Beatitudes Behind Bars - Matthew 5:1-12

Matthew 5:1-12

When Jesus saw the crowd, he went up the mountain. He sat down an when he saw his disciples, he began to speak and he taught them, saying:

“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 receive mercy.

Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.

Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.

Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

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 will be great in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you.”

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I checked out Twitter this week – once I realized we would be hearing Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount this morning, with all of his promised blessings in mind. Because you’ve all seen someone who’s been “#blessed,” right? Maybe you’ve been “#blessed” yourself at some time, and felt compelled to share it. So, I thought I’d do a little search, and wasn’t surprised by what I found.

Easily, the majority of “#blessed” tweets to be found had something to do with young high school athletes receiving offers to play, and then committing, to a football, basketball, or baseball program at some undergraduate university or another.

Other “#blessed” posts included things you might expect: sold homes, pregnancy announcements, beautiful sunsets, new careers beginning, marriage proposals or weddings in the works, and birthdays, too, of course.

One woman was “#blessed” because her boss offered to buy her Starbucks on the way into work Thursday morning. Another guy was “#blessed” and just happy to be awake and breathing and not in jail, on Wednesday. Lots of fathers were “#blessed” to be “girl dads” in response to the death of Kobe Bryant and his daughter last Sunday.

What I didn’t see was anyone “#blessed” because of anything Jesus is talking about on the mountain-top this morning. Like:

You get the idea. Those aren’t the kinds of things we are inclined to count as blessings. And they certainly aren’t the kinds of things that most of us run to share on social media. Which is why Jesus’ words are a powerful invitation to reconsider what in the world and for whom in the world God’s blessings flow.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not dogging on the college scholarships or the babies on the way. I’m not ripping on the successful real estate ventures or the happy engagements. I think it should feel like a blessing to have your boss buy you Starbucks every once in a while.

But none of that is what Jesus is after, up on the mountain this morning.

Because Jesus is proclaiming God’s grace and blessing in a way that was new and different and unexpectedly better than anything the world had ever known before. He was proclaiming and promising that everything was to be different – that everything is different – in the Kingdom of God.

Now, many of us have heard all of this before – these beatitudes – I mean.

And because we’ve heard them so many times already, it can be easy to take their meaning for granted, or to forget how revolutionary they were – how powerful and revolutionary they are and still can be – for those who hear, and need to hear, the fullness of their Truth.

But, I think the most common misunderstanding about these beatitudes – and a trap I fall into myself sometimes – is to assume Jesus was laying out a list of pre-requisites for those who wanted to receive the blessings of God in their lives, as though God’s blessing is conditional upon however much purity, meekness, and hunger or thirst for righteousness a person could muster; as though Jesus is saying, “If you’re meek, then you’ll inherit the earth.”  Or, “If you’re hungry, then you will be filled.”  Or, “If you mourn, then you will be comforted.” And so on…

But the grace of God isn’t about pre-requisites. The grace of God is about the love and promise that shows up in surprising ways, when we feel anything and everything but “blessed” – when we’re meek and mourning, poor in spirit, pure in heart, persecuted, and so on.

So with this in mind, I saw this come to life at the prison in Pendleton this week, when a handful of us worshiped with the inmates there on Monday night. I saw and shared some surprising blessings in some surprising ways in a surprising part of God’s kingdom, I mean.

For grown men, convicted men, incarcerated men, presumably “hardened” by their life’s experience, many of them are quiet, reluctant, shy, and to themselves in the presence of the worship we share. “Blessed are the meek.”

Of course, there was a sense of some sadness there on Monday night, based on the prayers the guys offered up: they wanted to pray for Kobe Bryant, who’d died the day before, and for their wives and children and families they were missing and who were struggling without them on the outside of those prison walls. “Blessed are those who mourn.”

And there was “Thomas,” too, who was smiling and genuinely grateful to be healing and on the mend after surgery following his recent suicide attempt. (He swallowed an ink pen that did all kinds of damage to his GI tract.) “Blessed are the poor in spirit.”

And it was so great to hand out large chunks of our bread during communion, too. Never mind the theological significance of bread for the sacrament, it was a beautiful thing just to know it was probably the best-tasting and only homemade food those guys had eaten in who-knows-how-long. (It was just as powerful to pass out the leftovers after worship, too.) “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness.”

And there was Travis, who looks old enough to be my brother, but kept calling me “Father,” because of my “uniform” – the black shirt with the white collar – I was wearing. I really don’t mind that, but after the third or fourth time we joked about me not being old enough to be his “father,” and that I wasn’t a Catholic priest, he was genuinely embarrassed to have gotten it wrong again. And I was taken aback when he put his hand on my shoulder and his head on my chest in apology for his transgression. “Blessed are the pure in heart.”

See, in this most well-known bit of Jesus’ most well-known sermon, we’re reminded that what it means to be “#blessed” is different from what we expect and different from what the world would celebrate most of the time. Jesus is out to do nothing more and nothing less than offer comfort and good news and hope and peace – against all odds – for those who need it most, which may be you or me this morning; which has been, I imagine, or will be you and me at some point down the line.

Jesus promises God’s blessing not just for the ones who’ve won the scholarship, but for those who haven’t even made the team… not just for the ones who are planning their big day, but for the ones whose relationship is coming undone… not just for those making the big announcement, but for those with no news – or only bad news – to share.

God’s good news is as surprising as it is simple this morning: the abundant blessing of God’s love promises to find the meek, the merciful, and the mourning; the pure, the persecuted, and the poor in spirit – each of us, anyone and everyone – when we least expect it, when we need it most, in spite of ourselves, for the sake of the kingdom, in Jesus’ name, and always by grace alone.

Amen

"The Grace of the Humdrum" – Matthew 6:1-6, 16-21

Matthew 6:1-6, 16-21
“Beware of practicing your piety before others in order to be seen by them; for then you have no reward from your Father in heaven. “So whenever you give alms, do not sound a trumpet before you, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in the streets, so that they may be praised by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. But when you give alms, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your alms may be done in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.

“And whenever you pray, do not be like the hypocrites; for they love to stand and pray in the synagogues and at the street corners, so that they may be seen by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. But whenever you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.

“And whenever you fast, do not look dismal, like the hypocrites, for they disfigure their faces so as to show others that they are fasting. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. But when you fast, put oil on your head and wash your face, so that your fasting may be seen not by others but by your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.

“Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust consume and where thieves break in and steal; but store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust consumes and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also."

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As I was scooping out the food for my dog the other day, I thought to myself, “How many times have I done this? How many times have I reached in, scooped out a cup of kibble and fed my dog?”

It wasn’t the most profound thought to come to mind lately; well, maybe it was, but regardless…

It wasn’t actually a question I intended to answer (although I did the math and I figure the answer is around 3,500 times). Rather, it was actually more of a statement recognizing just how ordinary and routine that particular task had become. Scooping out a cup of dog food for my dog had become a part of my life.

Perhaps that seemingly-random thought was sparked by the news that several of our friends have had to put their dogs down recently. We hear about friends whose dogs are the same age as ours and in failing health and suddenly we look at our (for all we can tell) perfectly healthy dog and say things like, “Does her breathing seem labored to you?” and “She looks older” and “I wonder how much time she has left.”

Once we start to imagine a concluding event such as a milestone or a death, we start to pay attention to the ordinary and routine tasks relating to the thing that will soon end.

For example, on a Sunday last January, literally minutes after I received the news that I had been called to serve at Cross of Grace, I walked into the sanctuary at my congregation to lead worship, preach, and distribute the elements of communion. As each person came forward to receive the bread I told them, “The body of Christ, given for you.” At this point I remember thinking, “How many times have I said these words to these people in my time as their pastor?”

As with the dog food revelation, it wasn’t a question seeking an answer; rather, it was a statement recognizing just how ordinary and routine that particular task had become. Placing bread in the hands of people whom I had grown to love and saying “The body of Christ, given for you” had become a part of my life; and that particular part of my life was coming to a close.

During those remaining Sundays with my congregation I paid more attention each time I placed the bread in their hands and said, “The body of Christ, given for you.” Perhaps the congregation paid more attention also.

Our lives are filled with ordinary and routine tasks, some we’ve done hundreds or thousands of times; for example: putting on shoes, vacuuming the floors, changing diapers, driving the same route to work every day, turning on the computer, family pizza dinners on Fridays, and singing “A Mighty Fortress is Our God” on Reformation Sunday.

Could it possibly be true that these ordinary and routine tasks that infuse our lives (particularly those tasks done for others) are the key to our spiritual well-being?

Today’s gospel, a portion of Jesus’ “Sermon on the Mount,” references Jesus’ teaching about the spiritual disciplines of prayer, fasting, and money. Interestingly, the way Jesus talks about these disciplines, he makes them seem ordinary and routine – as ordinary and routine as feeding the dog, putting on shoes, or driving the same way to work each day.

Concerning prayer – Avoid provocative public demonstrations of prayer and grandiose language. Instead, go into your room, pray in secret, and use the Lord’s Prayer: “Our Father, who art in heaven…”

Concerning fasting – Do it in such a way that people can’t tell you’re fasting. Don’t change your routine or draw attention to yourself.

Concerning money – Take care not to insulate your life with things that can be bought/sold, stolen, or ruined by the elements. Rather, live within your means, be generous, and be content.

These three straightforward instructions stand in stark contrast to the messages that we are bombarded with day after day:

• that we need to stand out from the crowd,
• that we need to strive to prove ourselves over against others,
• that we need to accumulate more for ourselves.

Our culture despises uniformity, ordinariness, and routine. We face unyielding pressure to strive to be better people than we are today, as though we are only valuable to society if we:

• fit into a smaller dress,
• buy the right products,
• get into the best school,
• win the championship,
• move into the nicer neighborhood,
• earn that promotion

None of these things are necessarily “bad.” There’s little wrong with making healthy choices that end up changing our figure; just as there’s little wrong with working hard to earn or accomplish things or create new possibilities. But we must remember that our accomplishments in no way creates or diminishes our worth as citizens, human beings, and children of God.

God has declared our worth despite our complete unworthiness and inability to rely on God’s grace.

God loves us despite our desire and damaging attempts to stand out from the crowd, prove ourselves, and hoard wealth for ourselves. We’re sinners, through and through. But that doesn't stop God from loving us; nor does it stop God from being God for us.

Practicing the spiritual disciplines of prayer, fasting, and contentment will not make us better people, will not prove our worth to others or God, nor make us wealthy. The spiritual disciplines of prayer, fasting, and money are not a means to an end. Rather, they are intended to be daily practices that become a natural part of our lives – little holy moments to be appreciated and shared with all whom we come in contact.

The proverbial question goes, “How much more do you need in order to be satisfied?” The answer is always, “Just a little bit more.”

During this season of Lent, Jesus invites us to practice the spiritual disciplines of prayer, fasting, and contentment so that we can begin to recognize that the source of our happiness does not lie beyond the next obstacle, but rather exists here and now in the presence of Christ revealed to us through the ordinary and the routine.

Perhaps the ashes smeared on your foreheads and your mortality on your mind could help you pay attention to the things that truly do matter: embracing the holiness of ordinariness, seeking justice for more than just yourself, and coming to truly believe that God loves you just as you are.

And one day, as you close the door to pray or reach into our pockets to give something away, you will stop and say, “How many times have I done this?” And you will recognize that those spiritual disciplines have become ordinary and routine; and as much a part of your life as much as putting on your shoes or feeding the dog.

Amen.