A Sermon for St. John’s Episcopal Church
Charlestown, Massachusetts
Preached on January 29, 2017, The Fourth Sunday after the Epiphany
by the Rev. Thomas N. Mousin
Matthew 5:1-12
Today, we are invited to climb a mountain. Last week, we listened as Jesus called his first disciples, and then were told how “he went through the region of Galilee, teaching in their synagogues and proclaiming the Good News of the kingdom, and curing every every disease and every sickness among the people.”
So his fame spread, Matthew tells us, and great crowds followed him. “When Jesus saw the crowds, he went up the mountain; and after he sat down, his disciples came to him.”
His disciples came to him, and so do we.
The words we heard today, and will for the next three weeks, have come to be known as the Sermon on the Mount. They may not have been uttered all at one time. There is a good chance Matthew decided to collect many of the teachings of Jesus and form them in this one sermon.
There is a church on a hillside in Galilee which, according to tradition is the place where Jesus would have offered such words. It is not really a mountain. It is only a fifteen-minute walk down to the shore of the Sea of Galilee.
But the sermon itself is a mountain in our moral landscape. If you ask Matthew what it means to be a follower of Jesus, he would point you to the words in what are now the the fifth, sixth, and seventh chapter of his gospel. The words are formidable recognizable. And they are no easy words.
For it is in this sermon that we will hear Jesus say that if we wish to enter the kingdom of heaven, our righteousness must exceed that of the scribes and Pharisees. It is on this mountain that we hear Jesus tell us if our right eye causes us to sin, we should cast it out. It is on this mountain that we hear Jesus tell us that we should not resist an evildoer, but that if someone strikes us on the right cheek we should turn and offer them our left. It is on this mountain that we hear Jesus tell us that we have been taught to love our neighbor and hate hate our enemy; but Jesus wilt tell us to love our enemy, and pray for those who persecute us. Those words could hardly be more timely.
And if we have any doubt about how comprehensive this vision is of a moral life, it on this mountain that we will also hear Jesus say, “Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect.”
So…. How are you doing on the “perfection scale? “Are you still ready to climb this particular mountain? How does one respond to such a radical message? The seemingly impossible demands of this Gospel – this Good News, if one dares call it that – are so rigorous, that I find again and again I want to turn away from this expedition. I am not perfect, nor will I ever be. Let me find smaller hills to climb. Let me find ways to make compromises, or diminish the radical call I hear. Let me convince myself that Jesus is just exaggerating to make a point.
But Jesus invites you and me to dwell in this moral landscape. And he does so with the words we first hear in this sermon. These opening words, often called “the Beatitudes,” prepare us for what is ahead. They are not what we might expect. We don’t hear Jesus inviting us to bring our courage, bring our strength to bring our compassion, or to bring all that we already have for the arduous ascent. Instead, he speaks of blessings:
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.
Blessings: a tricky word. We like to thank God for our blessings. Usually we refer to good things that have happened, or what we have received. But if we speak of ourselves as blessed, does that mean God favors us over those who have less, or who have not been protected from harm?
Jesus’ use of this word revealing, and tells us about how we might be prepared to dwell on this mountain; how we might live into the ethic that is summarized in the Sermon on the Mount.
So to begin:
Blessed are the poor in spirit. Not blessed are the wise and those who are spiritually rich and fortified. But blessed are those who are in need: who are poor in spirit. Blessed are those who do not have the spiritual resources for this journey ahead. For theirs is the kingdom of heaven
Blessed are those who mourn. Not blessed are those for whom everything has gone right, for whom life has been free from suffering or loss. But blessed are those who have been broken by grief. For they will be comforted.
Blessed are the meek. Not blessed are the strong and the assertive, not blessed are the great, but blessed are the meek: those who somehow have learned to live with a quiet and confident determination in the face of all that life presents, for they will inherit the earth.
And then this: Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness. Not blessed are those who have fulfilled all righteousness and live justly and honorably, but those who hunger and thirst for righteousness: who know their imperfection, who are unafraid to name their sinfulness and their desire for something more.
These first four blessings are not a call to action, but rather an invitation to see that what we need for the steep ascent of this moral landscape is to recognize our own humanity, our imperfectness, our hunger and thirst for a better of way of living and acting.
It is a strange way to think of being blessed. And can it possibly be true? Of course. To cite but one of these blessings:
At the beginning of this month, I had the privilege of presiding at the funeral of Nick Acker, the 22-year-old son of Robin Acker. He died all too soon from the disease of epilepsy. His was a quiet and small service for immediate family and a few friends here at St. John’s. Yesterday, I attended a funeral in Vermont for a ninety-year-old friend. George had for many years been the chair of the English Department at Brattleboro High School. He had been senior warden of St. Michael’s in Brattleboro, and was deeply involved in the life of the parish and the larger community since moving there almost 50 years ago It was standing room only in the church.
Two unique lives, one all too short, and one full of years. Two grieving families. And yet at both services, a profound sense of blessing: Blessed were we who mourned, for we were comforted. And at each service we were profoundly aware of how precious life is, and whatever the measure of our days, we are blessed.
There was another service this month which I could not attend, for Cynthia Sprague. A longtime member of this parish, Cynthia resided in a nursing home, where illness had led to blindness and her being confined to her bed. I tried to visit her once a month to bring communion. Inevitably, when I came to her bedside and asked how she was, she would beam at me and say, “I’m just fine!” Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.
I think it is no accident that Jesus offers these blessings first, speaking of poverty, grief, meekness, hunger, and thirst. For it is those whose lives have been shaped by these realities who can indeed discover the capacity to show mercy, who find within them a purity of heart, who can become peacemakers, and who can withstand persecution and being reviled for their faith.
Will the ascent be easy? Of course not. And suffering loss or acknowledging our hunger and desire does not necessarily give us all the skills we will need.
Just this morning I heard an interview with John Lewis, the civil rights leader and congressman who was at the forefront of the civil rights movement in the 1960’s. He spoke about the movement’s commitment to Christian nonviolence – to living out the creed in this Sermon on the Mount.
But that loving nonviolent action did not just happen. He said that before there were sit downs, before the Selma march, before engaging in the direct action of being a peacemaker, there was training, there was education, there was formation – studying the works of Gandhi and Jesus; even role playing what it would be like to be attacked and spat upon. They knew they would be persecuted for Christ’s sake. But blessed are those who hunger and thirst for knowledge and wisdom, and the courage to act, for they shall be given those things.
Jesus will ask much of us in the next few weeks as we make our way through the Sermon on the Mount. Jesus is already asking much of us in these days when when the qualities of mercy, humility and kindness are rapidly disappearing from our common life. Jesus is already asking much of us when we are being encouraged not only to hate our enemies but to make new ones and to live in fear of them them.
Yes, Jesus is asking much of us: blessed are the refugees and exiles, for they shall be welcomed and brought home.
What is required of us to respond to that biblical call? Yes, our best efforts. But Jesus asks us to climb this mountain with him not convinced of our own abilities or even with a self-righteous belief that our cause is just, but rather as those who are hungering and thirsting for our own lives to be transformed, who are able to see joy in our own griefs, and discover strength in our weakness. As Paul reminds us, God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong.
My friends, I invite you to climb the mountain with me, and there to discover not a formidable array of moral commandments which we cannot keep, but rather an invitation into a life of continually being transformed. I invite you to join with countless others who have discovered in the way of Jesus the strange and good news of being blessed in the most unlikely and life giving of ways.
Amen.