Unwitting Goodness
Sermon
I used to know a man who claimed to be able to make himself invisible. I regarded his claim as complete nonsense, until I saw him in the bank several weeks later. Or rather, almost failed to see him! I was impatiently waiting in a queue to be served, but he stood at the counter so quietly and so still that he almost melted into the background. If I hadn't known him, I don't think I would have noticed him.
I then understood that he was achieving his so-called invisibility by self-effacement. He worked at making himself insignificant, he stood back in the shadows, and he was almost unnoticeable.
I also realised that he wasn't the only invisible person in the world. Many people are invisible for the whole of their lives, and many more are invisible for a short time.
Our youngest daughter became invisible this last summer. She took on a holiday job working in the local pub, serving meals and drinks and generally waiting at table. Some of her clients were extremely kind, they treated her as a human being, and left a healthy tip! But there were plenty of others who failed to notice her at all, except when they wished to complain. Otherwise, they treated her as though she was invisible, and simply ignored her existence.
I too, have been guilty of treating others as though they were invisible. I have failed not only to greet, but even to notice street cleaners, waiters and waitresses, secretaries, factory workers and so on.
"Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison, and did not take care of you?" asked the people, indignantly. As well they might ask, for the truth is they didn't see anyone at those times. They failed to notice those invisible people on the margins of society, and maybe they even failed to notice their own neighbours.
When I walk through the streets of Norwich I often try not to notice those around me, especially if they're rattling a collection tin in my face or gazing at me beseechingly as they wave "The Big Issue" in front of my eyes.
And my immediate instinct is to switch off when my television screen shows yet more heart-rending pictures of excruciatingly thin children with no food, or young people with limbs blown off through war, or people old before their time through malnutrition, or the elderly unable to see or hear because there is no treatment available.
The poor and needy can be so overwhelming that I want to put up the shutters and run away and hide. There's a telling scene in the rock opera, "Jesus Christ, Superstar", when thousands of grey and ragged people emerge from rocks and caves and seemingly from the ground itself, and submerge Jesus under the huge weight of their myriad needs.
And that's exactly how it can feel for Christians trying to give their little bit to help. Since we're not Bill Gates or the Duke of Westminster or Lord Archer, our widow's mites are never going to be more than a tiny drop in a vast, unending ocean, and that can feel utterly hopeless at times.
So what will it be like for me on Judgement Day? Will I find myself standing there shivering, while God fixes me with a steely eye and thunders accusingly, "I was hungry and you gave me no food, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, I was a stranger and you did not welcome me, naked and you did not give me clothing, sick and in prison and you did not visit me."
It may be like that for me, who knows? But if it is, I think my reply will differ. I think I shall say, "Yes, I know, and I'm sorry. Most of the time, I did my best." But actually, I don't think I shall be judged on how much I gave or failed to give to charity.
Perhaps the significant thing about this parable is that neither group of people had any idea they had done, or failed to do, anything. Their actions were completely unselfconscious. They acted instinctively, and kept no score of their good deeds. The righteous were just as bemused as the unrighteous when God confronted them with their actions.
Instinctive actions arise from the centre of being, and they just happen. They aren't thought out. If the centre of being is full of love and joy and peace and happiness and all those other fruits of the spirit, then there will be a great deal of instinctive outreach to other people, especially to those in need. Christians don't keep score of either the good deeds they do or the bad deeds done against them. But they can't help loving others, and so they can't help but do their best to fill other's needs. Christianity is a state of being which results in action, rather than good deeds as a kind of duty.
These are the people who pop round with a cup of tea simply because they thought their neighbour looked a bit out of sorts. Or the people who are going shopping, and call on the old lady down the road just in case she needs something. Or the people who cut the hedge next door because they know the old fellow can't cope. Just tiny actions which say, "I care", and which are forgotten as quickly as they're done.
Those who have no real love at the centre of being, may also reach out to other people, but they always keeps count. They can quote exactly how much they gave to any particular charity down to the last penny, from something like five years ago. They tell the world that they go shopping for their neighbour every week. They shout from the rooftops when they mend the fence for the old dear down the road.
They are very aware of the good they do, but very unaware of their lack of love. And to them, a great many people are invisible, because there are no Brownie points to be had in acknowledging or helping invisible people.
This parable of the sheep and the goats isn't really about doing or not doing good deeds. It's about the quality of inner being. It's about knowing the God within so intimately and responding to him so utterly that your heart just overflows with love. And when that happens you can't help but respond to the needs of others, and grow increasingly more sensitive to those needs.
And at judgment day, when you stand before the throne of God, you'll find yourself saying, "Lord, when was it that I saw you hungry and gave you food, or thirsty and gave you something to drink? And when was it that I saw you a stranger and welcomed you, or naked and gave you clothing? And when was it that I saw you sick or in prison and visited you?"
And God will answer, "Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me."
I then understood that he was achieving his so-called invisibility by self-effacement. He worked at making himself insignificant, he stood back in the shadows, and he was almost unnoticeable.
I also realised that he wasn't the only invisible person in the world. Many people are invisible for the whole of their lives, and many more are invisible for a short time.
Our youngest daughter became invisible this last summer. She took on a holiday job working in the local pub, serving meals and drinks and generally waiting at table. Some of her clients were extremely kind, they treated her as a human being, and left a healthy tip! But there were plenty of others who failed to notice her at all, except when they wished to complain. Otherwise, they treated her as though she was invisible, and simply ignored her existence.
I too, have been guilty of treating others as though they were invisible. I have failed not only to greet, but even to notice street cleaners, waiters and waitresses, secretaries, factory workers and so on.
"Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison, and did not take care of you?" asked the people, indignantly. As well they might ask, for the truth is they didn't see anyone at those times. They failed to notice those invisible people on the margins of society, and maybe they even failed to notice their own neighbours.
When I walk through the streets of Norwich I often try not to notice those around me, especially if they're rattling a collection tin in my face or gazing at me beseechingly as they wave "The Big Issue" in front of my eyes.
And my immediate instinct is to switch off when my television screen shows yet more heart-rending pictures of excruciatingly thin children with no food, or young people with limbs blown off through war, or people old before their time through malnutrition, or the elderly unable to see or hear because there is no treatment available.
The poor and needy can be so overwhelming that I want to put up the shutters and run away and hide. There's a telling scene in the rock opera, "Jesus Christ, Superstar", when thousands of grey and ragged people emerge from rocks and caves and seemingly from the ground itself, and submerge Jesus under the huge weight of their myriad needs.
And that's exactly how it can feel for Christians trying to give their little bit to help. Since we're not Bill Gates or the Duke of Westminster or Lord Archer, our widow's mites are never going to be more than a tiny drop in a vast, unending ocean, and that can feel utterly hopeless at times.
So what will it be like for me on Judgement Day? Will I find myself standing there shivering, while God fixes me with a steely eye and thunders accusingly, "I was hungry and you gave me no food, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, I was a stranger and you did not welcome me, naked and you did not give me clothing, sick and in prison and you did not visit me."
It may be like that for me, who knows? But if it is, I think my reply will differ. I think I shall say, "Yes, I know, and I'm sorry. Most of the time, I did my best." But actually, I don't think I shall be judged on how much I gave or failed to give to charity.
Perhaps the significant thing about this parable is that neither group of people had any idea they had done, or failed to do, anything. Their actions were completely unselfconscious. They acted instinctively, and kept no score of their good deeds. The righteous were just as bemused as the unrighteous when God confronted them with their actions.
Instinctive actions arise from the centre of being, and they just happen. They aren't thought out. If the centre of being is full of love and joy and peace and happiness and all those other fruits of the spirit, then there will be a great deal of instinctive outreach to other people, especially to those in need. Christians don't keep score of either the good deeds they do or the bad deeds done against them. But they can't help loving others, and so they can't help but do their best to fill other's needs. Christianity is a state of being which results in action, rather than good deeds as a kind of duty.
These are the people who pop round with a cup of tea simply because they thought their neighbour looked a bit out of sorts. Or the people who are going shopping, and call on the old lady down the road just in case she needs something. Or the people who cut the hedge next door because they know the old fellow can't cope. Just tiny actions which say, "I care", and which are forgotten as quickly as they're done.
Those who have no real love at the centre of being, may also reach out to other people, but they always keeps count. They can quote exactly how much they gave to any particular charity down to the last penny, from something like five years ago. They tell the world that they go shopping for their neighbour every week. They shout from the rooftops when they mend the fence for the old dear down the road.
They are very aware of the good they do, but very unaware of their lack of love. And to them, a great many people are invisible, because there are no Brownie points to be had in acknowledging or helping invisible people.
This parable of the sheep and the goats isn't really about doing or not doing good deeds. It's about the quality of inner being. It's about knowing the God within so intimately and responding to him so utterly that your heart just overflows with love. And when that happens you can't help but respond to the needs of others, and grow increasingly more sensitive to those needs.
And at judgment day, when you stand before the throne of God, you'll find yourself saying, "Lord, when was it that I saw you hungry and gave you food, or thirsty and gave you something to drink? And when was it that I saw you a stranger and welcomed you, or naked and gave you clothing? And when was it that I saw you sick or in prison and visited you?"
And God will answer, "Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me."
