Who's "The Least of These"?
ANGIE MOORE
“The least of these” passage (Matthew 25:34-45) has been a favorite tool of mine for years. I have used it to guard against my own greed and selfishness. Too often, I have weaponized it against those who advocate for policies that fail to care for the most vulnerable. But those readings were filled with guilt and judgment. There was also an arrogance in assuming I was not the one impoverished. Although I had all of my material needs met for example, I did not realize how much I needed human connection until I was forced to physically distance. Now, in the midst of a pandemic, I am learning that we are all “the least of these”; we are all hungry, thirsty, strangers, naked, sick, imprisoned.
I find this least-of-these lens to be far more unifying than the “at least…” mindset I and others have been using. Without exception, when I have checked in with people, I have heard some version of “at least”: At least I have a job. At least I’m not alone. At least I don’t have kids at home. At least… And I responded similarly when asked how I was doing — as if we all need to offer up an apology that we are not suffering as much as someone else. What if Jesus isn’t calling us to measure our needs or our gifts against one another, but to acknowledge we all have needs, and we all have something to give to the needy? Not either/or, but both/and.
My job is very stressful right now. It is stretching and challenging me in ways I would never have imagined. Acknowledging these frustrations does not diminish my gratitude, however. Of course I am thankful that “at least I have a job.” After weeks of guilt-ridden minimalizing, I now see that it serves no purpose to frame my experience that way. It is both humbling and liberating to own that I, too, am the least of these.
Recently, I delivered groceries and supplies to a close friend who is severely immunocompromised and can’t leave the house. I stood out on the porch and talked to him through the storm door. In nearly 30 years of friendship, it was the first time we did not greet and depart with a hug. In that moment, the heartache was just shy of unbearable. Yet even as I walked back to the car, I thought, “at least our separation is only temporary.” Today I say, so what? My pain is real. Contrasting and comparing it serves only to separate. When one part suffers, the whole body suffers.
As we enter Holy Week (and beyond), I want to welcome the opportunity to be Simon of Cyrene to the least among us, even as I allow others to be Simon of Cyrene for me. Rather than assuming someone is “okay” because at least she is still working, or he has a companion at home, etc., I intend to acknowledge that everyone is the least of these in some capacity. And there is no scale. No measuring stick. “For I was hungry.” That is all.
Angie lives in Delavan but she plans to move to a city where she can buy fresh produce. Her job is sales rep, but her vocation is life coach. Music is her drug of choice.