PaddlingPadre

This weekend we begin reading from the Sermon on the Mount, that great discourse of Jesus that we find in Matthew’s gospel, which we will be hearing from for these next three weeks until the start of Lent. And it’s important, I think, that we not lose sight of the unity of this discourse, which can easily happen when we are hearing short excerpts of a sermon that takes up a full three chapters, because if we lose sight of this sermon’s unity then we can lose sight also of its prophetic character. Skipping ahead from the beginning of the Sermon, which we hear today, and jumping all the way to its conclusion at the end of chapter of chapter seven, we read there that when Jesus finished these sayings, the crowds were astonished at his teaching, for he was teaching them as one who had authority, and not as their scribes. In saying this, Matthew is doubtlessly directing our attention to the book of Deuteronomy, where Moses spoke the words of God to the Israelites on the far side of the Jordan, saying: The Lord your God will raise up for you a prophet like me from among you, from your brothers – it is to him that you shall listen.

Now, one might have supposed that this prophecy was in reference to Joshua, perhaps, who took over the leadership of the Israelites after Moses’ death and led them into the promised land. But as we hear at the end of Deuteronomy that cannot be so. For while we read there that Joshua the son of Nun was, indeed, full of the spirit of wisdom and that the people of Israel obeyed him and did as the Lord had commanded Moses, we go on to read that there has not arisen a prophet since in Israel like Moses, whom the Lord knew face to face.

What this is means is that by the time the book of Deuteronomy had reached its final form, this prophecy of a prophet like Moses had already worked its way into Jewish expectation as being one of those hanging of threads of prophecy, such as one sees throughout the Old Testament, still looking for its fulfillment. A fact which, of course, brings us to this fifth chapter of Matthew’s gospel, where Jesus, like Moses on Mount Horeb, goes up a mountain and teaches the people with authority, instructing them in how they are to live and how they are to pray.

And this instruction begins with the beatitudes. Blessed are the poor, blessed are they who morn, blessed are the meek, blessed are they who hunger and thirst for righteousness, blessed are the merciful, blessed are the clean of heart, blessed are the peacemakers, blessed are they who are persecuted for the sake of righteousness, and blessed are they who suffer for the name of Christ. There are two things, I think, to notice here.

First, Jesus is making very clear from the outset that he has come to bring blessedness to those who follow his teaching. In this we see another parallel with Deuteronomy, where Moses speaks to the people of the blessings that will come upon Israel if they are faithful to the covenant, as well as of the disasters that will befall them if they are not. So too with Jesus. Like Moses before him, he is pointing out for us the way to blessedness, the way that leads to life. Indeed, the mere fact of hearing Jesus’ words forces this choice upon us: will we choose the way that leads to blessedness, or the else the way that leads to destruction? As the Didache puts it in its opening line (the Didache being essentially a very early catechism from the first century) “There are two ways, one of life and one of death; but a great difference between the two ways.” And this is existential stuff, because standing still is not an option. Either you are walking down the one path, or else you are walking down the other, and Jesus has come so that we might know the path that leads to life, the path that leads to blessedness, as he says elsewhere I have come that they might have life, and have it abundantly.

So that’s the first thing. Jesus has come as a new Moses in order to point out the way that leads to life. But the second thing, and this is perhaps the most arresting aspect of the Beatitudes, is that this way of life does not look like how we might have imagined it to look. What logic is being revealed here, where blessedness is identified          with poverty, with mourning, with meekness and with persecution? There is a worldly logic, a logic with which we are all familiar, that utterly recoils at this, that retorts that blessedness is rather found in wealth and power, in independence and self-possession, in doing good to one’s friends and harm to one’s enemies, and in the ready satisfaction of appetite. One hears in this retort, perhaps, the voice of Nietzsche, or at least an incredulousness to the idea that this way which Jesus is pointing out to us is truly the way to life, when in a certain sense, in recommending what we would rather avoid, it would seem rather to be embracing a kind of death.

And certainly, in a sense, it is doing so, for the logic of the Beatitudes, in response to our earlier question, is the logic of the cross. But the logic of the cross, and this is what the critic is missing, this is what the logic of the world cannot comprehend, is a logic of love. What Christ does for us on the cross is to empty himself utterly for us, to pour himself out for his beloved, the Church. In doing this, Christ is doing nothing less than revealing for us the inner dynamic of his own Trinitarian life, as the Father gives himself totally to the Son who in turn returns totally to the Father. To be a Christian, then, is likewise to find yourself in the other in a Trinitarian way, to pour yourself out in love just as Christ did, because ultimately it is this complete gift of self that characterizes the Triune life of God, so that to love in this way is to become god-like, and it is precisely for this reason that Christ came: that we might, through him, have a share in that divine life.

And yes, there is a certain death that is involved in this. We must indeed die to ourselves, die to this idea, this false idea, that we can be independent and self-sufficient and invulnerable. Instead, we must embrace the truth of our being: that we are not gods, but creatures, that we are radically dependent, and that he who would live for himself will die alone. And embracing, then, the call of Jesus to love with a kenotic, self-emptying love, we will, truly enough, find ourselves to be vulnerable, find ourselves to be wounded, find ourselves to suffer – but even in this life that suffering will take on a certain sweetness, for it will be a suffering that is born of love, that is born of divine, Trinitarian love.

And if we have that, if we rest in the love of the Trinity, then we have everything. That is what the whole arc of salvation history aims for, it’s why God called Abraham and spoke through Moses and then at last sent his Son: that we might share in divine life, in divine love. And so, if you remain in that love, rejoice and be glad! For truly, there can be no greater blessing.