When I was in grade school, our Brittney Spaniel reached up to snatch a ball I was throwing, and her claw scratched my cornea. During the repair work, the ophthalmologist discovered that I was seriously nearsighted. In retrospect, looking at photos of me squinting up from my crib, we realized that I had been nearsighted from birth.
I had never seen what others see and accepted my eyesight as normal. Putting on corrective lenses for the first time, I entered a staggering new dimension; a new way of being in the world. I never knew that people could see individual leaves, single blades of grass, the numbers on the chalk board from beyond row two.
Everything was transformed. Colors were brighter, shapes sharper, experiences more raw. I could suddenly see beauty and ugliness in 20/20 focus. It was a different world when I wore those lenses, and for a long time, it was disorienting. My view shifted and my internal gyroscope sometimes twisted sideways or upside down. I was looking at the reality that had always surrounded me. Nothing in it had changed, but my perspective was completely new.
The same is true when we enter the world of Jesus. When we encounter Jesus, we must try to see the world through his eyes. When we do, even just a little, the view can be disorienting, frightening. But this perspective and our response to what we see, is vital. It lies at the heart of discipleship. We must see through the eyes of Jesus, and allow our view and our lives to be transformed.
Today, our Scripture takes us to a small windswept hill overlooking the Sea of Galilee. This hill is within view of the town of Capernaum, where Jesus made his home after leaving Nazareth. One day, when a crowd gathered on that hillside, Jesus began to teach them what it means to be blessed of God.
His words were, frankly shocking. Demanding. Disturbing. Paradoxical. Hard to understand, and perhaps even harder to live because they go against everything we think we know about success and failure, winning and losing, blessing and curse. With these words, Jesus called Israel to a new way of being, a new way of seeing. Jesus invited his listeners to see the world through God’s eyes.
Blessed are you who are poor.
Blessed are you who are now hungry.
Blessed are you who are now weeping.
Blessed poor? Blessed hungry? Blessed mourners?
This was as jarring to first century Judeans as they are to us...if we're honest. And if we do not feel this jagged edge, prodding us, challenging us, cutting us, just a little--then perhaps we are not really listening.
His words are contrary to popular wisdom; contrary to practical experience; contrary to our gut instincts for survival. But there they are—The Beatitudes —declarative and unequivocal statements about God’s grace and blessing.
In an world that worships wealth, Jesus says, “Blessed are those who have nothing.”
In a culture that compulsively denies pain, Jesus says, “Blessed are those who have the courage to love so deeply, that they grieve its loss.”
In a society that rewards bullies and oppressors with even more power, Jesus calls those who bear the agony of persecution, “Blessed.”
The Beatitudes are more than an abstract lesson of faith—they are a blueprint for action; an invitation to see the world through a different lens. They invite us to share in God’s vision, which is infinitely broader and deeper and far more challenging than our own.
The Beatitudes re-focus our eyes on people and places that others might miss, and remind us that the way things are today are not the way things have to be.
They remind us that the world of rich and poor; predator and prey; aggressor and collateral damage; filled and empty; powerful and powerless; forgiven and scorned--is a world of our own creation, not God’s.
When we look through the eyes of God, we come to see that poverty and hunger have the power to hollow us out creating space for God to dwell within. Mourning and grief can break us open, allowing the possibility of something new to emerge. Extending mercy, even when we are hurt or betrayed, pours a balm on our own wounds, allowing us to embrace redemption and hope.
The Beatitudes hold up a mirror to our actions and beliefs and in the light of that reflection, we can be transformed.
Today, the hillside Church of the Beatitudes is a place of peace and beauty; a place of pilgrimage and reflection, calling us to prayer. But it is also a mighty witness to an important truth. At the beginning and end of his public life, and throughout the whole of his ministry, Jesus saw, not as the world sees, but as God sees.
So must we, if we want to follow him.
Blessed is every community and every people who gather to hear and proclaim the Good news.
Blessed are those who keep vigil beside those who weep and mourn.
Blessed are those who venture into the wilderness to bind up wounds and pour balm upon the pain of our beautiful, broken world.
Blessed are those who listen for the cries of the poor and oppressed and respond with generosity and hope.
Blessed are those who extend mercy, even as their own hearts are breaking.
Blessed are those who recognize the faces of hurting, sinful people, as God’s own children, worthy of love.
Blessed are those who see the world through the eyes of our Lord, For the Kingdom of God is theirs.
Before that great crows of people, Jesus preached, and invited the crowd to open their eyes, to put on new lenses, to see what he saw and feel what he felt. He invited them into a new vision of God’s Kingdom where expectations will be turned upside down and the last shall be first.
Blessed are those who are brave enough, open enough, empty enough to walk beside me into hard places, and see the world through my eyes.
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