(Mt 25:31–46)
The famous passage on the Judgement presents the Risen One who is to come (v. 31) as the ‘Son of Man’ – that is, the authentic and complete fulfilment of the divine plan for humanity: his kind of ‘verdict’ follows from this.
God embraces the limited nature of his creatures; therefore, the conduct that gives meaning to our lives does not concern religious attitude in itself, but rather the attitude we have shown towards our fellow human beings.
This is the Gospel message of the recent encyclical [October 2020] on fraternity and social friendship.
Aware of the situation, the Magisterium today acts as a spur against any insular, obvious and conformist spirituality; against any form of folklore-based, parochial mysticism… empty, inward-looking, still confined within the confines of bedside-table beliefs.
In all ancient beliefs, the soul of the deceased was weighed on a notarial scale and judged according to whether the balance was positive or negative.
According to the rabbis, divine mercy intervened in their favour only when good and bad deeds were in balance.
Jesus does not speak of a court that pronounces immutable negative judgements on the whole person, but of aspects of a complete existence which – being indestructible in themselves because they humanise – are saved and taken up, introduced into eternal life.
‘Life of the Eternal One’ (v. 46, Greek text) alludes to a kind of life that is not biological but relational and one of wholeness of being, which we can already experience.
These are moments when our divine DNA has come to the fore, the Gold that dwells within us: when we have been able to respond to the needs not of God, but of life itself and of our brothers and sisters.
These are the moments when we have been attentive listeners to nature, to the hope and vocation of all – sensitive to the needs of others.
Opportunities that have enabled us to bring the human condition closer to the heavenly one.
Comparing the ‘works’ declared to be a ‘paradigm’ with those listed in classical Judaism (Isaiah 58:6–7) and other religions – even ancient Egypt [Book of the Dead, chapter 125] – we note the difference in verse 36: ‘I was in prison and you came to me’ (cf. vv. 39, 43).
The difference is striking precisely in terms of divine justice: it transcends legal considerations, for it creates justice where none exists.
The Father bestows life in every instance, for He is not merely good as is believed in all devout persuasions, but exclusively good.
The ‘righteous’, moreover, did not even realise they had done anything out of the ordinary: they responded spontaneously to their innate and transparent nature as children (v. 39).
They felt sympathy for the ‘flesh’ in the reality in which it finds itself – and wherever it may be – regarding it as familiar. They loved with and as Jesus, in Him.
They did not love for Jesus’ sake – as if the other’s condition could be set aside, and secretly regarded as a nuisance upon which to construct a fiction, however sympathetic.
The other observant believers, on the other hand, wholly absorbed in the formalities of ritual, doctrine and discipline that are of no interest to God, are surprised that the Father is not entirely where they had imagined Him to be.
That is to say, respectable but empty and stagnant like themselves, bound by the judgements of ordinary justice: ‘When did we see you […] in prison and fail to serve you?’ (v. 44).
The calling to reach out to others leads us spontaneously to transcend divisions: legalistic ones, those based on retribution, or prejudices and forms of worship.
This is the pre-eminent, weighty Salvation – which lies in what is direct and genuine. Not so much in organised plans; nor does it have any substance based on opinions.
We fulfil ourselves by responding to the instinctive call that arises from our own essential, altruistic nature: even if it is minimal, overlooked, or eccentric, unsteady and not very fulfilling – not extraordinary.
Without overly external conditions, it is recognised as being scattered throughout the soul and in the beneficent, divinising fullness of the ‘Son of Man’.
Jesus’ ultimate teaching: a distinguished, comprehensive and wholly human judgement.
Not a complacent or contrived response, based on mere concepts and accounts.
Jesus’ identification with the least of these remains unique: ‘Whatever you did for one of the least of these my brothers and sisters, you did for me’ (v. 40).
Conversely: ‘you did not do it for me either’ (v. 45).
His Person holds central significance, with no distinction between friends and opponents, between the devout and the unfaithful.
Commitment to Christ is not judged on the basis of works that are detached from the humanising Core.
Fine deeds that may be performed even without a spirit of benevolence [out of duty and custom, or even for prestige and self-interest] – but rather on the basis of love.
God is under no obligation to reward merit.
Good works may be displayed or performed even against the Father: as if to tie His hands.
A misrepresentation typical of religions that promise rewards to the devout.
A misunderstanding alien to the experience of Faith, whose only certainty lies in the risk of exploration, in growth, in the quality of relationships – precisely, those that humanise.
Life and death are clearly distinct [‘right and left’: proverbially, fortune and misfortune] according to the characteristics of authentic piety towards God himself… because his honour is reflected in the uplifting of women and men, as they are in their concrete circumstances.
The sole non-negotiable principle is service to the good of every person.
Works of love are an expression of true communion with Christ – thus freed from intellectual and artificial constraints: from every kind of limitation or judgement that conditions their value.
In short, we must not do things that are calculated, extraordinary or mechanical, but let God act – whilst respecting and valuing our neighbour for who they are.
Even outside the visible sphere of the apostles’ kingdom (or of a doctrine or discipline), there is an authentic ‘Christianity’: the civilisation of the children.
In short, there is no predestination to the condemnation of those who are distant, errant or imperfect, except for a lack of brotherhood that recovers the impossible – even ‘against the law’.
The authentic kingship of Christ and his own.
In Palestine, in the evening the shepherds used to separate the sheep from the goats, which needed shelter from the cold.
To emphasise its importance, the issue raised by the evangelist draws on the vivid imagery of rabbinic preaching.
The problem is not a question of who is saved and who is not.
The question is rather: on what occasions are we happy to be outdoors even at ‘night’, and do we act in a more human way – and on what occasions do we behave in a more beast-like, closed-off manner, yet without becoming… lambs?
In Christ, the victory over selfishness loses its meaning as the annihilation of possibilities for individual growth – which is not achieved through stubbornness.
Its power is anything but stagnant and divisive. It does not conceal the abilities we cannot see, or what we do not know.
Opposing situations are the glorious moments of one and the same victory. This is evident in the continuation of the passage, which proclaims the other extreme of love: ‘the Son of Man is to be handed over to be crucified’ (Mt 26:2).
Therefore, Matthew’s aim is not to describe the end of the world, but to provide guidance on how to live wisely [today] in order to build a Family and not be captivated by the immediate glitter of false jewellery – however well presented.
The Gospel’s call emphasises the contrast with a frivolous spirituality: the only appropriate distinction.
The man of God does not indulge in career ambitions—not even ecclesiastical ones—nor in every whim.
The Tao Te Ching (iii) suggests, addressing even the wise ruler: ‘Do not exalt the most capable; ensure that the people do not quarrel; do not value goods that are hard to obtain; ensure that the people do not become thieves; do not acquire what may be coveted; ensure that the hearts of the people are not troubled’.
Master Wang Pi comments: ‘When the most capable are exalted, their names are glorified; the glory extends beyond their office, and they are constantly at loggerheads, comparing their abilities. When goods are valued beyond their utility, the greedy rush upon them, fighting amongst themselves; they breach walls, break open chests, and become thieves at the risk of their lives’.
And Master Ho-shang Kung adds, regarding ‘those whom the world deems excellent’: ‘With their specious eloquence, they adapt to circumstances whilst straying from the Tao; they cling to form whilst rejecting substance.’
The Lord’s Call reaffirms the qualitative aspects of the Person in relationship: He illustrates how it is worth staking one’s life.
This is so that all may experience the fullness of being – which is not the result of opportunism.
Nor is it a matter of belonging: any distinction between those ‘called’ within the visible Church and those distant from it is set aside.
The powerful imagery of this Gospel passage serves to make us reflect, open our eyes, broaden our horizons, and impress upon our conscience just how much is worth staking: everything, when it comes to the choices we must make.
The authentic love that moves heaven and earth is that which manages to make even the wicked do what is right – through a free Gift, devoid of conditions and forms of self-love. Even free from sacred judgements.
The Tao (xxxiii) intuits: ‘Who does these things? Heaven and Earth [...] Whoever gives themselves to the Tao becomes one with the Tao’.
What is genuine arises and flourishes in a selfless and spontaneous way, without any effort or contrived purpose.
Here, man is a different, far richer Being – steadfast in himself, yet expanding into the divine and human ‘You’, even in its most destitute form.
‘In today’s Gospel reading, Jesus identifies not only with the shepherd-king, but also with the lost sheep. We might speak of a “dual identity”: the shepherd-king, Jesus, also identifies with the sheep, that is, with the least and most needy of his brothers and sisters. And in this way he points to the criterion of judgement: it will be based on the concrete love given or withheld from these people […] Therefore, at the end of the world, the Lord will review his flock, and he will do so not only from the shepherd’s perspective, but also from that of the sheep, with whom he has identified himself. And he will ask us: ‘Have you been a shepherd a little like me?’ […] And let us return home with just this one phrase: ‘I was there. Thank you!’ or: ‘You have forgotten me’.”
(Pope Francis)
