Matthew 5:1-12
When Jesus saw the crowds, he went up the mountain, and after he sat down, his disciples came to him. And he began to speak and 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 the sake of righteousness,
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 is great in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you.
We’ve been talking about why church? Why this peculiar, frustrating thing we do together? Today the answer is… to practice love when it is hard. And this Gospel reading is what people all over the world are reading today. The beatitudes. My 7 th grade Sunday School teacher, Mr. Vincent, made us memorize these words. You memorized one line, you got an Andes mint. All of them? You got the entire box. So, if anyone would like that incentive now, I can make chocolate happen. Living it… I wish I could make this easier.
When Jesus saw the crowds, some who were still reeling from the infuriating arrest of John the Baptist, others who just wanted some morsel of healing for themselves, he went up the mountain.
This was not going to be a normal Temple talk. This was the beginning of the most important sermon ever given. The sermon on the mount. This was not a list of rules. Not more spiritual homework for them to do. With shattered people before his eyes, and the winds of domination and brutality on his face, he spoke words of blessing. Blessing already happening.
Now Diane has just taken the ordination exams that call this Second Temple Pedagogy,
teaching aimed at formation over information, communal imagination over individual piety, and the courage to live inside paradox—with honesty about the past and faith that God’s future is assured. But that’s pretty academic. And people were hungry. So Jesus simply said:
Blessed are the poor in spirit, those with no extra reserves, no spiritual savings account, those stretched thin and emotionally exhausted who still fear they are not doing enough to meet this moment. The Kingdom of Heaven, all of it, is already theirs. There is no charge for dignity.
No documentation required. This is a birthright.
Blessed are those who mourn, those who cry in the car, hot tears about the deaths of Renee Good and Alex Pretti but also a deeper water main of unwept tears, grief that rises and surprises them. Though it is tempting to shut it off, we do not, because it is also the source of love. They will be comforted.
Look around. Look at the flood they are part of! This river of grief that gushes through the streets of Minneapolis and far beyond, it is comfort. Because comfort does not mean “everything is fine.” Its root means strength from being together.
Blessed are the meek, not the passive ones, but those who don’t need to dominate, who don’t make this about platform or power grab, who take baby formula to a neighbor, groceries to ECHO, and shovel concrete-snow for someone whose body can’t. Long after social media spasms and cultural convulsions and gladiator politics, the meek will inherit the earth. Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness. People whose whole body aches to see goodness prevail, even once, even a little, who are sick of the sludge of nihilism and trolling and cruelty. Blessed are those hiding in fear, citizens or not, in this country but also in Kenya, Ukraine, Malawi, Gaza, Venezuela, Iran and all over the world. Tell them this: the food is coming. We are all diminished until there is enough for them.
Blessed are the merciful. People who remember the season when they weren’t at their best, when they were sharp or small or afraid, and someone still showed them grace. And now they dole it out to others. Those who remember that ICE agents are human beings too, people who might have wanted a job, or security, or a cause. In the words of Bryan Stephenson, it is important to remember people are still more than the worst thing they have ever done. Mercy does not excuse harm. It names harm truthfully and still refuses to surrender anyone to it.
And the pure in heart, bless them. Those who somehow did not lose faith during a wholesale loss of faith. Remnant church folks. Federal workers and nonprofit workers who could earn more elsewhere but follow a higher calling. They have God eyes. They are not blinded by cynicism. They will be the first to recognize goodness when it breaks through. And bless the peacemakers. The exhausted ones. The ones you see on the news and the ones you don’t. In families, workplaces, classrooms and congregations. Who put their own bodies in the way of cruelty and false assumptions. In sit-ins, but also in years and years of relational work. Who ask the second question and the third. Who keep the door open. Many call themselves religious, but these, Jesus says, are my children. Yes, they are persecuted for it, and yes, they receive heaven. Because the alternatives to peacemaking … war, estrangement, the addictions we use to numb ourselves… those paths are pure hell.
And then Jesus looked straight at them. And maybe he swallowed hard. And said, listen, now I am not talking about “them” anymore, I am talking to you.
Blessed are you … when you do all of this and people still lie about you, call you a terrorist or a paid agitator or a criminal or a fool. When they shred your reputation and sometimes your body too. Beloved, I know what that is like. I hate to tell you, but this is how it goes. It’s one thing to quote Oscar Romero and MLK Jr. and Dietrich Bonhoeffer and another thing entirely to live as they lived and die as they died. It is not glamorous. It is frightening.
There is real pain and real grief. You are following someone who was considered a state criminal and killed by popular demand. There is no Easter without Good Friday. Every person dies. The question is whether they lived for something.
And just when the crowd was probably wondering what the heck they had gotten themselves into, right after these verses today, Jesus said… You are the salt of the earth. You are the light of the world. A little salt can melt ice. A little salt can make a meal worth eating. A little light can drive away darkness. A little goes a long way. So go – be salty. Go – be luminous.
Don’t hide that light under a bushel basket of anxiety or a party logo or a diagnosis or a bottle of wine or too many emails. Let it shine. Because there is a light that shines in the darkness and the darkness has not overcome it. Your grandparents who taught you faith and courage, they are part of that light. And your children and grandchildren will sit at this table of blessing one day.
This week, I went to a vigil downtown. A Somali imam from Minneapolis came to the microphone. His voice caught. He said, “We … are not garbage. We are gorgeous. We handed out 200 sambusas and tea at the place where Alex was killed. We are a feast of hope.” And standing next to him was a Catholic woman who must have been 85 years old. She told everyone to get their phones out, lift the light, and look around. And yes, she laughed that she was the one to introduce technology to the event.
She did not say, “Behold the results of effective pedagogy.”
She showed us what church looks like when it works. Love practiced over generations. Love stronger than fear, heat or bitter cold.
This is why church exists. Not to make life easier, but to make love of neighbor, love of stranger, love of enemy, possible when it is hardest, to hold the Christ light highest when it is darkest. So go now— be salty, be luminous, be brave. And let your light shine.
This little light of mine… I’m gonna let it shine.