Matthew 5: 1-12, Ephesians 3: 14-21
Well! Here we are, already at the third week of Lent. Before us are the symbols from the past two Sundays – the pack and the weights, symbolizing the weight we are encouraged to let down on Sabbath. What do you need to say “no” to in order to truly rest? And then there’s the half full glass – symbol of the gratitude on which Sabbath is based. What for you brings deep joy?
So how’s it going? Any stories, questions, learnings? Anyone have any experiences that have been really positive? Anyone having less positive experiences, anyone experiencing the dark side of Sabbath?
Imagine a Jewish home. The family is gathered for dinner on Friday night. The Sabbath is about to begin (remember, a Jewish day begins at sundown). The preparations are complete, everyone is present. Mom lights the Sabbath candles, and there is a noticeable moment of relaxation. Shabbat. And then the parents stand behind their children at table, place their hands on their children’s heads, and say a blessing. You may remember the one from Fiddler on the Roof: “May the Lord protect and defend you…”
I must confess, I am a very imperfect Sabbath keeper. But we have had a few Sabbath meals, and on the best, least hurried evenings, we have also stood behind our sons and put our hands on their heads or shoulders, and blessed them. Now, we started this when they were teenagers. It felt a little awkward, with hungry teenage boys waiting to eat, to stand and bless. But they never complained about the time. They never snickered or made a snide remark. They were always quiet and present. And when we finished and began the meal, it always felt close and warm.
As followers of Jesus, we hold in our hands, our voices and our hearts, something surprisingly powerful. It’s something that is a force for good in the world that unlike most other things, cannot be turned to harm. It’s the power of blessing.
Now. Let me point out that I do not, and have not, always blessed my sons. Sometimes I nag my sons. See, the desire to bless is at least to some extent in conflict in me, with my desire to fix.
I suppose it’s a version of the half full/half empty issue. The blessing focuses my attention on the half full side, on the strengths of my sons, on the possibilities for their future. The nagging focuses my attention on the half empty side. “You didn’t take out the garbage last night. Again. You never take out the garbage. I always have to clean up after you…” It’s as if I see the half empty side of the glass, and think, in good consumer fashion, “until this glass gets filled up, unless this behavior or that issue gets fixed, I can’t, I shouldn’t, bless my son. Fix first, bless second. Otherwise, he’ll never learn!” Not surprisingly, the blessings feel better than the nagging – for both of us. The blessings may also accomplish more – but more on that later.
Blessing and fixing. On the Sabbath, we said last week, we are to live as if we lived in the garden of Eden. Paradise, the seventh day of creation. Live as if everything was fine, and nothing needed to be changed. No need to nag. No need to fix. Of course, we don’t live in such a world. There is plenty that needs fixing. Parliament comes to mind! Afghanistan. Japan. Haiti. The international list goes on and on. But all we have to do is go downtown to see misery, or out to the Tsuu T’ina reserve to see injustice. And we don’t have to go outside of this church, or our families, or our own souls, to find things that need healing, fixing, redeeming. The glass really is half empty. The world suffers greatly. How can we live in this world, as if it were Paradise – and why would we want to?
I want to turn your attention to the Beatitudes. These are a series of Jesus’ blessings from the Sermon on the Mount. They’re weird. They’re challenging. They’re even disturbing.
“Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.” Most of you know what it is to mourn. It’s not fun, is it? It doesn’t feel like much of a blessing. Just the opposite, really – it can be one of the most painful things we can endure. But Jesus does not say “blessed will be those who mourn, once they have been comforted.” When they have processed their grief, gone to a support group, rebuilt their lives. No – he says “blessed are those who mourn.”
“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the Kingdom of God.” Stress and depression are epidemic in our culture. We live in the midst of something of a religious crisis. Being poor in spirit is something many of us know. That’s not fun either, is it? I don’t think Jesus is referring to people who are humble and holy, either – I think he actually means “poor in spirit.” Losing your religion, losing your faith. But again, he doesn’t say, “blessed will be the poor in spirit, once they work through their spiritual crisis. Once they find God there in the darkness. Once they are no longer poor. He says, “blessed are the poor in spirit.” Right now.
Blessed are the peacemakers. Now, by definition, peacemakers live in times and places of conflict. Life is hard, and they don’t always survive their peacemaking. Rarely are they called “children of God” until peace is made or after. More often, they are reviled by both sides, because they need to challenge the motives and methods of both sides. But again – Jesus doesn’t say “blessed will be the peacemakers, once people finally come on side.” He says, “blessed are.”
People in a consumer society are so focused on externals that we think blessing is something that happens to us. We think blessing and good luck are the same thing. And therefore that God’s job in the world – to bless us – is to make us lucky, to make things work out for us, to make sure that we don’t get cancer and that the tsunami doesn’t reach our house and that our investments will always stay safe. But God just doesn’t seem as concerned about these things as we are. Look at that lone student there, standing in front of a line of tanks. Bad things are happening to him. He’s very unlucky. But is he blessed? Is there blessing here?
God seems concerned with our inner selves, our souls – the part of us that is, we believe, eternal. God seems to see with much greater depth, to find blessing and worth where we see only emptiness and pain. There is, underneath the difficulty, a deep reservoir of beauty and wholeness and blessing.
Back to blessing and fixing. When I try to fix, I am often simply trying to make the pain go away – make the worry, or the guilt, or the stress go away. And so I take shortcuts. I look for a quick fix. I focus on the symptoms, maybe, rather than the real problem. I also tend to try to do things for people, because that’s easier and quicker. I see problems, but I don’t see strengths.
When we are looking to hire ministers in the United Church, we do needs assessments. Figure out where the gaps are, and try to hire a minister that will fill the gaps. When we do social ministry, we tend to ask, “what do people need? And then we try to get it, do it, for them. Why don’t we do strength assessments instead? Find out what people’s gifts and strengths are, and then help them to use those strengths to find their own solutions?
Part of it is we’re just impatient. We want the pain to go away quickly. To bless in our imperfect world, in our imperfect church, in our imperfect families, means being able to hold a certain amount of pain. To bless our children means being able to hold the worry that they may not be turning out quite the way we hoped. To bless each other means being able to hold the pain of our difference. It also requires a certain trust – trust that God is already there, already at work, and that change may not depend on our intervention.
Anthony de Mello, a Catholic priest who served many years in India, wrote this story:
I was a neurotic for years. I was anxious and depressed and selfish. Everyone kept telling me to change. I resented them, and I agreed with them, and I wanted to change, but simply couldn’t, no matter how hard I tried. What hurt the most was that, like the others, my best friend kept insisting that I change. So I felt powerless and trapped. Then, one day, he said to me, “Don’t change. I love you just as you are.” Those words were music to my ears: “don’t change. Don’t change. Don’t change. I love you as you are.” I relaxed. I came alive. And suddenly I changed! Now I know that I couldn’t really change until I found someone who would love me whether I changed or not.
This, I think, is the power of blessing. The unconditional good wishes become a foundation upon which to build, the solid rock that allows us to relax and come alive.
On the Sabbath, we look to the full side of the glass. We appreciate what is there, and we love without condition. No “fixing” on the Sabbath! And no need, because God is already there, already blessing, already bringing wholeness.
I invite you to this Sabbath practice: to bless. Bless your children, if they are with you. Bless your parents and elders, if they are in your care. Bless those who cause you pain; perhaps if they become whole they will no longer cause you pain! Perhaps if you are blessing them you will find that what they do no longer bothers you. Bless. There is great, great power in it. AMEN.
Tags: blessing, Ephesians 3, Matthew 5, Sabbath
