Imagine Henry, a Easter-Christmas nominal Christian, coming to your church this week and hearing Jesus’ story about how on Judgement Day, God will sort us all out, like a shepherd separating sheep from goats. Henry has never spent a day upon a farm. He wonders what is so bad about goats. He gets the bit about how people, who are only nice when they know that there’s something in it for them, deserve Hell. But, what’s this talk about all of humankind being brought before God (Jesus) and given only one chance to make it into heaven? Henry, like Hamlet and many other fictional people, views his life as a series of good and bad decisions. We assume that we get into heaven if we happen to be doing something good when we die; like Hamlet’s stepfather saying his prayers. I think that this week’s sermon should answer Henry’s questions, instead of going over the familiar ground of being good when nobody is watching.

First, we have to say that goats are really fine animals. Jesus’ point is not that sheep are warm and fuzzy and therefor saved. He is referring to the fact that shepherds can do this separation very easily. God will not take long to sort us. The direction of our hearts, is an open book to Jesus who lives within us.

You have to have three items handy before you tell the story of Deborah; a glass of milk, a tent peg (a sharpened stick will do), and the biggest sledge hammer you can find. Unfortunately, the Lectionary ends the story of Deborah at Judges 4:7. You need to tell the whole story, all of Judges 4. I think it’s fun just to read it — ham it up, if can — let people draw their own interpretations. Many will say, “Surely, that’s not in the Bible!” Then you can give one, or more, of the following reasons why the story of Deborah and Jael is important to remember.

If you are hearing Matthew 25 or preaching it in church this month, there are some things you ought to keep in mind. First, the context of the three parables that Jesus tells, is that of his final week on earth. Like final lecture of the late CMU professor, Randy Pausch, Jesus’ last stories have special significance. Usually, we say that these three stories are Eschatological, that is, they deal with the final judgement of humanity and the second coming of Christ. But, I think that it is worth digging deeper.

The three stories also have a common theme. In each, there is a plain distinction between good people and bad. In each story, the right thing to do, isn’t the obvious thing to do. In the story of the 10 Bridesmaids (Matthew 25:1-13), the good people are rewarded for staying awake and preparing for the unexpected appearance of God in their lives. In the story of the Talents (Matthew 25:14-28), the good person invests him or herself fully in life, risks everything to use what God has given them. The bad one, buries their resources and gifts in a snot rag. The story of the sheep and goats (Matthew 25:29-46), similarly, talks of good people being compassionate to everyone. Bad people take the more prudent course of only doing good when they know the recipient can return the favor in some way. 

In the past, I have emphasized the all in All Saints Day. Not this year. There isn’t an ‘all’ in Jesus’ definition of saint. In this Saturday’s holiday lection, Jesus begins his sermon on the mount with a series of blessings (Matthew 5:1-12). Each of these Beatitudes are a reversal in our definition of saint. Those with impoverished faith are sanctified. The theologically trained go unnoticed.  The meek are praised and the ambitious considered un-saintly. Mourning counts for something. The bad theology that considers our misfortunes to be punishments for being less than perfect, is thrown in the trash bin. The messy and politically unappreciated work of peacemaking is prized. In short, Jesus redefines the celebration we plan for this weekend.

This is the great surprise. Take a closer look at the narratives of people who you admire. It’s not the ones who wisely avoided trouble and paid their bills always on time, that are the saints. It is the family who has suffered the heartbreak of an early death, a childhood illness, or the loss of their home through foreclosure. They may not be articulate about their religion, but they are the real saints.

The Lord God led the people for forty years in the wilderness in order to bring them to the only land in the Middle East that doesn’t have oil. Still, it was a pretty good Promised Land. It had pomegranates and figs. It had copper and affordable housing. But, what Deuteronomy 8:7-17 fails to mention is the location. They say that the three most important assets of any piece of real-estate are location, location, and, Location. Palestine had that in spades.

God set his beloved people up at the cross-road of the ancient world. A prime location. They weren’t given a quiet cul-de-sac. Medieval mapmakers called Jerusalem the navel of the world. There is a certain responsibility that comes from being in the center of things. The role of the hub is to keep the wheel intact. Even today, many of us wish that Israel would move from it’s current snapping turtle-like, defensive posture, to a more collaborative role in the politics of the region. Would the Arab Spring have gone better, if Israel had played a more supportive role in aiding the new democracies? 

I have a solution to the controversy about displaying the Ten Commandment in public places, particularly courthouses. Put up only the second tablet. Traditionally the Ten Commandment (Exodus 20:1-17) have been divided, with commandment one through four on the left (or right if you are speaking Hebrew). These are the “crimes against the Lord God.” In a pluralistic society, such as ours, we have no right to expect everyone to call the same god, Holy. The second tablet of commandments deal with our crimes against each other. These six seem appropriate for the walls of our courthouses, as well as, the schools were we teach our children about civic responsibility. At first glance, the second tablet looks universal and appropriate for a diverse society such as ours.. 

I warned our dog, Bella, that she’d be in the blog this week. She didn’t care. She prefers to be stubborn. The current problem involves antibiotic pills that I am hiding in her doggie treats. I say, “Trust me.” She doesn’t. She eats the treat and spits out the pill. We argue. She growls, “Who made you an authority over me?” It’s the same place Moses was in as he led people across the wilderness. People were grumbling because Moses picked camping sites without regard to water.

 “We’re thirsty,” people said.   

“This is where God said we should camp,” Moses replied.

“Who made you boss?”

“God.”