Rev. Nick Cheek
Psalm 46 and Matthew 25:31-46
Why does the church exist? For generations, faithful people have wrestled with that fundamental question. Why are we here? Presbyterians have historically answered that question with what we call the Great Ends of the Church—six foundational statements that remind us who we are and what God has called us to be. Today, we come to the second Great End: “The shelter, nurture, and spiritual fellowship of the children of God”.
Scripture and Prayer
The Shelter Nurture and Spiritual Fellowship of the Children of God
To understand what that really means, I want you to think back for a moment to one of the simplest games we played as children: tag. Tag could be played almost anywhere. You didn’t need equipment, uniforms, or really anything other than a few kids willing to run around and chase each other. I always liked tag because I was pretty fast, and tag definitely favors the swift.
That is why I think somebody eventually invented the concept of “base” or “safety”. Somewhere along the way, some poor kid who wasn’t quite as fast as everybody got tired of being tagged… and while leaning against a tree—completely out of breath… thought to himself…. “you know this feels pretty good.”
There was something deeply comforting about base. If you could just make it there, you could stop running. You could catch your breath. For a few moments, you didn’t have to look over your shoulder or worry about who was chasing you. You were safe…. You could find shelter… Long after we stop playing tag on playgrounds or in fields, we still spend a good portion of our lives looking for places where we can stop running. We still look for a place to catch our breath, let our guard down… find peace…. We still look for shelter from the worries of the world…. We still look for permission to just let go…. and know that we are okay…we look for a place of solace and acceptance…a place where we can finally hear the words we spend so much of our lives searching for: You are loved. You belong here. You are safe.
That longing is nothing new. For thousands of years, human beings have sought what we have come to call “safe sanctuary.” Traditions of “safe sanctuary” originate in the Mediterranean. Ancient Egyptians built temples dedicated to the gods. These place were protected areas – holy sanctuaries free from the prosecution of the government or from any oppressors. Because these temples were a safe space – hurting people sought them out.
The Greeks also built these structures… many in caves. The Greeks crafted the word “Asylon” or Asylum which means a place of safety – In Greece, these sanctuaries or temples were well known and usually found on the boarders of towns and cities or on the coast. Scholar and Historian Martin Siebold writes that temples “enjoyed the character of sanctuaries and under all circumstances could protect the oppressed and the persecuted, slaves, debtors, malefactors and even criminals.” Even those condemned to death, he writes, could sometimes remain within the sanctuary grounds, “secure under the sheltering wing of the divinity.” The Hebrews later adopted these ideas in their own faithful understanding of God. The Old Testament speaks of sanctuary cities created by God’s people – areas where refugees, migrants and even enemies of the state could flee too in order to find shelter. Within the Hebrew scriptures we find commandment after commandment concerning how God’s people should treat the strangers in our midst no matter who they were and where they were coming from… God is described as a refuge, a shelter, a safe place for God’s people. As the psalmist beautifully puts it… How precious is your steadfast love, O God! All people may take refuge in the shadow of your wings.”
The Shelter, Nurture, and Spiritual Fellowship of the People of God
Recently, my wife went on a trip to Kenya. She and her church have been working with a ministry through the Presbyterian Church in Kenya, called Mother Emmanuel School. And this school has a powerful story about the importance of this second Great End of the Church.
Several years ago, a Presbyterian pastor named Reverend Charles Maina was serving among the Maasai tribes in Loodokilani, (LOU DOA KEY LANYI) Kenya – about an hour and a half drive from Nairoby. The Maasai are people with a history centered around family, community, land, and farming livestock. They also practice child marriage. For the girls of these tribes this can mean the end of childhood almost overnight—the loss of education, freedom, and the chance to choose what their lives might become. Over months and years, Rev. Maina faithfully spent time among the families, listening to the women and young girls, and he repeatedly told them: “God loves you. You are precious in God’s sight. You are the beloved children of God. If you ever need help, if you ever need safety, the church is here for you.” What he didn’t know for sure… is that these women and girls were listening.
In December 2015, in the quiet darkness of night, a small group of courageous mothers and twenty-six girls—some as young as ten years old—made a desperate decision – they ran… and they kept running. It was not a short journey, nor was it safe. They risked everything…. But soon enough they arrived and the Presbyterian Church. Exhausted, terrified, and breathless, they knocked on the door. When Rev. Maina opened the door, the mothers looked at him and said: “Here we are. We listened to you. You told us that God loves us. You told us that we are beloved, and that the church would be a sanctuary for us. We are here.”
Even though opening those doors meant stepping into danger, taking on unknown financial burdens, and challenging deep cultural traditions, Rev. Maina opened the door wide, welcomed them in, and trusted that the God who brought them this far would provide the rest. That night, the church sanctuary became a sanctuary in every sense of the word. Over the next week… the congregation cleared out the pews and turned their place of worship into a dormitory and a classroom. They sheltered those twenty-six girls, fed them, protected them, and provided them with an education. What started on a single night of desperate courage grew into the Mother Esther School and Rescue Center. Today, the sanctuary serves as a preschool…. And it is surrounded by more classrooms, dormitories, and a dining hall. More than 300 young women are now being nurtured, loved, and educated there.
In our Gospel passage this morning, Jesus shares a vision of what will happen at the end of time. It is one of his final teachings before he is arrested, condemned, and crucified. The story goes like this: At the end of all things, the nations will gather before Jesus, and he will separate them—some on his right and some on his left. And to those on his right he will say, “Come, you who are blessed… come you who are blessed…. for I was hungry and you fed me. I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink. I was a stranger and you welcomed me in. I needed clothes and you clothed me. I was sick and you cared for me. I was in prison and you visited me.” And the people listening are surprised…. they ask Jesius, “Lord, when did we ever do these things for you?”
And Jesus says, “Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.”
Come…. You who are BLESSED. Friends, when we do fairly simply human things…. Actions that just take a little bit of heart. We are blessed…. We are because we fed someone. We are blessed because we gave someone a drink. We are blessed because we welcomed someone who needed a place to belong. We clothed someone. We cared for someone who was hurting. We showed up when someone was alone.[short pause] In other words, we are blessed because we became a place of shelter for another human being we needed to know that they are loved….
The Shelter, Nurture, and Spiritual fellowship of the children of God
The table we gather around today is a reflection of this Great End of the Church.
And at this table we find shelter: We all come to the table carrying different stories, worries, wounds, failures …. And Christ makes room for us. There is a seat for you here. We don’t have to remain outside looking in…. for all are invited. There is no prerequisite…. you don’t have to earn your chair or prove that you belong before you sit down.
At this table we are nurtured : At this table we are fed. We may come to this table tiered and worn out…. hungry—not simply for bread, but for hope, forgiveness, strength, peace, and sometimes just enough grace to make it through another week. At this Table the Bread of Life nourishes us, strengthens us, and reminds us again who we are and whose we are.
At this table we are reminded that we belong to one another.
At this Table we are not eating alone. Today, across the entire globe, millions of believers from every nation, culture, race, and denomination are gathering around this same Table. Christ seats us beside people who vote differently, worship differently, speak different languages, and come from different backgrounds. He seats us beside the wealthy and the poor, the powerful and the forgotten, the stranger, the foreigner, and the friend. When we come to this table… we find an identity that connects every single person breaking bread today…. We are all children of God.
Frends, hear these words form the psalmist – “God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.”
Today… you may have come here tired. Today you may been carrying more than anyone knows.
Today…. You may have come here after running for a long time, and you just need somewhere to rest. So come. Stop running for a while. Find shelter beneath the wings of God. Take a breath. Break the bread. Drink from the cup. Taste and see that the Lord is good.
And hear again what God has been trying to tell you all along:
You are loved.
You belong here.
You are safe.
In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.