Peculiar honors indeed.  That last verse of the hymn we just sang is one of my all-time favorites.  Flannery O’Connor once said something like:  “You shall know the truth and the truth shall make you odd.”  And it really all comes down to that in the Gospel of Matthew.  Today is the last Sunday of our liturgical year and this is the last word from Matthew’s Jesus before the passion narrative begins – the last lesson in the block of teaching material – this is the bottom line:  in the end, the sheep will get separated from the goats, and the Son of Humanity, that is, the Christ of God, will say to the sheep, “welcome you that are blessed by God, inherit the riches prepared for you, for I was hungry and you gave me food. I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink. I was a stranger and you welcomed me. I was naked and you gave me clothing. I was sick and you took care of me. I was in prison and you visited me.”  It’s kind of amazing, isn’t it, that the criterion of judgment is not a confession of faith in Jesus Christ.  Righteousness, according to Matthew, is not about creed, not about belief, not about religious affiliation or ideology, certainly not about attending church!  Righteousness is loving kindness.

     And notice that this is a lesson about the righteousness of nations.  This is about being able to tell one nation apart from another – there’s actually nothing in the Greek that could be translated “people.”   This passage is not about separating individuals.  Matthew is writing about how nations treat the most vulnerable, the most marginalized, the most at risk in their population.  This does not let us off the hook, however, it just makes the hook a lot bigger.  According to Matthew, a whole nation is a sheep or a goat.  (I don’t know what Matthew had against goats.)  Of course a nation is made up of individuals – so we have plenty of work to do.

      Notice that the sheep and the goats all seem to be equally surprised in this story.  They will reply, Jesus says, that they didn’t realize that God was ever hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison.  God tells the sheep nations, “Listen, just as you honored the least of these who are members of my human family, you did it to me.”  Then God says to the goat nations, “just as you did not honor one of the least of these, you did not do it to me.”

      These are some peculiar honors that our God desires.  In the end, heartfelt worship using beautifully designed liturgies, vibrant church communities, living clean, faithful, honest, hard-working lives – all-important – may be for naught if, in the end, God cannot easily recognize our nation as having paid God the peculiar honors of entering into loving relationships with the least, the last, and the lost of our society.  And when we develop relationships with people who are hungry and thirsty, strange and naked, sick and incarcerated, when we honor them, we actually become pretty strange ourselves by society’s standards.  “You shall know the truth and the truth shall make you odd.”  And Jesus is telling any who will listen that that’s just how God likes us:  odd…peculiar…easy to spot.

      Such acts of honor toward those people who are hungry and thirsty, strange and naked, sick and incarcerated, are not “extra credit” – they are the decisive criteria for participation in God’s realm.  Participation consists of service to, ministry with the hungriest, the thirstiest, the strangest, the most vulnerable, the sickest, the loneliest, the most imprisoned -- even with the guiltiest others.

      But here’s some Good News.  It’s not too late.  It’s the end of a year, but not the end of all years.  Matthew is writing to a Church where the nations of sheep and goats are still all mixed together.  If  Jesus were merely congratulating those who will be ushered into heaven, that is, if everyone were already spending their lives in a way that God would recognize, Matthew could have saved some papyrus (and I could have saved my voice).  But no -- Matthew wants the hearers of this lesson to become odd for Jesus’ sake – by developing some peculiar relationships and thereby paying some peculiar honors to God:  God with us and God in us.

      Now I wonder how many of you were paying attention when I said that worship and church community aren’t the criteria for participating in the realm of God.  Did a few of you think, “then what am I doing here?”  Why come to church (besides the cantata, that is)?  Well here’s what I think.  First, come to church to thank God for the gift of a faith community of people whose desire it is to love you and to care for you. Second, come to church to have a place to practice  -- church is like a scrimmage field to learn the skills for the game.  I’ve always liked the term “practicing Episcopalian” or “practicing Christian” because it makes it clear that we don’t have it right yet – but we’re working on it.   And since this is pledge Sunday, I have to take the opportunity to say that pledging is an integral part of Christian practice – of spiritual discipline.  Making a financial commitment locates you in and connects you to a faith community – whether it is your primary church community or it is your church home away from home.  Third, come to church to accept the God-given gift of sabbath time for rest and refreshment, for nourishment – because it’s hard work being odd!

      One of the things I want you to think about this morning is that someone has loved the God in you when you were hungry or thirsty, or strange or naked or sick, or in prison.  Have you ever thought about that?  Now probably more than a few of you are thinking, “wait a minute, I’ve never been in prison.”  We’ll get to that.

      One of the things that visitors to Episcopal Churches often comment on is how much we stand up and sit down in our worship – and this morning we’re going to do it even more than usual.  If you have ever been hungry (that is, faint, or in desperate need of nourishment, or shaky, or irritable and unable to help yourself get fed), please stand up. If you are unable to stand, just put your hand up.  Okay you can sit back down.  If you have ever been thirsty (dried up, or parched, or dehydrated, or dizzy, or depleted and unable to get water for yourself), please stand up.  Okay you can sit back down.  If you have ever been a stranger (peculiar, or unwelcome, or uncomfortable in unfamiliar surroundings, like a misfit) please stand up.  Okay you can sit back down.  If you have ever been naked (vulnerable, or embarrassed, or under-dressed, or over-exposed, or shivering because you didn’t have adequate clothing for whatever the temperature was), please stand up.  Okay you can sit back down.  If you have ever been sick (mentally or physically in pain, or frail or wobbly, or unable to fully participate, or contagious, or just gross) please stand up. Okay you can sit back down.  And finally, if you have ever been imprisoned (that is, punished, or stuck in a bad place, or in time-out, or isolated from your friends or family, or deeply ashamed, or full of self-loathing, or mistreated and unable to get away without help) please stand up.  Okay you can sit back down.

      Every time you were hungry, or thirsty, or strange, or naked or sick or imprisoned and someone gave you something to eat or drink, someone welcomed you or gave you something to wear or visited you when you were sick or being punished, someone comforted you in any way, they were serving God in you.  It’s hard to imagine that God is in us when we are feeling needy.  We might have an easier time imagining that God is in the person who is caring for us – and I think God is – but today I want you to know that God is represented by you when you are most needy.  And if you do your best to avoid ever being or even seeming needy, God never has a chance to be represented by you and that’s too bad because I imagine that God would like to be represented by you.

      This would be a very unusual sermon coming from this pulpit if it were all about letting yourselves be served!  Don’t worry --  I’m getting to that other part.  I feel very strongly, though, that understanding our own neediness is the very best preparation for serving others.  I’d like to say that remembering the times that others have provided for us should be the prerequisite for serving those in need. Except that others can’t always wait for us to remember what we need to remember – so sometimes we just need to serve even if we’ve forgotten our own neediness.

      We remember that we have been needy and we serve others here so that we are better prepared to go back out there to serve people who are hungry or thirsty or strange or lacking clothing or sick or in prison – not symbolically or metaphorically or remotely, but personally, directly, letting the God in you serve the God in them.  Or if you prefer Christ language, letting the Christ in you serve the Christ in them – as long as you understand that it doesn’t matter who is Christian and who is not.  We Christians refer to the Christ as a shorthand way of acknowledging that God’s redeeming work is inside of every single person – no matter how hard it is to see.  That’s what Jesus stood for.  And it’s what following Jesus means.  And that’s what righteousness means.