Texts: Revelation 7:9-17, Psalm 34, 1 John 3:1-3, Matthew 5:1-12
(sermon from this Sunday)
She sat at the table, with her head in her hands. She had hoped that this would be the month that her bills would be paid. She had hoped that this month, work would come through and the meager unemployment checks would somehow multiply themselves to cover the bills necessary to feed and clothe her children and keep the lights on in their house. She never thought life would look this way. Sighing, she stood up and looked out the window for the school bus. Her children would soon be home. She rubbed her cheeks, hoping her children wouldn’t be able to tell that she had been crying. “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.”
He crept his way up to the attic, hoping his wife wouldn’t hear him sneaking up there and worry about him falling. Opening the old chest, he blew the dust off of the old photo album. Smiling back at him was a little boy, full of joy, having his first tractor ride with his grandpa. He’ll never forget his dad’s words when he buried his only son, “People always say God has a plan, but it doesn’t make us miss our loved ones any less.” He had hoped the pain would dull as time went on, but it ate at his insides. He couldn’t help looking at the old photos, remembering the nights when the house was full of laughter, side-splitting laughter, remembering the nights when his son refused to eat his dinner, the times he saw the glimmer of mischief and didn’t know whether to get angry or laugh. “Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.”
She could hear the echoes of her teenagers’ voices: “Duh, Mom, why are you so dumb?” as she folded their clothes. Some days, she wondered why she kept picking up after them. Some days, she wondered if all parents of teenagers felt this way. These people she had nurtured to life now seemed to threaten to be the death of her. Still, she lived for those moments, those reminders, when her teenage daughter curled up next to her on the couch, forgetting she was 15, and laid her head in her mom’s lap… when her son would be going out the door, would back up and say, “Thanks, Mom, I love you.” When her husband would squeeze her hand and she knew exactly what it meant, that everything - in the end - would be okay. She wasn’t sure when that would happen, but she hoped it would be soon. “Blessed are the meek, for they will receive mercy.”
They let themselves into the house; their parents wouldn’t be home for a couple of hours. After school, it was always the same: unlock the doors, look in the cupboards for something to remind their stomachs they could make it a few more hours until their next meal came, if it came. They knew they couldn’t complain to their mom and dad; they saw the haggard expressions in their eyes, telling them life was harder than what they’d imagined it to be. It didn’t make sense to them - even as children - that their parents would work full-time and still not have enough money for the necessities of life. “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for justice, for they will be filled.”
She called her friend, her best friend, knowing there probably wouldn’t be an answer. “Hi, Mary, it’s me. I’m not calling for anything special… I just… well, I just hope you’re having a good day.” It had been a few months since they had spoken. Something had happened that left a gaping hole in their friendship, and there was nothing to fill it except the silence on the other end of the phone line. Though no one was to blame, she forgave her friend… for what she had hoped for in the relationship, and hoped that she, too, could be forgiven for her failures. “Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy.”
She was a simple woman, not dumb, by any means, but she appreciated the sweet smell of chamomile in the flowers of spring, conversation with neighbors, the laughter of children, and the sense that there was something much bigger than herself governing all that is. It wasn’t that she couldn’t see the stuff that was wrong with the world, it was just that what was right with the world was so beautiful it was hard for her to take her eyes - or her mind - off it. “Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.”
He grabbed his rake and headed over to the neighbors’ house. He could see his breath and the first lights of dawn were guiding his steps as he began to pile up the leaves, still covered with frost. He breathed a sigh of relief as he finished, still no lights on in the house. He couldn’t bring himself to leave a note, but he knew his elderly neighbor could use a helping hand but wasn’t so great with asking for help. “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.”
They keep showing up to church. They know it is illegal to worship as Christians, but they know their meetings fill them with support, encouragement, and the love of God. This faith, this treasure they want to shout from the rooftops, does not fare well in their country, which mistrusts this religion called Christianity. And still they gather, risking their lives, confident they are just passing through this earth. “Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.”
Hey, Christian… this wasn’t his name, but this was what the kids at school called him. They would put notes on his locker, and he would remove them, day after day. He could see the hurt, the emptiness they felt, and he said a prayer for the kids who would bully him. He knew it was weird and backward, but he couldn’t let go of this faith that had held him since he was a child. “Blessed are you when people revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account. Rejoice and be glad, for your reward is great in heaven.”
These were the people following Jesus. In Matthew, right before the beatitudes, it says, “Jesus went throughout Galilee, teaching in their synagogues and proclaiming the good news of the kingdom and curing every disease and every sickness among the people. So his fame spread throughout all Syria, and they brought to him all the sick, those who were afflicted with various diseases and pains, demoniacs, epileptics, and paralytics, and he cured them. And great crowds followed him from Galilee, the Decapolis, Jerusalem, Judea, and from beyond the Jordan.” These, the people who were ostracized by society, who were the lowest of the low, followed Jesus. I wonder what it was to hear the words of the Beatitudes. Having just been healed, they were now being blessed by the teacher. This blessing happens in the present tense. It happens now. You have been healed, and now, listen, for you are also blessed. Jesus didn’t say, “You will be blessed,” Jesus says, “Blessed are you.”
So often, we read the beatitudes as though they are another thing we can strive for, another thing we can work on, another work we can perform. I think this misses the point entirely. Jesus’ words speaks directly to the pain that already exists. Many of us know we do not need to look far to find pain in our lives. What is it, then, to have a God that blesses us in the middle of that? The blessing happens, in the present tense, and the here and now, and still we wait. We wait for these words to be fulfilled. While the blessing is now, the fulfillment of that blessing is rarely seen on earth. It makes us yearn for the life Jesus describes, to yearn for the presence of God, to yearn for the fulfillment of God’s promises.
At first, I wondered why this text would be chosen for All Saint’s Sunday, the Sunday in which we remember loved ones who have gone on to that heavenly kingdom. One of my friends has described death as the “pretender victor,” because that is the way it feels on earth as our loved ones are welcomed into the kingdom of light. It’s as though we are pulled in two directions. We have received the blessing of eternal life already, but not its fulfillment. There is something in us that is hungry for God’s kingdom, where the last is first and the first is last, and perhaps this is why we receive blessing here and now and the promise of fulfillment in the life to come. We long for the day as described in Revelation: “They will hunger no more, and thirst no more; the sun will not strike them, nor any scorching heat; for the Lamb at the center of the throne will be their shepherd, and he will guide them to springs of the water of life, and God will wipe every tear from their eyes.” You can’t make this stuff up. The blessings we receive now make us hungry, yearning for this God who heals the sick, feeds the hungry, lifts up the oppressed, and who hears the cries of the poor. It is this hunger that refuses to be filled by any other thing that keeps us pressing onward, following Jesus up the mountain, where indeed, we are blessed. Here and now, as you are, you are blessed. Come to the table, come to Christ’s feast, and be blessed by His presence and the promise of the feast to come.
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