Our text says that Jesus "went up to the mountain" and, oh, what a beautiful mountain it is! The Mount of the Beatitudes is not all that high, but in Galilee it is the equivalent of Mount Everest. Stretched out below is the most fertile agricultural land in Israel, intricately laid out next to the jeweled sea, that breathtaking, blue prism reflecting the hot beauty of the Middle Eastern sun. A few years ago, after wandering around on the hilltop for a while, our pilgrim group decided that this was the place we wanted to celebrate communion - that here, on this mountain, we would share the Living Bread just as Jesus shared the Living Word.
The nuns who take care of this holy site told us where the best spot would be - right on the edge of the hill, with the sea shimmering below. There was, however, one catch. The nuns made it very clear that no woman was allowed to officiate at a communion service on this sacred hill. A bit stunned, I was somewhat at a loss as to what to do. There was a male pastor in our group, but he had taken no spiritual leadership during the trip and didn't particularly want to. And, besides, I had been longing to speak the words of institution on this spot so central to the ministry of Jesus. Finally, we agreed that all of us would say the familiar words consecrating the bread and cup - not really what the nuns had in mind, but technically honoring the request that a man officiate at the sacrament.
And it turned out to be a holy, simple moment. The wind picked up as we prayed and sang. It was as if the Spirit was surging and singing, stirring and stinging us, clearly and cleanly claiming us. Yes, the Spirit was connecting us to the past and freeing us for the future - sending us as the Word of Jesus to be spoken through the ministries of our lives. It was a grace moment - God breaking into the narrowness of our human experience and blessing us with lavish love.
Today's Gospel Lesson is one of the grace moments in scripture, stirring us, stinging us, clearly and cleanly claiming us. But it is rarely heard that way. Instead we hear it as a list of shoulds and oughts - calling us to a kind of life we are not able or willing to live. After all, who willingly wants to be poor, meek, mournful, persecuted? As much as we need to be comforted and filled, as much as we want blessing and mercy, as much as we yearn to be the precious children of God, we're not sure it is worth the cost. Or is it?
Some commentators call this passage the "ordination address to the twelve." Matthew makes it clear that when Jesus saw the crowds, he made a beeline for the mountain, moving away from all the curious people in order to have conversation with the serious people. Just prior to this passage, we hear about the call to the disciples, those twelve bewildered fishermen and tax collectors who have all of a sudden been claimed, dragged, invited, beguiled into living and learning and leaving with Jesus. As captivated as they are by this call however, these recruits still aren't sure what it means. So this morning Jesus takes them away on retreat - to the mountaintop - to teach them. These words, then, these familiar beatitudes, aren't for everybody. They are for disciples, for those of us who are serious about following Jesus, captivated but still confused by what the call means. If we don't begin there, in the heart of committed discipleship, then the words will make very little sense at all.
Now, let us be sure we know what the words are about. They are not about shoulds and oughts. Not about working and doing. They are about blessing. Jesus begins with the blessings that are already ours. This passage, this prologue to the Sermon on the Mount, is not about what will be. It is about what already is. This passage does not tell us that God will be good to us. It tells us that God is already good to us. It does not suggest that the kingdom will come - some day. It proclaims, with great joy, that the kingdom of God is already here. This passage does not say that we have to act in certain ways in order to be blessed; instead it celebrates the reality that because we are already blessed, we are empowered to act in certain ways.
Right here in the reality check of our imperfect lives, God is blessing us and loving us. Despite our titles and our public smiles, despite our bank accounts and the length of our resumè, despite all the acquired riches of the world, we know, if we are really honest, at a deep level, that we are very poor in spirit. That our lives are filled with sadness. We know that, as much as we want to be in charge, we are utterly dependent upon the grace of God to make it through the night. Yes, we know that our meager efforts to find peace in a violent and turbulent world make little difference. We know that when we really stick up for what we believe and what we value, the power brokers of this world will laugh at us and pass us by. My friends, if we can see ourselves as that small band of disciples mysteriously pulled out of the crowd, gathered at the feet of Jesus, learning to be an alternative melody of grace in a graceless world - if we can see ourselves that way - then we are already the broken, needy, vulnerable people described by the beatitudes. And it is because of that brokenness, because of that neediness, that we are blessed. This, believe it or not, is the good news of the gospel.
Some time ago on National Public Radio, there was an editorial about inspirational calendars. The commentator suggested that the very same people who are caught up in the spinning cycles of secular success are also the people watching Touched by an Angel and reading Chicken Soup for the Soul. And they - we - are the ones buying all those tear-off inspirational calendars with daily pithy quotes, so that when we hit rock bottom today, we can tear it off and find something tangible to keep us going tomorrow. As tough and together as we appear to be to others, we are as needy and impoverished of spirit as any of the people taught and touched by Jesus. And it is that very neediness that invites and receives God's blessings. It is that very neediness that provides the fertile soil for our spiritual life to grow. And if we can accept and rejoice that it is in our neediness that God's blessings are bestowed, then we can begin to embrace the neediness of others and become a blessing to them.
I recently heard about a woman who spent her life educating brain-damaged children. Now if there is any group of people whom the world rejects more than brain-damaged children, I do not know about them. Oh, we're nice to them. We're charitable to them. But we don't really value them. And so we keep them at a distance.
But this woman spent her whole career working with these children, so much so that her values were transformed. Not only were these children not worthy of being rejected, they became, to her, chosen and precious. They became to her a blessing - the poor in spirit, the clean of heart, the sad and persecuted ones who somehow reflect the joy of God's grace.
One year she decided to have her class put on a production of My Fair Lady. It never occurred to her not to give the lead part to a girl whose motor system had been damaged to the point that she was confined to a wheelchair. It never occurred to her not to give her the part. It also never occurred to her on the night the curtain opened on that first performance and that girl wheeled herself out on the stage and sang, "I could have danced all night. I could have danced all night," that the audience would weep. They had been confronted with the values of the gospel. That which the world rejects is in God's sight chosen and precious.1 That which is needy is blessed and becomes a blessing to others.
The beatitudes are actually translated wrong in most of our Bibles. The Greek does not read "Blessed are ..." but instead, "O the blessedness of...."
O the blessedness of our utter dependence on God, for that dependence ushers us into God's heart.
O the blessedness of our deep, deep sadness, for it is in that sadness that God can touch and fill and comfort us.
O the blessedness of our finite earthiness, for it is in humility that we find abundance.
O the blessedness of our yearning for the good, for that hunger can be fed by God's grace.
O the blessedness of our generosity, for generosity is the sweetness of God's love.
O the blessedness of whatever justice and harmony we can create, for peace is the reflection of God's face.
O the blessedness of suffering and struggle, for joy is the fruit of adversity.
Rejoice and be glad in the reality of our living, for it is in that reality that God is building a kingdom of love.
One preacher has summarized the beatitudes very simply. "You are loved. Go, therefore, and act like it!"2
May it be so - for you and for me. Amen.
1. From a sermon preached by Dr. Thomas Long at the 1989 Westminster Worship and Music Conference.
2. Barbara Brown Taylor, The Preaching Life (Cambridge, Massachusetts: Cowley Publications, 1993),