November 1st Sermon by The Reverend Loree Reed

Matthew 5: 1–12
May the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable in thy sight, O Lord our strength and our redeemer. Amen.

A couple of weeks ago I got a call from someone at The Cathedral Bookstore asking if I would take part in a series of video conversations the Bookstore was sponsoring called Conversations with our Priests. All I had to do, my caller promised, was to choose a topic I’d be willing to discuss with another priest in the Diocese for thirty to forty minutes and then talk with that priest on a Zoom call that could be shared around the Diocese.
To make it easy on myself I chose the topic of Incarnation, and agreed to do the talk sometime during Advent. After all, I thought, what could be simpler than Incarnation – God appearing in the flesh — close to Christmastime? What I was picturing, of course, was some Christmas card version of the manger scene – maybe my favorite painting by Rembrandt, where the presence of the divine is represented by light in the dark stable, illuminating every holy face. But after some time trying to work on that talk, I’ve begun to realize that this won’t be quite as easy as I’d hoped – because incarnation is not reserved for Christmas time alone – and Jesus is seldom where we think he will be.
Take, for example, the Beatitudes in our Gospel reading from Matthew this morning. Jesus is incarnate all over this passage, but it takes some careful thought . . . and more than a few second glances to see it. For what Jesus describes here is not at all what we expect.
Jesus has just begun his ministry, and in this, his inaugural teaching — which we’ve come to call the Sermon on the Mount – he is describing the qualifications for membership in the Kingdom of God. You will know the saints of the Kingdom, he says, the ones who belong, by the blessings that accompany them, blessings that God has pronounced on them. Only, as I said earlier, these qualifications don’t look like blessings at first.
Blessed, Jesus says, are those who need God in the worst possible way; the kingdom of heaven is theirs.
Blessed are the sad, he says, the ones who can’t stop crying over all the hurt they see in this world, for they shall be consoled.
Blessed are the timid, the ones who won’t push to the head of the line, for they shall inherit the earth.
Blessed are those who have worked up a good appetite for God and his ways; the best meal they have ever eaten is on its way.
Blessed are you who care – passionately — for others; you will be cared for by God.
Blessed are you when you teach people to cooperate instead of competing or fighting; you shall be called the children of God.
Blessed are you when you are persecuted for doing things God’s way; that’s the ‘good trouble’ God’s prophets and witnesses always get into. And up in heaven we’re cheering you on.
Now, that’s not exactly how our New Revised Standard Version put it this morning, but you get the idea. The people Jesus calls ‘blessed’ aren’t at all the ones we have imagined, especially if we were looking for sleek well–fed faces, serene faces illuminated by halos. On the contrary, the faces of the people Jesus calls blessed are lined with tears . . . or they look careworn . . . or they are gaunt with poverty. Just like Jesus, these people are vulnerable . . . they appear weak . . . they are hardly upstanding citizens respected by the best people in town.
But they’re hardly to be pitied, for Jesus says some of them have actually chosen that place at the end of the line, realizing that somebody back there needed their help. When someone crosses them they are the ones who choose to extend mercy rather than exact revenge. And when they find themselves in trouble you will see them striving for peace, turning the other cheek, rather than exerting their will through violence.
That all sounds good until I realize that that’s not the way most of us have been taught to behave. On the contrary, our whole lives long we’ve been encouraged to speak up and assert ourselves, beat out the competition, think positive thoughts rather than sad ones, and not get involved in other people’s problems. We’ve been taught to value “success” – defined in terms of material wellbeing. And if we notice someone who doesn’t have those material goods — Well, as someone recently said, what can you do? You can’t help someone who doesn’t want to succeed.
You see, there’s a whole worldly mindset superimposed over these beatitudes – at least in our own minds. We want the second half each one of them offers. We want the intimacy with God, the consolation only God can give. We want mercy to be shown to us even when we fall short – and heaven thrown in as well. But we’re not so enthusiastic about the first half of these beatitudes — the mercy we’re to extend towards others, no matter what they’ve done, or an unwillingness to fight, even when we think we’re right. We haven’t yet seen that someone’s sadness . . . or meekness . . . or thirst for God might be an indication of God already working in them. In other words, we haven’t quite seen the face of Jesus in the people of this world that the world calls “losers.” And we certainly hadn’t planned to join them.
But maybe that’s what we need to see – that Jesus Christ is incarnate in people this world tends to disparage – the people who help the helpless . . . the people who care when caring seems to be a fool’s errand . . . the people who simply weep for all the trouble in this world . . . This is the secret of Incarnation. It’s a whole new way of seeing heaven on earth. And maybe that’s what All Saints Day is all about.
You see, on all Saints Day – which is today – we don’t just celebrate the saints everyone knows were saintly – the Mother Teresas of this world, Pope John XXIII, or Saint Francis. We celebrate Auntie Mead and Cousin Lucie and that fifth grade teacher who was uncommonly kind to us, no matter how we behaved. We remember the people who cared for us when no one else noticed our need. And when we remember their kindness to us, when we begin to see that Jesus was in them, working his love into us when no one else did we begin to realize that we too – in little ways, small ways – can begin to extend the love of Jesus to others. And see heaven on earth in a way we haven’t seen before: Jesus Christ, operating through each one of us.
Amen
 
Return to Sermons Home Page Top of Page