Sermon for the Sixth Sunday after the Epiphany, February 16, 2025

Jeremiah 17:5-10+Psalm 1+1 Corinthians 15:12-20+Luke 6:17-26

I would venture to guess that if you were to stand on the corner of 7th and Washington out here and take an informal poll with the question, "What are the Beatitudes?" you would probably get a reasonable approximation of "Blessed are the something, something..." In some ways, what we know as the Beatitudes are the quintessential summary of Jesus's message.

            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. (Matthew 5:3-5)

 And this is where the confusion comes in, because what I just read - likely the more familiar of these blesseds - comes from Matthew, not Luke. And I am here to tell you that they are not the same thing.

Matthew and Luke likely worked from the same source materials on this, but their audiences were quite different, and both of them - throughout their gospels - frame their stories with an intention directed at those for whom they are writing. In Matthew's case, this was predominantly Jews and recent Jewish converts. He draws on prophecy from the Hebrew Scriptures more than any other gospel writer to demonstrate that Jesus is the one they've all been waiting for. Jesus is the fulfillment of the law.

Luke, on the other hand, is less concerned with Jesus's Jewishness than he is with Jesus as the great reverser of the way things are. Luke was probably a Gentile convert, a Greek-speaker and companion of Paul, and he wants people around the region of the Mediterranean to know that Jesus is for them, and it does not matter where or to whom or in what circumstances they were born or now find themselves.

So, how does this play out in the Beatitudes? Well, most prominently, in Matthew this is part of the Sermon on the Mount. Jesus has gone up a mountain and sat down to teach, surrounded by the disciples, just as a rabbi would. In Luke, he comes down the mountain to stand "on a level place with a great crowd of his disciples and a great multitude of people from all Judea, Jerusalem, and the coast of Tyre and Sidon" (Luke 6:17). This teaching in Luke is not just for the insiders. We know he has appointed the Twelve Apostles (6:12-16), so imagine they are the first layer, but then we have this "great crowd of disciples," and the implication is that these are all the ones who have started to follow Jesus and learn from him (which is what the Greek word here, μαθητής, means). And then we have a third layer, "a great multitude of people" from all over the place. Men, women, children, foreigners, the broken-hearted and broken-bodied, the hungry and the poor who have never heard someone address them by standing with them.

Ah yes. Luke throws that little tidbit in here. Jesus comes down the mountain and stands with them - not above, not at a distance, but with. And then he launches into these blesseds, and while these sick and beleaguered are not the ones he addresses directly, they are within earshot of this teaching which is, as we shall see, quite distinct from Matthew's.

Jesus does not speak of those who are poor or hungry or weep. No, he speaks of you who are poor and hungry and weep. This is a break with the tradition of naming blessedness in general as we heard in our psalm this morning, "Happy (or blessed) are they who have not walked in the counsel of the wicked..." (Psalm1:1). No, Luke has Jesus directly addressing people for whom this is a very real condition and circumstance.

Blessed are you who are poor,
    for yours is the kingdom of God.
Blessed are you who are hungry now,
    for you will be filled.
Blessed are you who weep now,
    for you will laugh. (Luke 6:20-21)

Poor means poor, not poor in spirit, as Matthew writes. Hungry means hungry, not a hunger and thirst for righteousness. Jesus is letting them know that he sees them, sees their need, and calls them blessed in a time where to have need or to be sick or an outcast was seen as a curse, as somehow having affronted God and that this impoverished condition is a result of that. Oh, no, Jesus says. You are the blessed ones.

And then he has this little chaser directed at those who only think they are blessed. These woes are the signal of a worldview turned upside down. You who are rich and have full bellies and lives filled with laughter already have blessing, and Jesus is telling you that your privilege is over. These I am standing with are the ones that God embraces. These are the ones for whom I came.

I imagine that there are many among this crowd, the curious and inquisitive, who are taken aback by these woes. I imagine that there are many of us sitting here also taken aback. Am I not included in Jesus's message of love and blessedness? Don't I get invited to the party, too? This is where we can't read one part of scripture without holding it within the context of the rest, because throughout Luke, we will hear stories that let us in on what God is up to: everyone is invited to the party. Everyone is an object of God's grace and mercy. The only requirement is to say yes, and the barrier for most of us in saying yes is that we don't know we stand in need of that love and mercy. We have what we need, we can take care of ourselves, thank you very much. Woe to us. Or as Paul wrote to the Corinthians, " If for this life only we have hoped in Christ, we are of all people most to be pitied" (15:19)

During February, I have been sharing the stories of distinguished African American Episcopalians in my weekly essays, and it is my custom to read African American authors specifically during this month as a reminder that viewing faith and society through a white lens does not give a full picture. I returned to one of my favorite 20th century theologians, Howard Thurman, this week, and was bowled over yet again by the opening paragraphs of "Jesus and the Disinherited." When I read these words of Thurman from 1949, I can imagine Jesus standing with and among a people hungry for the great reversal he promises. Thurman wrote:

Many and varied are the interpretations dealing with the teachings and life of Jesus of Nazareth. But few of these interpretations deal with what the teachings and the life of Jesus have to say to those who stand, at a moment in human history, with their backs against the wall... Too often the price exacted by society for security and respectability is that the Christian movement in its formal expression must be on the side of the strong against the weak.. This.. reveals to what extent a religion that was born of a people acquainted with persecution and suffering has become the cornerstone of a civilization and of nations whose very position in modern life has too often been secured by a ruthless use of power applied to weak and defenseless peoples…I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of times that I have heard a sermon on the meaning of religion, of Christianity, to the man who stands with his back against the wall. It is urgent that my meaning be crystal clear. The masses of men live with their backs constantly against the wall. They are the poor, the disinherited, the dispossessed. What does our religion say to them?[1]

We stand at a moment when Christianity is promoted as the religion of the rich and powerful, that we are to take care of those closest to us and leave the crumbs for those beyond our immediate communities. Thurman reminds us that Jesus came down from the mountain and stood with those unaccustomed to such gentle words of compassion and spoke love to them. I don't know about you, but I want to be in that crowd, the one where we take care of each other, share without counting the cost, and take risks for the sake of the gospel as if our very souls depend on it. Because they do.

[1] Howard Thurman, Jesus and the Disinherited (Boston: Beacon Press 1976) 1-3.