In a world full of pain, how could Jesus call the poor, the meek, the mourners blessed?
"I prayed so many times, and so hard, so hard I prayed, and nothing happened. And now I'm not so sure... that there is a God."
With these words, freed hostage Thomas Sutherland summed up his six-and-a-half years of captivity in Lebanon. He recounted his seemingly unending ordeal, chained to the wall in a dark, underground cell. He spoke in chilling terms of the day he was beaten so badly that he screamed in pain. And he told the press that he and fellow hostage Terry Anderson, both in chains, passed the time by debating religion. Sutherland took the agnostic view, Anderson argued that God does indeed exist.
After hearing about his experience, you'd think that agnostic Sutherland had the distinct advantage. Isn't his viewpoint painfully understandable? After all, if God exists, if the universe is His, how can such anarchy rule?
All around the globe such things happen, and not just in the arena of political differences. Irrational, disgruntled workers take up arms and turn to rage to gain a hearing, or to release their pent-up frustration. In the process, the innocent, or at least the defenseless, become the victims. Consider the world's rules of order: The weak suffer. The gentle are disregarded. The poor, the hungry, the homeless are forgotten.
Suppose Christ Himself were called on to explain the government of His Kingdom. How would He account for such incongruity: the reign of God and the simultaneous reign of evil? What can He possibly say to us that would dispel our strong suspicion that everything is out of control?
And in this world, as subjects of the unseen King, how are we to live?
What Kind of Kingdom?
Jesus understood the incongruities of His Kingdom. He knew who He was: both the Son of God and the child of human poverty. He knew the innuendo surrounding His birth, how His expectant parents had been ridiculed by judgmental neighbors. He also knew that the good news of His birth had meant death to Bethlehem's infant sons. He knew what it was to be misunderstood by those closest to Him. He knew the oppression of life in occupied territories, under often inequitable rule. He knew, as He faced the great temptation, that the kingdoms of the world were, in some mysterious sense, Satan's possession to offer. He knew that the land was filled with the sick to be healed, the demon-controlled to be delivered, the captives to be freed. He knew He would face betrayal and excruciating execution. He knew that we who follow Him would also fail Him.
He was not naive.
He knew.
What sort of Kingdom is His, then, that His world and ours should remain so frustratingly unchanged?
Of course, the people followed Him at first because they suspected He would change the world. They faced disease and saw Him as their healer. They grew hungry and clamored for Him to be their provider. They languished under Rome and wondered if He might not be the liberator they had longed for.
The crowds were His. Until He withheld His miracles. Until He dismissed political solutions. Until He told them to count the cost.
What sense was there in joining this no-change kingdom?
And yet, how could they—or we—misunderstand His agenda for change? All the clues were there—for them and now for us—at the beginning of His ministry, in the first ninety-six words of His first great sermon. We have come to call that sermon introduction, "The Beatitudes." Those ninety-six words form a sort of preamble to the Constitution of the Kingdom, the Sermon on the Mount.
Time yourself. Say them aloud, slowly, thoughtfully. The essence of the Kingdom is conveyed in less than sixty seconds.
"Blessed Are The Poor in Spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
"Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.
"Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.
"Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled.
"Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy.
"Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.
"Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called the sons of God.
"Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven" (Mt. 5:3-10).
A Kingdom in Two Tenses
Welcome to the invisible Kingdom. The Kingdom in two tenses—present and future—where what God does now, within us, foreshadows what He will do for us someday, out in the open, for all to see. In this Kingdom, the ruler's subjects will thrive, though they have faced persecution. Meekness will be rewarded, sorrow taken away, legitimate desires fulfilled. Those who know how, see the face of God. Peacemakers, not warmongers, are given the place of honor. The humble, not the proud, are exalted. And in this Kingdom, today and until the King returns, we undergo astonishing inward change, so that we are equipped to live in a world that, for now, stubbornly refuses to change.
"Blessed."
Such an odd way to begin a sermon, and a career.
"Blessed."
"Blessed."
"Blessed."
Eight pronouncements, delineating a joy that can coexist with pain.
A deep happiness can be ours in the midst of poverty, in the face of sorrow, in the position of weakness. We value righteousness and are rewarded. We show mercy and receive it in return. We live in purity and meet the Purifier. We spread peace and are known by God's name. And if life's worst befalls us, even then the King Himself is with us; His Kingdom belongs to us.
Impossible Standards
I used to stumble over the Beatitudes as I read. I saw them as beautiful, religious-sounding statements. It was fitting that they should be immortalized on wall-hangings and greeting cards. But what did they mean? It was after I began considering their opposites that I felt their life-changing force.
I am blessed if I am "poor in spirit," not if I am overcome with pride over my own importance and spiritual achievements.
I am blessed if I "mourn," not if I am callous and insensitive to the pain around me.
I am blessed if I am "meek," not if I am swallowed up with greed and anger.
I am blessed if I "hunger and thirst after righteousness," not if I am indifferent toward God and His ways.
I am blessed if I am "merciful," not if I am bitter, resentful, and cold.
I am blessed if I am "pure in heart," not if my thoughts are filled with impurity.
I am blessed if I am a "peacemaker," not if I am critical, judgmental, and hostile.
I am blessed if I am "persecuted because of righteousness," not if I am ashamed of God or embarrassed to be known as His follower.
Reeling from the impact of the Beatitudes, I understood a bit more clearly why this great sermon began with those ninety-six words. The sermon's standards are impossibly high. In this Kingdom, the laws are written on hearts—love your enemies, control your lust, tame your anger, withhold judgment. Who can fulfill the expectations? Only spiritually renovated people. "Blessed" people. Until I grasp these spiritual qualities, the Beatitudes, it will be hard to hear the rest of the sermon. That preamble puts the Constitution of the Kingdom in perspective.
But in reading these characteristics as spiritual qualities, I must not forget their earthly tone, or I will miss much of what Jesus was trying to convey. That is, He used the language of poverty, sorrow, and human conflict for a reason.
"Your Kingdom come."
Perhaps you have noticed: Though the Beatitudes are recorded by both Matthew (chapter 5) and Luke (chapter 6), we tend to favor Matthew in our reading. His rendition sounds so spiritual. Luke's is more earthly. Also, as Luke relates it, Jesus speaks to us directly, in the second person.
Matthew says, "Blessed Are The Poor in Spirit." Luke says simply, "Blessed are you who are poor."
Matthew says, "Blessed are those who hunger and thirst after righteousness." Luke says, "Blessed are you who hunger now."
Throughout Scripture the poor, the hungry, the disenfranchised are depicted as somehow closer to the Kingdom. They are less likely to trust in their own position or merit, more apt to be driven to God out of their hopelessness. Wealth, comfort, and position can so easily blind us to what matters. The discomfort of poverty, on the other hand, may open our spiritual eyes to see ourselves as we truly are.
Is it possible that lacking food would lead us to a place where we are more likely to hunger and thirst after righteousness? Could it be that our material poverty would help us to understand what it means to be poor in spirit?
It is certainly understandable that six-and-a-half years of captivity and "unanswered prayers" would lead a man to question the existence of God. But is it really surprising that another man, going through the same experience, would come to a different conclusion? Couldn't such an experience drive us to God, if only we could make sense of His silence?
What if hardship—poverty, hunger, sorrow, even persecution—did open our eyes to see Earth's invisible King? What if seeing Him changed us, even if our circumstances remained unchanged? Wouldn't we also find ourselves filled with a deep joy, a mysterious happiness? If we could sense God with us, even in our most severe heartache—if it is possible—wouldn't we then discover what it truly means to be "blessed"?
Is it such incongruity that drives Jesus to begin His sermon, and in a sense His ministry, with sixty seconds of perspective?
"Blessed."
"Blessed."
"Blessed."
We must not lightly dismiss Thomas Sutherland's 2,347 days of captivity. Neither do nice words take away the blinding sting of grief for families in this country who have lost someone they love to mindless violence. The poor may not be lifted from their poverty. The hungry may remain unfed. The homeless may still search for shelter.
The invisible King knew we would long for justice and for some reasonable comfort. Not surprisingly, then, in this same great sermon he taught us to pray, "Your kingdom come. Your will be done on earth as it is in heaven." The outward changes we all crave will come. We will experience firsthand the Kingdom's future tense.
Until then, those who know the King, who are being changed from the inside out, may discover a deep happiness, rising above circumstance. In this present tense of the Kingdom, that is the great surprise. The King is alive, writing His preamble within us, and teaching us to live it:
"Blessed."
"Blessed."
"Blessed."
— Discipleship Journal
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