text: Matt. 5:3-12
Introduction
About 13 years ago, when I was still pastoring the local Church of the Brethren, Muskegon County Cooperating Churches asked me to serve as vice-president. Though I wasn't sure what resources a shy pastor with limited local connections outside of a small, aging, blue collar congregation had to offer, the office didn't seem to require much additional time commitment and would look good on a resume'. However in June of that year the president of the group was reassigned from Muskegon to Battle Creek – automatically making me acting president for the remainder of the year. In addition to the usual tasks of chairing meetings and occasionally representing the group in the community, it was still customary to write a few lines for the organization's bimonthly newsletter, BRANCHES. Our staff received favorable comments about my musings during those few months, so I was requested to continue writing for the newsletter at the end of my term. Since February 1994 these essays have appeared under the title “Gleanings”. In November 2005 Muskegon County Cooperating Churches published a collection of 35 of these pieces. This morning I will read 3 essays and 2 short poems from that collection.
Heirs of the Kingdom (March/April 1996)
[ Heirs of the Kingdom originally appeared in March/April 1996. It is a brief commentary on the Beatitudes.]
Friends and relatives commonly comment on family resemblances apparent in small children. I've been especially aware of this phenomenon since the birth of my own daughter. At six months, Lois and I recognize a composite image of ourselves in Maya's face: Mom's high forehead and red hair, Dad's mouth and chin (minus the whiskers obviously!). Resemblance helps us recognize genetic relationships. It is a source of pride and occasionally relief for adults, and remedies many a childhood taunt from elder siblings and cousins that one was adopted. Inherited traits simply are what they are. We did not and cannot choose our parents. We can, however, exert a major influence on the quality of our family relationships based on attitudes.
Jesus began the Sermon on the Mount (Matt.5-7) by listing traits of blessed, fortunate, happy people. Though he spoke of attitudes rather than physical characteristics, they do contain concrete consequences for ourselves and others. These traits are set in the language of family, relationship, inheritance; hence I think of them as traits of the family of God. Like genetic traits, beatitudes simply are what they are. The list is primarily descriptive, not prescriptive. Unlike genetic traits, we can choose to change attitudes, and hence the quality of our relationships with God and humanity. Following are my current understandings of these blessed attitudes (Matt. 5:3-12) in brief.
Poor in spirit (v. 3) -- a humble espousal of voluntary poverty, trusting the One who feeds the birds of the air and clothes the grass of the field.1
Mourn (v. 4) -- Grief has its place among God's people as a remorseful response to our personal shortcomings. Jesus wept empathetically with those who wept at Lazarus' tomb.
He also wept over Jerusalem.
Meek (v. 5) -- a gentle humility, especially prized in leaders, willing to perform menial service for those in their care. Recall that a respected rabbi knelt to wash his disciples' feet.
Hunger & thirst for righteousness (v. 6) -- a driving passion to not only hear God's word, but to do it. The incarnation constantly finds renewed expression in this way.
Merciful (v. 7) -- passing on God's gift of grace by forgiving others as we ourselves have been forgiven. How often must I forgive my brother or sister? In the arithmetic of God's abundant love, 70 x 7= (infinity).
Pure in Heart (v. 8) -- a clear conscience undividedly loyal to the Lamb of God. All rivals, including mammon and Caesar, have been laid at the feet of the Lord of heaven and earth.2
Peacemakers (v. 9) -- agents of reconciliation, not avoiding conflict, but willing to confront the causes directly, even at great risk to themselves. This is vastly different than the “peacekeeping” of the current world order. Jesus played this role between God and humanity “while we were enemies” (Romans 5:10) in the ultimate example of peacemaking--death on the cross.
Persecuted (vv. 10-12) -- Father Daniel Berrigan has said, “If you want to follow Jesus, you better look good on wood.” Note that v. 11 reads “when” not “if” concerning persecution. Verse 12 contains the only imperative verb in the entire passage, “Rejoice”. Paul and Silas had good reason to sing praises behind prison walls, and so do we. For a large stone placed over the mouth of a tomb, sealed and heavily guarded by the powers of death, was unable to suppress the resurrection of the Lord of life.
1 Dietrich Bonhoeffer, The Cost of Discipleship (NY: Macmillan Publishing Co., 1963) pp.120-121
2 See Soren Kierkgaard, Purity of Heart Is to Will One Thing , tr. Douglas V. Steere (NY: Harper Torchbooks, 1938)
h didach twn
martwn (July/August 1996)
[h didach twn martwn
or The Teaching of the Martyrs, which appeared in July/August 1996 was written as a response to a friend who questioned studying the lives of Christian martyrs from the 1st century or 16th.]
We not so much foul cry
as victims of oppression.
Forewarned of cost were we
in Jesus' invitation.
We sought less liberty
than fidelity to truth.
To live a faith dared we
worth blending our dust with earth.
We retold love's story
first in flesh and blood transcribed.
Childlike trust found we
vindicated at Son rise.
*The Teaching of the Martyrs
“...Down by the Riverside” (November/December 2001)
[“...Down by the Riverside” originally appeared in November/December 2001 in response to Sept. 11th and was reprinted twice in Church of the Brethren publications.]
Several years ago, a friend told me of a conversation he had just had while visiting one of the largest and most
traditional Dunker congregations in eastern Pennsylvania. The discussion eventually meandered to the topic of baptism. At this point the elder with whom he was speaking proceeded to describe the “proper” way to do baptism. His instructions included having the applicant kneel in the stream facing against the current, “because from that moment on he or she will be facing the world upstream”. That image has frequently come to mind in the weeks since Sept. 11th. It's a fitting metaphor for Christian pacifists living in a nation at war.
I first heard about the attacks from a radio update at noon. By that time the towers were down, air traffic grounded and the President's whereabouts uncertain. My immediate reaction was, “You reap what you sow.” The comment grew largely from summer readings in the Hebrew prophets. After speaking on Amos 7:7-17 in mid-July, I hung a plumb line above my desk. It has reminded me that the weight of arrogance and injustice has brought down walls and empires in the past. I was staring at that plumb line when I heard the news. Actions have consequences in this world, but our society has been unwilling to reexamine our global behavior. We cannot lay claim to prophetic hope until we are willing to face unpleasant truths and change that behavior.
Though I remain a committed pacifist, I have respect for the just war tradition. Many men and women joined the peace movement in the past two generations due in part to a thoughtful application of that tradition. Indeed, were nation-states and liberation fronts to apply the criteria consistently we would see far fewer wars. The problem in practice is that the powers-that-be often hijack the language of the tradition for less than honorable ends. Also the retaliatory balance of “eye for an eye” often careens out of control in the heat of battle. ( One person's atrocity is another's collateral damage.) Yet, most importantly, deadly force is nearly impossible to square with Jesus' teachings to turn the other cheek and “love your enemies” (Matt. 5:38-48) or Paul's admonition to “Repay no one evil for evil...” (Rom. 12:14-21). Granted, my words and deeds may not change the hearts of Mr. Bin Laden, Mr. Bush or the tide of public opinion. However, as a person responsible for my own thoughts and actions, I must begin living the change I wish to see in the world.
Now is a moment to speak honestly of our differences with each other in gentleness. For I have no doubt that many of our fellow countrymen who today shake their fists at the sky in grief and anger will someday again join hands with us in the cause of peace and justice. In the meantime, we share the tasks of grieving with those who grieve, caring for the physically and psychologically wounded, clearing the rubble and standing with those whose faith and ethnicity make them vulnerable to malevolent elements of our own society.
On Feb. 22, 1849, Dunker Elder John Kline (1797-1864) wrote in his diary, “My highest conception of patriotism is found in the man who loves the Lord his God with all his heart and his neighbor as himself. Out of these affections spring the subordinate love for one's country; love truly virtuous for one's companion and children, relatives and friends; and in the most comprehensive sense takes in the whole human family. Were this love universal, the word patriotism, in its specific sense, meaning such love for one's country as makes its possessors ready and willing to take up arms in its defense, might be appropriately expunged from every national vocabulary.”1 May it be so.
1Benjamin Funk, ed., The Life and Labors of Elder John Kline..., Elgin, IL: Brethren Publishing House, 1900, p. 246.
Fear Unmasked (January/February 1997)
[Fear Unmasked was actually written in the summer of 1996 and inspired by the phrase from I John 4 “...perfect love casts out fear.”]
As love overcomes fear,
so begins freedom of the soul.
We no longer feel,
compelled to collaborate with death
once its power has been unmasked
for the illusion it is.
Awakening to the World (May/June 2004)
[Awakening to the World is the final essay of the collection, first published in May/June 2004. It seems like a good place to stop as we anticipate the arrival of spring.]
One of the few advantages to working the night shift is that I rarely miss a sunrise. Granted, many mornings aren't standard postcard material, yet there may be more value in simply observing the daily reawakening of the world than merely aesthetic pleasure. Most often I hear the arrival of a new day before I can see it. At a moment when the shadows of the landscape are still barely discernible from the dark sky, a chorus of bird song overtakes the sounds of the night. Soon the lacy silhouettes of an early spring woodland become perceptible against the gradually brightening horizon. In a little while, dark bristly pines are distinguishable from the nearly naked deciduous boughs. Linger for a few moments longer and you will be able to differentiate between the lighter trunks of paper birches and aspens, and the darker maples and oaks. Gradually, before the sun peeks over the horizon, various shades of gray give way to color, from the dark red buds of the tree tops to the pale green of the undergrowth. Dawn isn't so much a moment as a process. If I miss this daily awakening of the world, I feel I am playing catch up for the rest of the day. In the sunrise I gain a sense of the context and rhythm of the day.
I experience the world awakening from its winter slumber in much the same way. Early evidence of the changing season arrives almost imperceptibly, when I am still trampling snow under booted feet. Before I can see or feel spring, I catch its faint earthy scent on a frosty breeze. Soon after the snow recedes from the garden, though the air remains chilled, rhubarb and peony sprouts emerge from hiding. On the first truly warm day, wetlands echo with the voices of spring peepers. Male gold finches begin sporting their sunny summer wardrobe, rivaling dandelions and daffodils. One blade at a time the once thatched meadow turns a vivacious green. Not long from now leaves will unfurl from their tightly wound buds, surrounding our homestead with a nearly opaque wall of foliage.
My observations may boarder on whimsy, but attention to such detail has its place. As in biblical literature, we can meditate on creation in the direct sense of God's handiwork and our place as creatures in the natural environment or as metaphor about our relationships with the Infinite and each other. We often find wisdom when childlike wonder is applied to our pondering of empirical data. It is a perspective which frequently gives us the creative edge in connecting the dots – allowing us to recognize the processes, cycles and relationships at work around us. I doubt if anyone who lacks curiosity can truly be responsible or compassionate. Concern and empathy require us to seek better understanding of others' thoughts and experience. Having our own beliefs and prejudices constantly regurgitated to us without challenge rarely teaches us anything. Even people and things we consider familiar or commonplace can teach us new lessons, but we must be willing to dig deeper for that kind of intellectual and spiritual growth.
I recall an episode from Albert Schweitzer's 1933 autobiography, Out of My Life and Thought.1 By September 1915 Dr. Schweitzer had been engaged in medical mission work on the Ogowe' River in French Equatorial Africa (now Gabon) for a little over 2 years. World War I had been underway in Europe for over a year, which had caused him difficulty as a German national2 working in a French colony. Schweitzer had long contemplated writing a critique of civilization, and had recently concerned himself with discovering a new ethical basis on which to rebuild it. During a hastily arranged steam boat trip upriver to visit a patient, he spent much of his time pondering these questions. The doctor hadn't had a chance to collect enough food for the journey, but his fellow passengers generously shared food from their own provisions. He wrote, “Late on the third day, at the very moment when at sunset, we were making our way through a herd of hippopotamuses, there flashed upon my mind...'Reverence for Life'”.3 Schweitzer didn't fully analyze the role of these particular circumstances in producing the thought, at least not in this text, yet I can imagine that the experience of hospitality and close proximity to exotic wild life taught him quite concretely the value of life in a world given to death and destruction. Perhaps such moments can awaken us to love, truth and beauty as God intended.
1 Albert Schweitzer, Out Of My Life and Thought, trans. C.T. Campion (NY: Mentor Books, 1953)
2 Schweitzer's native Alsace was part of Germany from the end of the Franco-Prussian War in 1871 until the end of World War I. It was ceded back to France as one of the provisions of the Treaty of Versailles in 1919.
3 op. cit., p. 124.
Copies of Tom Wagner's, A Pilgrim's Provender: Selected Ponderings on Life and Faith, (Muskegon, MI: Muskegon County Cooperating Churches, 2005) pp. 79. are
available for a $12.50 donation to Muskegon County Cooperating Churches, 1095 Third St., Suite 10, Muskegon, MI 49441.