A Sermon for the Sixth Sunday after the Epiphany
The Rev. Patricia A. Gillespie
Jeremiah 17:5-10
Psalm 1
1 Corinthians 15:12-20
Luke 6:17-26
So, how rich or poor are you? What've you got? What do you own? What belongs to you? Make a mental list of your assets....
Woe to you,
who own a house or a car,
for you have what you need.
Woe to you,
who can put two or three meals on the table each day,
for your life will be empty.
Woe to you,
when people say you're a good person,
for then your life is in danger.
Woe to you! You might as well be dead. The original words Luke wrote are that harsh.
Of course, we think, Jesus doesn't mean us. Maybe we have cars and houses and predictable meals. But this is really about our spiritual lives. We know spiritual poverty and spiritual hunger (even if no one reviles us for it). Some of us may even – in proper, good church fashion – have included in our mental list of assets things like family, friends, and faith. So we are among those Jesus blesses.
No. Wrong book. That's Matthew's version where spiritual poverty and hunger for righteousness get blessed. Matthew, like us, has a churchy perspective. Matthew, beloved for his "comfortable words" in our old prayer book, reports the beatitudes as statements about our spiritual lives. Matthew's version – the famous one from the Sermon on the Mount – leaves out the woes.
Luke may be closer to what Jesus actually said. In Luke, Jesus is down to earth, on the level plain, not up on a spiritual mountaintop. The words are stark and direct.
It's not the "poor in spirit" who are blessed, but just plain poor. The word might be better translated "destitute.' The Greek word in Jesus' mouth here isn't pretty: "ptochoi" Sounds like, "Blessed are you who are spat on by the world." Those scum of the earth are the people to whom the kingdom of heaven belongs.
Doesn't sound much like Matthew's good church folks, or much like us.
It's not me when I'm feeling poor because I'm running a deficit budget while my kids are in college. It's not me when I was in seminary and had so little money that my kids qualified for reduced-rate lunch at school. It won't be me when I retire on a fixed income devoured by inflation.
Jesus here is talking about the poverty of real people in the real world. A world full of hurt and hunger and hate. Real pain, real empty stomachs, real rejection and exclusion. Jesus means the homeless addict, the down-syndrome bag lady, and the 138 children who will die of hunger in the eleven minutes it takes me to preach this sermon. These are the blessed ones to whom God's kingdom belongs.
"Woe is me," is the message I hear for myself. I don't like hearing that. A cynical voice whispers in my ear, "Maybe if I preach these genuinely biblical curses, hellfire, and brimstone, the congregation won't like it: they will hate me and revile me ...... then, according to the gospel, I will be among the blessed."
Does Jesus really mean that we need to be among those miserable have-nots to be blessed? Is there no room in God's kingdom for me just because I was privileged to be born into a comfortable American family instead of in an a slum in India?
I don't think Jesus is saying that being rich is bad. I do believe he is saying that being comfortable with what we have is spiritually dangerous. It could even be fatal for our souls.
Woe to you, who live in self-satisfied comfort. You have what you need. You have your consolation. You don't need to look beyond yourself: you have no need to turn to God; you have no need to turn to God's children – those children who live in real poverty and real hunger and real exclusion. It's easy for us to ignore those children , because seeing them and their misery upsets our comfortable world. It's easier to pretend they don't exist. Behaving as if they don't exist is a sin of omission. Better perhaps to revile and hate them, than to deny their existence.
Ignore them at your peril. Woe to you, comfortable ones, who turn your backs on the poor, for, remember, God's kingdom belongs to them.
If we want to share in God's kingdom, to allow God to rule in our lives, it is the poor who will invite us to join them, for theirs is the kingdom of God.
Jesus is saying that the poor, the abjectly destitute, have a gift. The "ptochoi" cannot survive in this world without the help of other people. The gift is not just that by living in neediness, they recognize their need for God. (Though that, too, is a blessing allowing them to welcome God's rule into their lives.) The gift, here and now, down on this earthly, level plain, is that they know their very life depends on other people.
We, the comfortable, can miss that blessing. For most of us independent-minded people, being dependent on others to survive doesn't sound like much of a blessing. Most of us want to be that sole remaining survivor and win the money, whether it's on an island, in the outback, or here in Little Falls.
"Woe to you!" Jesus says. That's not the way to the kingdom. The kingdom of God belongs to the poor. Perhaps then we, the comfortable, are the truly needy ones. Maybe we need the poor if we are to have a share in God's kingdom. We become beggars and the poor hold the blessing of the kingdom.
The poor, who come in great crowds to hear Jesus and to be healed. The addicts, the bag ladies, the starving children, and the shiftless beggar. The poor, who know their earthly survival depends on others. The kingdom of God, Jesus tells us, is at hand, already here among us.
If we want a part of that kingdom, if we want to share in the blessing, we'd best do as Jesus did: stand among the poor as equals on a level place.
If we want a part of God's kingdom, if we want to share in the blessing, we'd best do as the poor did: come to hear Jesus and to touch him and be healed.
The power that came out from Jesus that day on the plain – the healing touch – is still real. God's kingdom IS at hand; it is in the hands of the poor.
When we leave our comfort behind, and reach out and touch those needy hands, we touch Christ.
Blessed are you who touch Christ, for you will all be healed.