SERMON FOR FEBRUARY 2, 2020, THE FOURTH SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY    TEXT: MATTHEW 5:1-12
      Each of the four Gospels tells its own distinctive story of how Jesus begins his ministry. According to Mark, the Savior goes with his newly-called disciples to the synagogue in Capernaum and impresses his hearers with his commanding presence. He teaches and then casts out an unclean spirit from a suffering man, and the people express wonder at this display of authority. In Luke’s account Jesus inaugurates his ministry in Galilee with a fateful return to Nazareth early on. In the synagogue there his teaching is at first well received. “All spoke well of him,” we are told, “and were amazed at the gracious words that came from his mouth.” But things suddenly go south with a disagreement over whether he will do some mighty work in their midst. His audience turns on him, and one could argue they do witness him performing a miracle. When the enraged crowd is about to throw him over a cliff, he somehow passes through their midst and safely goes on his way. After that Luke picks up where Mark began, with the events at the synagogue in Capernaum. According to John, after calling the disciples, Jesus begins his public ministry at a wedding in Cana, where he does the first sign revealing his power by changing water into wine. The first major event of Jesus’ ministry recorded in detail by Matthew is a very, very long sermon. After calling Peter and Andrew, James and John to follow him, Jesus travels throughout Galilee, teaching in the synagogues, we are told, proclaiming the good news of the kingdom and curing every disease and every sickness among the people. “And great crowds followed him” — that’s where we left off with Matthew’s story last Sunday.
     “When Jesus saw the crowds, he went up the mountain; and after he sat down, his disciples came to him. Then he began to speak . . . .” So begins the Sermon on the Mount, and its first words are the Beatitudes. These are what linguists call “performative” words; that means they do what they say. Like wedding vows, for example. When Ralph says to Betty, “I take you, Elizabeth, to be my lawfully wedded wife,” he does exactly that; then she responds in kind. They marry each other by speaking these words. So here on the mountaintop, Jesus doesn’t describe a situation of blessedness; he actually blesses people. But he doesn’t pronounce a general blessing on everyone present. He doesn’t use the second person plural “you” until the very end, a prospective blessing upon all those gathered around him, for the likelihood that they will pay a price for being his disciples. But the other beatitudes are in the third person. They are not prescriptions of what we should be if we want to be blessed, although peace-making and mercy and righteousness should be high priorities for Christians. They are targeted words directed to specific persons among the many gathered around Jesus. It isn’t like he asked them to stand up and be recognized, “Do we have any peacemakers here with us today? How about the poor in spirit? Any folks grieving or hungering for righteousness?” But they knew who they were, as Jesus singled them out.
    So what does it mean to be blessed? I like this reflection from a fellow preacher, who goes at the question from the perspective of how being blessed makes you feel: “To be blessed feels like you have someone’s unconditional regard. It feels like you are not and will not be alone, like you will be accompanied wherever you go. Being blessed feels like you have the capacity to rise above present circumstances, like you are more than the sum of your parts or past experiences. Being blessed feels like you have worth -- not because of something you did or might do, but simply because of who you are, simply because you deserve it.” Still, this is a generic description, and in the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus is quite specific. You can’t know what any of these particular blessings means until you fall into its category, until you need its power to sustain you. 
     A friend of mine wrote a fine book about the Beatitudes as what she called a compass for discipleship [Martha E. Stortz, Blessed to Follow: The Beatitudes as a Compass for Discipleship (Augsburg Fortress, 2008)] . I found her reflections on all nine insightful, but one stood out for me: “Blessed are they who mourn for they will be comforted. She knew of what she spoke. ”. . . the black hole of absence will not remain empty forever,” she writes. “The love of the Risen Christ comes in unexpected ways, some dazzling and others so ordinary we do not even notice them. Like the ancient Israelites, all we need to do is pick up what we need for the day.
     “When my husband was dying we found manna aplenty, and it sustained us. We refused to live without joy, taking refuge, instead, in what I came to call ‘the daily graces.’ . . .We tried out a new recipe, and it worked. We plotted a new route for the daily walk, and it was beautiful. Friends brought an entire Thanksgiving dinner to our doorstep — in July. At night, we counted our blessings; there were many. On the worst days, we laughed, saying that ‘the best thing that happened today was that it ended.’ Those days were actually few in number; we were being tutored in the daily graces. God’s love was poured into our hearts” (p. 36).
     At the very beginning of the service for the Burial of the Dead, the minister reads this passage from St. Paul: “Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the source of all mercy and the God of all consolation. He comforts us in all our sorrows so that we can comfort others in their sorrows with the consolation we ourselves have received from God” (2 Corinthians 1:3-4). Blessed to be a blessing, that is my friend. She is a faithful, brave companion to others who must find their way through what she calls “the country of mourning.”
     Another case in point: “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled.” Of course we should all be on the side of decency and justice, but the hunger, the thirst burst forth in the face of something specific, a particular evil that can no longer be denied or excused or endured. I remember a television clip of a young woman who confronted one of the senators during the hearings on the most recent appointment to the Supreme Court. She had been the victim of sexual violence, and she could no longer be silent. “You’re telling me my story doesn’t matter. Look at me when I’m talking to you,” she cried. The senator did not look up, but countless people around the country did. And they saw their sisters, their daughters, their granddaughters, their co-workers, their students, their friends and in many cases themselves in her anguished face and the faces of others who spoke out. “Evil may so shape events that Caesar will occupy a palace and Christ a cross,” Dr. King wrote, “but that same Christ will rise up and split history into A.D. and B.C., so that even the life of Caesar must be dated by his name. Yes, ‘the arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.’” The ones who hunger for righteousness are so very far from filled, but we will not come away empty anymore.
     Blessed to be a blessing. The Beatitudes identify the kinds of people Jesus uses in this world to bring the kingdom of heaven near — the poor in spirit, the pure in heart, the meek, the merciful, the peacemakers, those who mourn, those hungering for righteousness, those suffering for its sake and for the sake of the Gospel. Find yourself in the mix; you know who you are. And receive Christ’s blessing intended especially for you. Amen.