What does it mean to be ready when Jesus returns?

We’ve been looking at the last great discourse of Jesus in the gospel of Matthew before the Passion narrative.  He’s sitting with his disciples on the Mount of Olives, teaching them to be ready for the unknown day of his return: parables of responsible and irresponsible servants, wise and foolish bridesmaids.  In each story, a contrast is made between those who did what they were supposed to do, and those who didn’t.  Wisdom versus folly.  Diligence versus laziness.  Obedience versus disobedience.  Invited into the party or locked out.  Entering the master’s joy or cast out into a place of suffering.

The one who is ready is the one who follows the right path.

There is one last contrast to be made, though this time, it won’t be through a parable per se, but a somewhat more straightforward description of what will happen on the Day of Judgment.  The contrast is between right and left, sheep and goats, righteous and unrighteous.

In Matthew 25:31-46, Jesus begins by again pointing to the day in which the Son of Man will return in glory.  His entire ministry has been a kingdom show-and-tell.  But this is the first time that he explicitly refers to himself as the King.  He paints a word picture of himself on his throne, surrounded by angels, with the nations arrayed before him.  He proceeds to pass royal judgment, placing some in the favored position on his right, while relegating the others to his left.

He calls them “sheep” and “goats” respectively, but we probably shouldn’t make too much of this.  Shepherds cared for both, but the animals had to be separated at night because goats needed more protection from the cold.  Jesus is merely using a homely and easily understood visual metaphor for separation; nothing more is implied.

The King addresses those on his right.  They are the blessed ones, revealed to be the rightful heirs of the kingdom, in fulfillment of the eternal purposes of God the Father.  How does he know this?  He cites the evidence:

For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.  (Matt 25:35-36, NIV)

The heirs are surprised, because for the life of them, they can’t remember ever having done such things for the King.  But the King responds solemnly, “Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me” (vs. 40, NIV).

There is some debate over what Jesus means here.  The narrow interpretation is that “brothers and sisters” refers only to the followers of Jesus, as in the story at the end of Matthew 12, where Jesus says, “For whoever does the will of my Father in heaven is my brother and sister and mother” (Matt 12:50, NIV).

It seems to me, though, that such a reading flies in the face of Jesus’ actual ministry of compassion, of feeding the hungry and healing the sick whether they were his followers or not.  The kingdom is one that transcends the usual social boundaries, as exemplified by Jesus’ teaching that his followers are to love their enemies, not just their friends (Matt 5:43-48).

For those reasons, I prefer a broader reading.  The point of saying “the least of these brothers and sisters of mine” is not to set boundaries on who is or isn’t a brother or sister of Jesus.  The emphasis, rather, is on “the least of these”–the righteous are being commended for showing compassion to those who seemed to be of little to no significance, and for no thought of personal gain.

Then the King turns to those on his left.  Nearly the same conversation follows, but in the negative.  They are not invited to come, but commanded to depart; they are not pronounced blessed, but cursed; their eternal inheritance is not the kingdom, but a place of fire.  He gives the parallel evidence and pronounces the verdict: “Whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me” (vs. 45, NIV).

They too are surprised: one can easily imagine them thinking, “Hey, that’s not fair!  You didn’t give us a chance!  We would have done it if we had known!”

But that’s precisely the point.  They would have done it because they thought they had to, not because it was in their hearts as the right thing to do regardless.

To read this passage as teaching salvation through good works, as some do, is wrong-headed.  The compassion of the righteous doesn’t earn them the kingdom; rather, it is the evidence by which their status as heirs is confirmed.  They didn’t do these things to earn a reward, and are surprised by what the King says.  What they did, they did out of hearts that were already being formed by the kingdom of heaven.

The discourse ends with the starkest contrast of all, the eternal separation between left and right: “Then they will go away to eternal punishment, but the righteous to eternal life” (vs. 46, NIV).  There is no middle ground.

And on the eve of Jesus’ Passion, it seems a fitting way to frame the question of who knows the King, and who doesn’t.