On September 11, 2001, my colleague David May and I were scheduled to teach a mid-morning class on the Gospel of Matthew. That Tuesday, the syllabus indicated the topic would be the Beatitudes of Jesus. Needless to say, our plans were scrapped when news of the terrorist attack broke. We met briefly with the students, some of whom had not yet heard. As I recall, we did not attempt to offer a prayer but mostly sat in silence for a few minutes. Then, before letting the students go, we read the Beatitudes: “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.” And so on.
Thankfully, I did not preach on the Sunday after 9/11 when so many people across the United States flocked to churches in unprecedented numbers. I don’t know that I could have found the words. But I did preach the following Sunday, September 23, 2001, drawing from the Beatitudes in Matthew’s Gospel. At the end of the sermon, I invited the congregation to imagine two mountains: the one Jesus sat upon as he pronounced these “Blessed are” statements to bearded peasants on makeshift crutches and frail women nursing hungry babies and another mountain of twisted steel and dust-filled air where thousands gather in utter despair.
The first stanza of the Beatitudes is for those who are hurting, whose hopes have been dashed. Like most people I know, I have had my heart break. When one of our children sank into a deep depression, taking all of us down into what felt like a dark hole, I lost all hope. I could not attend church on Sundays or mid-week chapel services at the school where I taught. Too much merriment for me at a time like that. I poured out my hurt to my best friends, but mostly I cried.
The first stanza of the Beatitudes is for a time like 9/11 when pain comes at us on a cataclysmic scale, but also when our personal lives fall apart. In those moments, we do well to let our hearts be warmed and comforted by the words of Jesus. If that’s you at present, read the words of Jesus and let them wash over you.
If that is not you right now, there is work for us to do. Even if the second stanza is more akin to New Year’s resolutions, things we might aspire to, this first stanza also issues a challenge. Namely, seeking to comfort those around us who are suffering, those who hunger for food but also justice. I think about friends I’ve known who volunteer at a shelter for battered women and others who welcome Afghan refugees to our city as they settle into their new housing.
As for the second stanza, I recently read that when NPR correspondent John Burnett retired after covering world news for thirty-six years, he was asked what one simple change he would make in the world if he could. I love his answer: “Elect more women leaders. There’s too much testosterone in positions of power. They get us in these foolish, macho, prideful, and unnecessary conflicts over and over and over.”
The second stanza’s challenging beatitudes invoke the image of walking more gently upon the earth. Earlier, I mentioned Teri, the young woman from my college days who first told me about Jesus. Looking back, it was her gentleness that touched me most deeply. Yes, she was cute, or I wouldn’t have bothered—which is just more sad commentary on the shallowness of my soul at the time. But I vividly recall walking across campus with her one spring day and noticing her odd gait at times, almost as if she were playing the children’s game where you try not to step on a crack and break your mother’s back.
When I asked what she was doing, she shared she was trying not to squish any bugs on the sidewalk. I thought that was one of the craziest things I’d ever heard. I was wrong. I’m sure you’ll think of other practical suggestions for living a beatitudinal life, but here’s a place to start: elect more women leaders, the ones who walk gently upon the earth, that is.
What does Jesus envision for our one wild and precious life? How does he imagine us living? He invites those who are hurting to find comfort, those who are comfortable to care for the brokenhearted, and for all of us to live differently in this world. Those who do so are honored by God now and will be honored by God in the end.
Rev. Dr. Mike Graves
Mike Graves is a native Texan who, for thirty years, taught preaching and worship in various theological seminaries. He has written or edited several books, including Craddock Stories; Table Talk: Rethinking Communion and Community; and his most recent book is Your One Wild and Precious Life: What Jesus Can Teach Us about Life Before Death.
Upon retiring from Saint Paul School of Theology in 2018, he now serves as Scholar in Residence at Country Club Christian. Mike has lectured and preached throughout the United States and internationally.