we see you sick or in prison and visit you?’ And the King will answer them, ‘Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers and sisters, you did it to me.’ -Matthew 25:34-40 (ESV)

Let me just say it: Christians don’t like Matthew 25. And as the scriptures Christians don’t like go, so goes Matthew 25. It is relegated to the catalogue of biblical obscurity, and ultimately pushed right out of many Christians’ mental back doors, never to be heard again in bible study or from the pulpit. In other words, Christians systematically “un-believe” it. The result is a tragedy—a tragedy we need to take seriously if we are to live faithfully in urban America.

We (the authors) think Matthew 25 is actually quite clear. Given the array of possible interpretations of, say, the beast rising out of the sea with ten horns and seven heads in Revelation 13, or the “woes” to the rich, the well fed, the laughers, and those spoken well of in Luke 6, Matthew 25 only has two possible interpretations. The first possibility: serving food to the hungry, drink to the thirsty, being hospitable to the stranger, clothing the naked, and caring for the sick is just like (similar to) serving Jesus. The second possibility: serving those in need and being with the suffering is actually (literally) serving Jesus.

My (Ryan) mom ran a “tight ship” when I was young. She had to; she was juggling five boys, no girls. We didn’t have a lot of rules, but the ones we did have were non-negotiable. The one that comes to mind is that despite where we were or who we were with, if an adult was present, they deserved our unwavering respect. This meant we annunciated our Pleases and Thank Yous, we made eye contact when we were spoken to, and we listened and obeyed immediately. She required that we show the same respect to other adults as we did her. I remember when mom would drop us off at friends’ houses, her farewell injunction was, “Behave just as you would if I were there.” My friends’ parents were astonished by our manners. Of course they were; we were behaving as if we were at home, as if mom was calling us in for supper, just like mom was asking us to take a shower.

There are many opinions on the technicalities of translating Matthew 25:40 from the Greek. Every English translation does it differently. It seems to be something like a simile, with an “as” or “like.” Should we emphasize this verse of the passage—treating the hurting and disenfranchised just like or as if they are Jesus—the implicit injunction is something like this: “Behave just as you would if I, Jesus, were there.” There is, however, consensus on the preceding verses (35ff). Jesus says quite clearly, “I was hungry, thirsty, naked, and in prison.” If Christians fight back the inclination to avoid the obvious because it’s difficult, Christians are forced to understand that the poor, oppressed, and hurting are actually Jesus. Consequently, the implicit injunction is more piercing: “Show compassion to ones that bear pain because it is my pain!”

Either the poor and suffering of the world are to be treated like Jesus because it is as if he is there, or they are to be treated like Jesus because he is there. Is the moral upshot different? In other words, does it change how we treat, engage, serve, or advocate for the suffering whether we understand our hurting neighbor to be like Jesus or actually to be Jesus? The Church of the Nazarene’s Manual implies that the previous questions elicit inadequate answers—ethical technicalities according to hypothetical scenarios. Instead, the Manual suggests that a better question is: How do I make the plight of the poor and the suffering of sick my own? Because God is empathetic (in-suffering) with those that suffer, Christians should do likewise, “identify[ing] with and [entering] into solidarity with the poor and not simply to offer charity from a position of comfort” (Appendix 903.4). Whether it is like Jesus is there or Jesus actually is there, Jesus takes on the pain of those suffering by entering into it. Christians too should enter this pain and share it with our neighbor, fighting for its resolution.

My (Ryan) mom taught me good manners, but in terms of teaching me Christian compassion (to suffering with), her stern rules and persistent injunctions reinforced our tendency to keep God at a distance. To her credit, it’s difficult to teach the value of compassionate solidarity. But as Christian disciples, difficulty does not relieve necessity. We believe that God identifies with those that suffer. Just as God moved into the plight of human existence, God continues right on past the gated community and pricey restaurants, Victorian homes and office buildings, and associates (identifies) with those struggling to make it (perhaps those in the subsidized housing “projects”). This is not just an injunction on how to behave (as if God is around) but where to be (where God is)! It’s a matter of location—emotional presence and physical proximity. Matthew 25 is a call to Christians to move themselves into the lives of those hurting in our communities; not a call simply to act polite as if God is watching over our shoulders, but to act with a God who is already there in solidarity.

The Manual calls this life of solidarity a “struggle.” And it is! We (Christians) want to do without this “essential aspect” of Christian discipleship because life is easier (Appendix 903.4). We’ve systematically purged ourselves and our worshipping communities of the truth that God is with and for the poor. But the clear absence of this struggle has wounded our church; we’ve been forced to suture this gaping wound by moving emotionally and physically further and further from any semblance of poverty. Charitable giving (i.e. sending money from afar) has become our mode of service, and unfortunately, we now experience the worst of tragedies: God is distant.

We don’t like Matthew 25. We pose questions about it in an effort to convince ourselves of its obscurity. Is Jesus psychologically or mystically present in the person suffering? Does Jesus understand them, is he with them, or is he in them? Meanwhile, God has hung up a sign that reads: “You know where to find me.”