There has always been a certain amount of fascination with courtroom dramas. Those of us who are old enough to remember the early days of television, can perhaps remember “Perry Mason”.  Most of us today know of, and perhaps watch,  shows such as “The Practice” and “Law and Order”. The best of these shows have a moment on which everything turns, a sentence which determines all else that follows.  It is usually in the courtroom when a lawyer asks a particular question or a witness gives a particular response.  Suddenly it becomes obvious who is guilty and who is innocent.  In an instant we know the true nature of the characters. Perhaps, in honor of the leading television show, we should call this moment, “the Law and Order Moment.” For this is the moment when all the pieces fall into place, the sentence on which everything else depends,.

Today’s gospel gives us the ultimate “Law and Order Moment.”  The courtroom is the entire world and Jesus is the judge, sitting on his royal throne.

We are the ones called before him to justify ourselves, and the sentence will be either eternal damnation or eternal life. We would be wise to hire the best lawyers and carefully examine both our plea and our defense.  But the whole trial will be determined by one sentence, one “Law and Order Moment.” That sentence is: “Whatever you do for the least of my brothers or sisters, you do for me.”  This is the moment that determines our destiny; the turning point that seals our fate.

It is crucial to recognize that the most important word in that sentence is the word “least.”  Because what this “Law and Order Moment” tells us, is that we are not going to be judged on how well we love those who are closest to us, but rather on how we love those who do not seem to be connected to us.  We are not going to be judged on how well we love those that we like, but rather on how we love those who are difficult to love—the least of our brothers and sisters.  In this courtroom, it is not enough to come forward and say: “I have loved somebody.”  Everybody loves somebody. It would be inhuman or monstrous to go through life, never loving anyone.  In this courtroom we are expected to do more.  As good as it is, loving our friends, our spouse, our  children, is not the love that determines our fate.  It is not the love that shapes the “Law and Order Moment.”

CONTINUES

Today is the feast of Christ the King. When we think of a king, we think of a man who lives in a palace, has lots of servants, dines lavishly on the very finest foods and issues decrees which have the force of law. When we think of a king, we think of wealth and power.

In Camelot, the Broadway musical, from the 1960s, there is a song that asks the question: “I wonder what the king is doing tonight.” Let’s borrow that thought and ask what our King is doing today. The answer is found in today’s Gospel, where we are given a description of a very strange kind of king. Our King describes himself in terms of great need, not great wealth.

1.) Most kings dine lavishly on the finest foods but our King is hungry today. Seated upon his throne, he looked back to this very day and said: “I was hungry … and you gave me no food.” We have all seen him on TV. He is starving in war-ravaged regions of Yemen and South Sudan and among the malnourished poor in COVID-19 impacted countries throughout the world.

2.) Another strange thing is that our King has no home. He says…

3.) But in your search, don’t look for a man in purple robes… 

4.) And if you don’t find him among the refugees, check the hospitals… 

5.) And then there is one other place where we might find our King, the strangest place of all — behind bars! “I was in prison … 

CONTINUES