You Did It to Me

Matthew 25: 31-40

“When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, then he will sit on the throne of his glory. All the nations will be gathered before him, and he will separate people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats, and he will put the sheep at his right hand and the goats at the left. Then the king will say to those at his right hand, ‘Come, you that are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world; for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.’ Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food, or thirsty and gave you something to drink? And when was it that we saw you a stranger and welcomed you, or naked and gave you clothing? And when was it that we saw you sick or in prison and visited you?’ And the king will answer them, ‘Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.’

“Just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.” You did it to me, Jesus said, just as he was about to journey toward the cross, just as his life was about to come to an end. “Just as you did it to the least of these, these brothers and sisters of mine, you did it to me.” These were the most important words that Jesus could have used at the end of his life, this teaching that summed up his actions throughout his life. Jesus spent his ministry reaching out to those who needed help the most, love the most, reality checks the most, inspiration the most, grace the most. Jesus fed the hungry and gave drink to the thirsty; he healed those who had been struggling with illness, some for decades at a time. Jesus called people out for being judgmental, judgmental to the point that they were completely ignoring others in need. He welcomed people to his table, sinner and saints alike, and everyone in between. Jesus comforted those who mourned and forgave those who sinned; he preached about how we are called to give all that we have and all that we are to help our neighbor. Jesus baptized and welcomed and forgave and fed and healed—and then gave us this final message: “I have shown you. I have lived it out for you. And now it’s your turn to do the same. Just as you do it for your sisters and brothers, all who are members of my family, you do the same to me.”

These words echoed in my brain and in my heart the whole time we were in Haiti this past May--they came to life for me, came to life through the love of all the folks we met; came to life through the very raw and tough experiences we shared; came to life as we, most of us for the very first time, saw the poverty and devastation and illness that we could never have imagined; came to life as we were graced with complete hospitality; came to life as our faith was challenged and questioned and deepened.

As our plane landed on the runway in Port-au-Prince, my colleague from Alabama, James, and I shared a look together—a look that shared our common relief that we were finally taking this trip we had dreamed about for 2 years; a look that shared our common “Oh crap. We are both scared to death because we have no clue what’s about to happen” feeling. We spent the next 2 crazy hours, 2 of the craziest of my life, making our way through the insane airport, meeting men who were begging to take our bags for just a few dollars, finding our driver, packing into vans and watching our luggage take a different route with a  tap-tap driver, getting car sick driving through the pot-hole and rubble-filled streets of Port-au-Prince, seeing people on every part of the street selling goods because there was no other work to be found, ingesting diesel fumes, and sweating from the kind of heat few of us had ever experienced. It is an understatement to say that we were all a bit in shock, overwhelmed by it all, overwhelmed by the beauty and poverty we saw in the same seconds, overwhelmed by the suddenness and craziness of it all.

We wound our way up the mountain road and finally made our way to Wings of Hope, one of the homes of the St. Joseph Family. As we pulled up the steep driveway, we were greeted with the best greeting ever. One of the Wings boys, a young man living with severe autism, greeted every single 17 one of us with the biggest hug imaginable. I think he sensed that we were overwhelmed and scared, tired and nervous. He had never met us in his life, but he sensed that we were in need of grace and welcome and reached out to us. We weren’t strangers to him, but sisters and brothers in need of a warm welcome. Just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.

Over the next two days, we spent our time with the Wings kids, some of whom live with Cerebral Palsy, others with Down’s, others with severe autism. One young woman was even found wondering the streets of Port-au-Prince and was brought to Wings with the report that she had been brain damaged in a car accident, sexually abused by folks who knew they could take advantage of her, left for dead on the streets of Port-au-Prince. Some of the kids live with problems that will never be diagnosed. It was amazing to see our college students hanging out with these kids—the students played catch with them and brushed their hair, strolled with them in their wheelchairs and changed their diapers, helped them down their cryptic wheelchair ramp and danced with them, fed them 2 meals of rice and beans a day. The college folks helped lift the kids onto horses for therapy and lifted them out of their wheelchairs into vans with no handicapped accessability to drive them to lunch at the Baptist Mission. They picked them up when they couldn’t walk just so they could experience the thrill of dancing at our Friday praise party. The students smiled with absolute joy as they helped these beautiful children of God to smile and play and dance and sing. Just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.

We met beautiful Josephine, a 12-year-old with a smile as big as this room, a beautiful young woman with Cerebral Palsy. Somehow, in the midst of this third world country, she had learned to speak 3 languages—Creole, French, and English. She would take us by the hand, tell us to sit down in front of her, and she would brush our hair. She translated for us, helping us understand what the nurses were trying to tell us to do, helping us understand what the kids beside her needed. Josephine squealed with delight when the students picked her up to dance for the party. She taught us so much and helped us feel comfortable and showed us such absolute joy. Just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.

And then there was Steve. Steve loved every single one of us, and we loved him. We loved to watch him play, smile, and dance. He loved to take us by the hand and lead us right into the middle of the action, and he never wanted to miss a thing. It was an absolute holy moment to see him grab the hand of a college student, a young man who was mourning the loss of his dad only two weeks earlier, a young man with the big gaping wound of heartbreak—Steve grabbed his hand and pulled him into the circle to sing and dance and play and feel the joy that had been missing in his life for so many months. Just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.

As we made our way from the mountains down to the St. Joseph’s Home in Port-au-Prince, the folks at the home were waiting on us with hugs and a glass of water. They welcomed us with great hospitality, helping us get our bags in, offering us a place to sit and rest, inviting us to their nightly affirmations, where they thanked us for being there, inviting us into the stories of their lives. Bill, a boy who grew up at the St. Joseph’s Home and is now the manager, shared his life with us as he told us his story. He was given as a child to a family friend when his mother couldn’t take care of him—at least she thought she was giving him to a friend. The woman used Bill as a slave until he was finally turned over to the orphanage many years later. He had such a tough life, but he was welcomed into the home with open arms. Bill stood on the top of the home when the earthquake hit, and he tumbled as the home did, suffering a broken back and lots of internal injuries. Bill has so many reasons to be bitter and angry, but he loves God more than ever before. And he welcomed us, strangers who were soon to become friends, into the home just as he had been welcomed so many years before. Just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.

Over our last 2 days in Haiti, we met some phenomenal brothers and sisters—Catholic friends who work with the world’s poorest people for Mother Teresa’s Sisters and Brothers Charities. They are nurses and doctors and volunteers who work with some of the poorest children, some who suffer from incurable disease, others who are close to death with something that we be so easily curable here in the States with just one simple prescription. They work with teenagers and adults who are suffering from yellow fever and TB and full-blown AIDS. Their surroundings are meager at best, no air conditioning or screens to keep flies out, very small amounts of medicine, wards with 20 beds each. They welcomed us in not with smiles or instructions, but simply by motioning to beds and expecting us to jump in feet first—they didn’t need to spend their time with us, but instead spend their time with those who truly needed it. I have never been as proud of anyone as I was of our students, who were scared to death about what they were seeing, nervous that they had one pair of plastic gloves to go around, sickened by the smells of urine and blood and bodily fluids. But instead of shying away, they took those kids by the hand and played with them, held the hands and bodies of those older folks dying from AIDS, and lotioned their legs and shaved their faces. Just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.

At one point, I simply stopped what I was doing for a minute to watch one our students and a student from Bama spending time with a beautiful woman. She looked to be in her 80s, and she had the kind of wrinkles that come with a hard life. Her hands were simple and dainty, and she had stunning gray hair. As the girls held up fingernail polish and lotion to her, she simply nodded her head and they went to work. They put lotion on her body and painted her nails a bright shade. She seemed to relax a bit as they moved around her body, happy to be touched and soothed. These young women were total strangers to her and she could have told them to go away, but she opened herself up to them and welcomed them in such an intimate and holy way. When they finished painting her nails, she pulled her wallet out of a stack of the little belongings that she had, and she pointed to her children and grandchildren, smiling proudly as she showed off her loved ones. That beautiful woman welcomed these two young, healthy, privileged young women into her life. Just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.

There are so many more stories to share, so many that I could go on for days. I know that our students will take some time to share them with you over the coming years and months. We all came away with many questions about our faith, about how people could suffer so much in a God-made world. We are still being challenged by these questions in so many different ways. But we also came away from Haiti knowing, thankfully, that we had spent our time in mutual solidarity with our brothers and sisters—that Christ was working within us and through us, through us from Alabama and us from Haiti. In so many different ways, we saw the welcome and forgiveness, the grace and the love of Jesus Christ, our Savior and Lord. Just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me. Thanks be to God.