Matthew 25

Matthew 25 at Glide — And Why It Still Matters

Today I went to church at Glide Church and the person at the pulpit talked about Matthew 25. 

And I sat there, 51, soon to be 52, in my Sunday best — curls and all, teeth and all, nonprofit-dreams and all — and thought: This. This is why I keep coming back.

Because Matthew 25 isn’t polite church talk. It’s not “three points and a poem” sermon filler. It’s a mirror. And it doesn’t lie.

“For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.”

Glide knows that verse. Glide lives that verse. You can’t walk into that place and not see “the least of these” being loved out loud. The unhoused. The formerly incarcerated. The addicted. The abandoned. The ones church people usually cross the street to avoid.

It’s important to understand Matthew 25 in church because too many churches act like Jesus only hung out in the front pew. 

He didn’t. He was in the streets. With the outcasts. With the women who’d been used up and written off. With the men society locked up and threw away the key.

I know, because I was the least of these. 

I’ve been the stranger in a shelter with a Master’s degree and a curfew. I’ve been hungry, not for food, but for dignity. I’ve been the woman with a trash bag instead of luggage, getting side-eye in places that call themselves “holy.”

So when the person at the pulpit at Glide preached Matthew 25 today, I didn’t hear theology. I heard testimony. Mine. Yours. Ours.

Churches can argue about music styles, carpet color, and who gets to take communion. But Jesus made it simple: Did you see me? Did you feed me? Did you show up when I had nothing to give back?

That’s the final exam. Not how many scriptures you memorized. Not how long you prayed. But who you loved when it was inconvenient.

I keep the Quran, the Bahá’í prayer book, and the Bible on my nightstand because I’ve learned that compassion isn’t copyrighted. Every faith worth its salt says: Serve. See people. Don’t walk past suffering.

That’s why I’m launching a nonprofit for women — especially young women — to become independent and not rely on a significant other or family. Because I lived Matthew 25. Someone clothed me. Someone invited me in. Someone saw me in my cocoon stage and didn’t wait for me to become a butterfly to call me worthy.

It’s important to understand Matthew 25 in church because if we don’t, we become museums. Pretty. Historic. Dead. 

Glide refuses to be a museum. It’s a mess. A holy, loud, beautiful mess where Matthew 25 walks in the door every Sunday and sits in every row.

So today, I left church with the same assignment I always leave with: Go be the verse. 

Don’t just quote it. Don’t just “amen” it. Live it. 

For the hungry. For the stranger. For the woman leaving at midnight with her kids. For the man with a prison ID and no plan. For the 51-year-old rebuilding her life with a gym membership and a grant-writing dream.

That’s church. That’s gospel. That’s Matthew 25. 

And if your church doesn’t understand that? Find one that does. 

Or better yet — become one.