Blessings from the Poor

Sermon preached by the Rev. Lowell E. Grisham, Rector
St. Paul's Episcopal Church, Fayetteville, Arkansas
September 14, 2008; 18th Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 19, Year A
Episcopal Revised Common Lectionary

(Matthew 18:21-35) -- Peter came and said to Jesus, "Lord, if another member of the church sins against me, how often should I forgive? As many as seven times?" Jesus said to him, "Not seven times, but, I tell you, seventy-seven times.

"For this reason the kingdom of heaven may be compared to a king who wished to settle accounts with his slaves. When he began the reckoning, one who owed him ten thousand talents was brought to him; and, as he could not pay, his lord ordered him to be sold, together with his wife and children and all his possessions, and payment to be made. So the slave fell on his knees before him, saying, `Have patience with me, and I will pay you everything.' And out of pity for him, the lord of that slave released him and forgave him the debt. But that same slave, as he went out, came upon one of his fellow slaves who owed him a hundred denarii; and seizing him by the throat, he said, `Pay what you owe.' Then his fellow slave fell down and pleaded with him, `Have patience with me, and I will pay you.' But he refused; then he went and threw him into prison until he would pay the debt. When his fellow slaves saw what had happened, they were greatly distressed, and they went and reported to their lord all that had taken place. Then his lord summoned him and said to him, `You wicked slave! I forgave you all that debt because you pleaded with me. Should you not have had mercy on your fellow slave, as I had mercy on you?' And in anger his lord handed him over to be tortured until he would pay his entire debt. So my heavenly Father will also do to every one of you, if you do not forgive your brother or sister from your heart."
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When Jesus began to tell this story, his listeners immediately recognized it as a story about their Messianic hopes. One of their treasured dreams was that when Messiah comes, all debts will be released. So when the king in this story forgives the enormous debt of his slave, all the listeners thought, "Aha! This is how it will be when Messiah comes." Jesus continues the story. The released slave leaves the king's court, and the listeners expect that he too will follow the lead of his master, extending generosity toward his debtors, on down the line until all the debtors are free. That's how it will be when Messiah comes. But that's not what happens. Instead, the whole story turns ugly.

At the very least it is a commentary about how fallen and corrupt our systems of power are. How difficult they are to change. How ultimately undependable they are. It is as if Jesus is saying, "Don't look in that direction for the Messiah. Don't look for the Kingdom of God to come from the top down." There is too much selfishness and greed for power built into the DNA of the wealthy and powerful.

And yet, something historic did happen to change the Roman Empire in the wake of Jesus' stories. In his book Poverty and Leadership in the Later Roman Empire Peter Brown has documented a great change in the Empire with the rise of Christianity. He documents how "suddenly, the poor were brought into 'ever-sharper focus.' The Church made visible what previously had been politically invisible." (quoted in Sojourners, Rose Marie Berger, June, 2008, p. 29)

Working from the bottom up, Christians changed an Empire. Early Christians told the stories of Jesus and recalled his message that whenever they fed the hungry, welcomed the stranger, clothed the naked, cared for the sick, visited the prisoner they were serving Christ himself. These Christians gave new value to the poor and served them as Christ. Bishops were charged to be "lovers of the poor." As the Church grew in influence, some of the values and focus of the Roman Empire changed.

Brown says that "the early church categorized the poor in two ways: those who were destitute and those who lived, as we would say, 'paycheck to paycheck.' In (the year) 380, St. John Chrysostom preached that most people in the Christian churches were of the second kind – a 'middling sort' of economic class, that could slide easily into destitution. With regard to charity, Chrysostom advocated liberality. 'When you see on earth a man who has encountered the shipwreck of poverty,' he preached, 'do not judge him, do not seek an account of his life, but free him from his misfortune.'"

That was the fourth century. Now shift forward 800 years, to the 12th century days of medieval Christianity. Ethicists in that day had a more discriminating debate. They asked the question about a hierarchy of need. Are some more deserving of charity than others?

In medieval days the focus was not so much on the individual but rather on the community. "Undeserving" poor were those who had family or a support network with the means to care for them. They weren't undeserving in a moral sense, but the responsibility fell to the family rather than the church's safety net, they reasoned. The "deserving" poor were those with no one to care for them. These belonged to the church, they said.

Every case was different. If a "paycheck-to-paycheck" family received a destitute member who would push the whole family into deeper poverty, the church understood that and accepted its responsibility to maintain that "middling sort" family. The church had to know its people.

But what if an unknown person came into the community asking for food or lodging? Whatever they needed was to be given, in moderation, if available. Strangers were given the benefit of the doubt without a lot of questions about merit.

And the church was charged "never to turn away the destitute, known or unknown, morally upright or not, in good times or bad. They were to be served as Christ, no matter the circumstance or the sacrifice required."

I don't know about you, but that makes me a little uncomfortable. I'm not that generous. I often ask questions to try to judge whether someone measures up to my standard of "deserving."

But then again, I haven't had much time to talk to people about their needy circumstances. I've been fairly preoccupied this week with other things. Things like parking lots. It caught my attention in a new way when I read about another church that has some parking lot problems. First Presbyterian in Dallas made the papers not long ago. It seems that they decided to respond to some new Dallas municipal regulations banning panhandling, restricting shopping carts on city streets, and limiting where and when food could be distributed to the hungry, by opening their parking lot every night as a safe place for homeless people to sleep, providing a security guard, portable toilets and cardboard boxes for pallets. Like us, they really got a lot of press, most of it negative. D-Magazine was not impressed.

But young people did seem impressed. Young people so often have an eye and a heart for the poor. We've seen that from some of our own. Mac Stephen returned from a University development project in Belize that St. Paul's helped underwrite last year, and Mac raised money for scholarships for children in St. Matthew's Anglican School in Pomona outside Dangriga. Emily Petrino is working right now to raise $16,000 for a bus for the children at Esaase Christian School in Ghana, West Africa where she spent three months working earlier this year. And Nick Klinger is home from his recent service in the Peace Corps in St. Lucia where he helped set up microfinance projects among the villagers. I'm so proud of these young people.

I got an email from Julie Schultz late Wednesday night asking me if St. Paul's would be doing something locally to join in a world wide prayer action to support the United Nations gathering on September 25 to review and renew commitments to achieve the Millennium Development Goals on behalf of the world's poor. "No," I answered. I've been too distracted or too preoccupied. It hadn't hit my radar. So, God bless Julie, she's going to help organize something so we can add our prayers and support for what might be the most important movement of our lifetime. St. John Chrysostom is blessing Julie's efforts, as well as Mac's and Emily's and Nick's.

But Jesus did not say "Blessed are those who care for the poor." Jesus said, "Blessed are the poor." It seemed important to Jesus for us to recognize that it is in the poor that we will see Jesus. The late Henri Nouwen asked, "How is it possible to keep caring for the poor when the poor only get poorer? How is it possible to keep nursing the sick when they are not getting better? How can I keep consoling the dying when their deaths only bring me more grief? The answer is that they all hold a blessing for me, a blessing that I need to receive. Ministry is, first of all, receiving God's blessing from those to whom we minister. What is this blessing? It is a glimpse of the face of God. Seeing God is what heaven is all about! We can see God in the face of Jesus, and we can see the face of Jesus in all those who need our care. ...Those who serve Jesus in the poor will be fed by him whom they serve." (Henri Nouwen, The Spiritual Life)

Maybe in our century we can change our world from the bottom up the way the early church changed the Roman Empire from the bottom up. To do so will mean seeing as Jesus has taught us to see, seeing the poor and responding generously. It will mean letting go of the distractions and preoccupations that so often block our eyes from the priorities of Jesus. It will mean aligning our priorities with the destitute and the "paycheck to paycheck" people; it will mean welcoming the stranger; it will mean accepting responsibility for those who have no one to care for them.

In a way, it is like a treasure hunt. Hunting for Jesus. "Where in the world is Carmen Sandiego?" "Where's Waldo?" "Where is Jesus?" Archbishop Oscar Romero's cry echoes resoundingly: "La gloria de Dios es el pobre – The glory of God is the poor." Jesus, and Jesus' blessing is among the poor. That's what Jesus taught us. The early church taught it to the Empire. The medieval church taught it to a dark age. Now it's our turn. The message and its responsibilities are in our hands. Will we be blessed by the poor?