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S. Epiphany 4.26 Micah 6:1-8, Matt. 5:1-12

‘Blessed are you when others revile you and pursue you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account. Rejoice and be glad, for great is your reward in heaven…’

OK, so sermon #97 on the Beatitudes (a rough estimate. I never look back or count). But the text comes up 3 times a year or more in the lectionary plus funerals, festivals, so, without a doubt, I’ve written way more sermons on this text the last 40 years of sermon writing than any other… by far! It’s gotta be getting up around 100!

And I’ll confess something: the Beatitudes and I went through a rough patch in our relationship starting sometime in the late aughts. We grew apart, I’m sad to report. It was the familiar old break-up line: “it’s me, not you. You’re great. I’m terrible. I’ve got issues; so I just I think we need to go our separate ways for a while, at least, maybe see other… texts?”

Of course, no one who says that really means it! It’s always YOU! You’re the problem—your nagging, your disapproval of my friends, that tone of voice you get when I haven’t lived up to your expectations that makes me tired of you, makes my eye rove towards greener pastures, new adventures. I’m just saying that “it’s me” to let you down easy and to part as friends, because, hey; why burn bridges? You are easy on the eyes (!), and (even when you’re a little judgy 😉 you’re still tons of fun to be with… 😉

So it was with me and the Beatitudes after oh, what was it? 20+ years together? It was like the couple who came up to me before service a few years ago and said “Pastor, we’d like a prayer for 30 years of happy marriage.” I went, “Oh, that’s wonderful! Happy 30th anniversary!” And the wife went, “Well, we’ve been married 37 years, actually,” and shot a withering look at her husband who looked… sheepish.

“Deep down, (where you are really pretty shallow) you know it’s you—not me!” 😉

Everyone thinks that—the quiet part we don’t say out loud. Then… you run into your old flame at a funeral or festival (I’ve never quite understood why, but the Beatitudes are recommended saint’s day/funeral texts) and an awkward silence ensues as the cursor flashes from a blank page and you can’t think of a thing to say… 😉

I started this homily riffing on my stormy relationship with the Beatitudes, because I didn’t have a thing to say, hoping it’d trigger something… and it did! Isn’t our relationship with Jesus like this?!

His idea of a good time and mine can be so… different. His expectations of me can be so… daunting. It’s awesome (and terrifying!) at the same time—being with Jesus, as the disciples all discovered along the Way.

And these are literally Jesus’ first words to his disciples, the Beatitudes. It sets the tone for the whole stormy affair. And instead of talking about our good points that draw him to us, he starts in with the… bad (well it sounds bad, or at least unpromising and unromantic to me, at first!)

Jesus says it’s the poor in spirit, the mourning, meek, those hungry and thirsty for righteousness that are blessed (“happy” is a more literal translation of the Greek). But especially the “persecuted” are happy when they’re reviled and hounded, for Christ’s sake!

The Greek διωκω is literally “pursue”—not persecute—and while they’re similar words, the difference is important. Being “chased after” in an unwelcome way is the idea…

And God chases us—not for our attractive qualities, but for our poverty, misery, weakness—to replace that with his judgment, lovingkindness, and mercy—as Micah said in that lovely verse at the end of our OT reading. And God wants us to chase him—to find those things from him, for only he has them to give. And, sometimes, our pursuers are chasing us, NOT with evil intent, but from a sincere desire to have what we’re having—that divine judgment, kindness and mercy they see in us…

I recently got into an email exchange with an old friend of mine from grad school who edits the journal First Things that I’ve long been a reader of. Rusty had an editorial in the last issue replying to a scholar who took issue with the Yale School for not caring about bridging the chasm between the church and ‘cultural outsiders’—like our old teachers were only concerned about building walls to keep out the riffraff…

I wrote him all excited because the discussion reminded me of something George Lindbeck (one of our favorite teachers) said to me when I asked him about this question. George said—with a wry smile, that was part LOTR Elf and part Shaolin Kung-Fu master:

“The church indeed has very definite boundaries, creedally maintained. But they are also quite porous boundaries. Nothing was more momentous for the early Xns than when a friend or spouse would convert to the Faith. But, as Peter exhorted wives with unbelieving husbands: “Don’t say a word to them about it! Let your reverent conduct be your only witness—unless they demand a word from you re: Jesus.”

Which reminded me of something our old teacher Paul Holmer wrote: “The devastating harshness of God’s love, which demands complete surrender, which fixes a chasm between Godliness and worldliness, between believers and unbelievers, between good and evil, is also the very reason why people are offended by tidings that do not always sound attractive… One must never entertain a picture of Christian theology as a net of causes and reasons, an intellectual proposal which will reclaim the masses by its sweet reasonableness.”

It was because my old teachers cared about ‘cultural outsiders’ that they rebuilt Jerusalem’s walls as Nehemiah did, long ago: sturdily, yet with plenty of little doors those who pursued Jesus (to get in on his kindness, and mercy and love) could squeeze through…

That the Way is difficult and that few find IT is something Jesus says a chapter or so later in the Sermon on the Mount. Like Groucho said: “I wouldn’t want to be a member of a club that wants me for a member.” Those exclusive clubs are pursued by people for motives noble and ignoble!

Jesus repels before he attracts. There’s no form or comeliness in him we desire… at first! Jesus excludes no one; we exclude ourselves. The problem with getting into Christ’s Kingdom lies with my reluctance, not his disdain…

But… when we’re sick and tired of our lousy old sinful selves—our poverty of spirit, self-centeredness and general meanness, then the love of Christ (that at first appears so harsh and unyielding!) turns out to be a little crack, that secret door where the light gets in, and we slip through…

Today, his mercy calls you—all poor, hungry, thirsty—to be filled with the word of his grace. He slays your hunger and thirst with his body and blood, forgiving all your sins, bridging the chasm between us by his cross, beginning a beautiful friendship where his Peace, surpassing all understanding, guards our hearts and minds in Christ Jesus. Amen.