When I was a child, about 8 or 9 years old, going to Sunday school, I found this parable terrifying. I think I realized even then what a right, what a good thing it is to feed the hungry, and welcome the stranger, and visit the sick, and everything else it says, and how much I would want this if I were hungry or thirsty or sick or in prison or what-have-you. But I could see that we just don’t do these things, now matter how right or good they are, or how much we would want the same for ourselves. And so the reading just chilled me through and through, this parable that is said to take place at the end of time, when Jesus is proclaimed as king and judges the nations.

Many people see this parable as a reading in social justice. They say it is telling us that we should get out and feed the hungry, and give clothes to people who don’t have them, and visit the prisoner. They say the measure of our faith is how much we do these things. And yes, one can interpret the reading in this way. And yes, so we should do these things. The question is why we are doing them. Why do we feed the hungry? Why do we visit those in prison? Is it simply because we are supposed to? Is it to make ourselves look good, whether in our own eyes or the eyes of other people? Is it because we want someone to thank us? Is it for some future reward? These are all possible reasons that someone might do good works.

But if you notice, neither group in the parable, neither the righteous nor the damned, realize what they are doing when they either give people food or not, welcome the stranger or not. Both groups sound mystified: “Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry? When was it that we saw you sick or in prison?” They honestly do not know. And Jesus responds to each, “Just as you did it [or did not do it] to one of the least of these, you did it [or did not do it] to me.” And that’s it. They have no chance to make excuses, to explain themselves, or to ask for more details. They already were supposed to know what the king — Jesus — was asking of them.

The Bible implies that the damned are mystified because they were expecting that they would recognize Christ in others they served, that he would appear as king or lord. But Jesus says that he appears in the “least of these” — the lowest strata of society. They did not expect to find the king, or Christ, in the lowest.

But even those who did good, who did what was right, didn’t recognize what they were doing. The righteous group wasn’t feeding the hungry or welcoming the stranger or taking care of the sick in order to earn their place in heaven. They weren’t doing it for the reward, or the thanks, or to feel good about themselves. They did not even feed the hungry, or clothe the naked, or visit the sick because they had some thought that by doing so they were serving the king — or Christ, in our thinking. They just did these things. It’s who they were. It was automatic.

We might say they did these things because something about these people had been transformed. They were different.

They have had the eyes of their hearts enlightened. Ephesians says, “I pray that the God of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of glory, may give you a spirit of wisdom and revelation as you come to know him, so that, with the eyes of your heart enlightened…” A spirit of wisdom and revelation: wisdom, knowing the ways of God; revelation, having the ways of God shown plainly to you.

It’s like overcoming “spiritual presbyopia.” Anyone know what presbyopia is? “Presby-” means “elder,” and “-opia” refers to your eyes — so “presbyopia” is “old eyes.” It’s a medical term, meaning someone needs reading glasses, or bifocals, because they can’t read things that are close up. But you know when you’re having a hard time reading things, it can help to have more light. Perhaps your parents, like mine, would say to you as you sat reading, “Turn on more light. You’ll ruin your eyes.”

The righteous have had the light turned on. The eyes of their hearts have been enlightened, so that they see Christ in others without even realizing that is what they are doing.

The strange thing is, Christ is both turning on the light in people, and he is receiving the good that people do. He is both the giver and the receiver. Christ is the hungry, the thirsty, the stranger, the naked, the sick, and the prisoner, for he says that when people feed the hungry, give drink to the thirsty, welcome the stranger, clothe the naked, care for the sick, or visit the prisoner, they do these actions to him. He is the receiver of the good we do to others, no matter who they are.

He is also the giver. It is he who enlightens our hearts, who turns on the light, so that we just start seeing him in all whom we meet, without even thinking about it. And how does he turn on the light in our hearts? By doing for us those very same things by which he judges the nations. Christ gives us himself for bread to satisfy the hunger in our soul. Christ quenches our thirst by being “living water” and giving us himself in the wine of the Eucharist. Christ is our welcome, by opening the gates of heaven to us and teaching us hospitality. We clothe ourselves with Christ, and he covers us with his love. Christ comes to us in our prisons of sin and failure and sickness and brings us healing and teaches us companionship. In all these ways, Christ teaches us and enlightens our hearts, without our even knowing it. He gives us wisdom and revelation, by showing us the ways of God.

So, “I pray that the God of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of glory, may give you a spirit of wisdom and revelation as you come to know him, so that, with the eyes of your heart enlightened, you may know what is the hope to which he has called you, what are the riches of his glorious inheritance among the saints, and what is the immeasurable greatness of his power for us who believe, according to the working of his great power.”

What we are really talking about are signs of the kingdom of God. Today is the last Sunday of the church year, a Sunday we call “the Kingship of Christ,” celebrating Jesus as king, but a different kind of king. His kingdom doesn’t look like the kingdoms of this world.

So on this Sunday, I’m close with a poem called “The Kingdom,” by R. S. Thomas:

It’s a long way off but inside it
There are quite different things going on:
Festivals at which the poor man
Is king and the consumptive is
Healed; mirrors in which the blind look
At themselves and love looks at them
Back; and industry is for mending
The bent bones and the minds fractured
By life. It’s a long way off, but to get
There takes no time and admission
Is free, if you will purge yourself
Of desire, and present yourself with
Your need only and the simple offering
Of your faith, green as a leaf.