November 19-20, 2005
Last Sunday after Pentecost
Mr. John C. Horn, Seminarian

            I like to make lists. Not the kind of top-ten lists that you often see, but simple lists of things to do. When I know that I have a particularly busy day coming up, I’ll make a list of everything that I have to do, then cross off items as I do them. I do it mostly so I won’t forget anything, but there’s a great sense of accomplishment crossing stuff off, too. When I went back to school I started making big lists, covering a sheet of paper with all of the assignments for the month. Every time something is done I obliterate it with a big smudge of pencil. At the end of the month I feel like I’ve really done a lot, although I can no longer read what it was that I did.

            I come by list-making honestly. My mother was a great list-maker. She had shopping lists two feet long, because we had a big family. They were written in her peculiar short-hand so we kids wouldn’t realize that the treats we asked for never made it to the list. For vacations she had pages of lists that she saved from year to year. We often rented a cabin and had to take along our towels and bedding and so forth. Because of her lists, we were never without what we needed. As she got older she started to lose track of her lists, and they started to lie all over her apartment. Then when she found them she couldn’t remember whether she had done what was on them or not.

            The gospel reading today is a list-maker’s dream. Jesus seems to lay out exactly what we need to do to ensure our salvation. I can imagine making a big list for myself based on what we heard. At the top I’d put “Feed the hungry.” And then “Give the thirsty something to drink.” “Welcome the stranger.” “Clothe the naked.” “Visit the sick and the prisoners.” I could type it all up and make a lot of copies and then check off each item each week. And at the end of my life I’d be saved.

            But surely God expects me to make a living. So I’d better put that on the list, too. And God would like me to make time for family and friends, so they’d better go there, too. What about prayer? And I’d better include some leisure activities as well – “all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.”

            Well, my list is getting pretty long, so I’d better start to prioritize. I know how to do that. I read a book a long time ago that said to assign all of your work as A, B, or C – and any papers that get labeled C go in a C drawer that gets cleaned out every six months or so because the C stuff didn’t really need to be done, anyway. And now suddenly what seemed like a simple road to salvation has gotten way out of hand.

            And it’s all because I missed a little four-letter word in that gospel: when. Did you hear it? “The righteous will answer, ‘When did we see you hungry or thirsty? When did we see you a stranger or naked? When did we see you sick or in prison?’” They are completely surprised! Not only were they not working from a list, they had no idea that they were doing what God intended them to do!

            That points to a crucial message in the gospel: salvation is not about what we do for ourselves. Salvation is about what God has done for us. In the life, death, resurrection, and ascension of Jesus Christ, God has accomplished something no human being, not even the best human being, could have done for himself or herself. The list of actions that we heard this morning is not things we do to earn our salvation. They are things we do in response to God’s love that has saved us. God’s love is so great that God has already saved us and empowered us to respond to that love, to let God’s love pour out of us to others, especially the last, the least, and the lost.

            It matters how we respond to that love. Each of the parables we have heard from Matthew 25 these last three weeks makes that clear. When the five foolish maidens finally showed up late at the bridegroom’s house, did he say. “Oh, all right, come on in!” No. He said, “Who are you?” When the servant produced the talent that he had hidden away so that it did not multiply, did the master say, “I wish you had done better.” No. He said, “You wicked servant!” And today, when those at the left hand find out that they have turned away from Jesus, does he say, “It’s okay, you didn’t know.” No. He says, “You that are accursed, depart from me.”

These are strong words, harsh words to those who are accustomed to thinking of God only in terms of love. God is love, yes, greater love than we can ever imagine. But God also demands a response to that love, a response that involves reaching out to the least, the lost, and the unloved, as though reaching out to Christ himself.

Next Sunday I expect to be in the Anamosa prison – voluntarily! I will be accompanying Anne W as she celebrates the monthly Eucharist there. I’ve been trying to participate in as many of the Jubilee Ministries at Christ Church as I can, and this is clearly one of them – in fact, there are ministries at three prisons which originate at this church. I sounded Anne out about the idea, and she said, sure, just email me if you want to come. It took me a while to get around to saying yes because, frankly, I was scared to death. So I thought about it and prayed about it and today’s gospel kept bouncing through my head. Then I found an old copy of Episcopal Life that carried the story of Anne’s ordination to the priesthood within the prison. So I emailed her and said I would like to come. Then I found out that Chuck L, a deacon in Waterloo who has had a prison ministry for some time, and Melody R, who mentors the EFM program at the prison, will be there, too, and that calmed me down somewhat. I’m no longer scared to death. Now I’m just – scared.

But that’s how God calls us, isn’t it? We are called out of our comfort zones. We are given companions who know the way. And if I had read the gospel carefully, I would have known that. When Jesus says, “I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink” and so forth, he’s using the plural form of you, not the singular. God saves us as individuals, and as individuals we need to make the choice to serve the last, the least, and the lost. But we don’t do that on our own. We do it in community with others who have also made that choice.

            No doubt I will always make lists of things to do. I may well reach a point in my life when my long-suffering wife will have to quietly collect the lists I have forgotten and throw them away. I just hope she checks them off, first! I also hope that when I do come before God and hear about all of the things that I have done and failed to do, that I, too, will be surprised at the good that I have done. No doubt I will protest – but I hope at least to have the presence of mind to say, “No, Jesus, I didn’t do those things. You did – through me.    Amen.