Pentecost 23 A: Reserving Judgment

Posted by DJL on Nov 2, 2020 in Dear Partner | 2 comments

Matthew 25:1-13

Dear Partner in Preaching,

I am writing this one day before the 2020 election in the US, and you may be reading it on election day and likely preparing your sermon in its aftermath. Suffice it to say, we want to very much to come up with a meaningful sermon and, at just the same time, likely feel a tad inadequate to the task. (Or at least I do!) And… I’m not sure that Jesus’ parable of the ten bridesmaids offers a whole lot of help! Having said that, there is one element of this parable – illumined for me by my former colleague, Dirk Lange, that seems worth lifting up. While Dirk wrote this a dozen or so years ago, it rang both true and important to me today.

As Dr. Lange writes,

What is striking in this parable, which appears to focus on the severity of judgment, is the confinement of judgment to one character—the bridegroom. Judgment is reserved to the only one who can judge…. Even the wise young women do not judge the foolish ones; they merely refuse to share their oil and send the foolish women to the shopkeepers. 

Now, I’ll be honest, I don’t know if it was Matthew’s intent to remind his people – let alone us – that the prerogative and power of judgment is reserved for the Lord alone. He often seems quite ready to judge others. (Think, particularly, of his treatment of the Pharisees and some of the violent near-allegorical parables he adapts and shares; see Matthew 21:1-14 vs. Luke 14:15-24.) At the same time, though, and whether consciously or not, Matthew does regularly make it clear that the Lord who comes in glory is the one to judge. Whether it is Jesus’ earlier admonition “do not judge so that you may not be judged” (7:1) or the last of the “watch” parables in which it is the Son of Man who judges the nations (25:31), Matthew consistently reserves judgment for the Lord and the Lord alone.

And perhaps we can try to do the same. That is, I think that in the wake of all that takes place (took place) on November the 3^rd, and after months of acrimony and accusation, perhaps the fundamental question before the folks listening to us on Sunday is this: can we regard those in our congregation who voted differently than we did as fellow and faithful Christians? And, more broadly, can we regard those in our larger community and country as fellow children of God, deserving of not just God’s love – which is promised! – but of our respect as well? And, by doing this, leave judgment to the Lord?

Now, before you say, “Sure,” think what we’re talking about. There’s a lot at stake in this election. Few people are on the fence, and many on both sides of the political spectrum have declared this a choice between good and evil. So picture the folks who support the candidate that you simply can’t imagine leading the country and now answer whether you can still regard them as God’s beloved children. Similarly, if you’re tempted to say, “Sorry, I just can’t,” remind that Jesus’ own disciples included someone who had worked for the Romans, another who stole from the common purse and betrayed Jesus, another who promised to follow Jesus to the very end and then not only deserted him but denied him. And then, perhaps a moment’s reflection on where each of us falls short is in order, too. Finally, perhaps wonder whether, if we find ourselves imagining that God can only redeem those like us, are we perhaps, just maybe, possibly, underestimated the capacity of the one who created light from darkness and raised Jesus from the dead? J

This does not mean that the issues at stake in this election are not terribly important. They are. Nor does it mean that the decision we make about who has the best ability – in terms of character, judgment, temperament, experience and empathy – to lead this country doesn’t matter. It does. But at the end of the day, if we cannot see each other as equally deserving of God’s love and redemption and cannot therefore accord each other a measure of dignity and respect, then we have forgotten that at the root of human sin is, precisely, the willingness to judge others out of our own insecurity. As I’m fond of saying – and, if memory serves, I think I first heard this from Wartburg Seminary professor Duane Priebe – the minute you draw a line between who’s in and who’s out, you’ll find Jesus on the other side.

I don’t know why some of the bridesmaids didn’t bring extra oil. Maybe they’d never imagined that the groom could possibly be so delayed. And I don’t know why the others wouldn’t share. Maybe they were so caught up in their own anxiety they found it difficult to be generous. And I don’t know quite what to make of the clear note of judgment sounded in this text – “Truly I tell you, I do not know you” – but I do know that, in the end, I trust all these bridesmaids, foolish or wise, as well as all our candidates, our voters, our country, and you and me – again, foolish or wise! – to the Lord who has the right and power to judge only because he was willing to be judged on our behalf.

I find it helpful to keep in mind that at the end of all these somewhat eschatological – which is a theological way of saying “scary” – parables in chapter 25 are these first verses of chapter 26: “When Jesus had finished saying all these things, he said to his disciples, ‘You know that after two days the Passover is coming, and the Son of Man will be handed over to be crucified’” (26:1-2). And, still knowing this, he went forward… to the cross… for us… and for all people (26:28). Or, as John says at a similar moment in his Gospel, “And having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end” (John 13:1).

These are challenging times in which to preach, Dear Partner. Please know just how grateful I am for your willingness to take up this challenge and proclaim God’s love. It makes a difference, often more than you know.

Yours in Christ,
David