Sunday Musings was finished early this week. And this reflection is an important and timely one.
Usually, only paid subscribers receive Sunday Musings on Saturday. But, because of the subject, I’m sending it to EVERYONE at the Cottage today instead of tomorrow.
I have one request in doing this: please share it far and wide. With your friends. With anyone who might listen.
TODAY IS THE SIXTH SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY
The season of light ends soon — there are only two more Sundays in the Epiphany cycle. Ash Wednesday is March 5, the beginning of Lent.
This year, the contrast between epiphany — the manifestation of God’s dominion of love — and evil — the iron grip of hierarchical domination of power — has never seemed more obvious or pointed. In both the scriptures and in the headlines.
The birth of a Child, the Prince of Peace, opened the way for a contest here in the world. Love and light spread, yes. But not without resistance from the powers that rule this world.
Where are we in this struggle? Following the Star, journeying a different way home toward a Dominion of Love? Or, do we remain subjects of Herod and Caesar, pawns cowering under their murderous schemes of Domination of Power?
Epiphany has raised the spiritual and theological stakes. As it is written in John 1, “in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.”
To extend the biblical metaphor, the light is brighter than ever. The darkness deeper. We live on the edge. Do we keep lighting candles and walk into the territory we can’t quite see? Or not?
The lectionary today — readings from Psalm 1 and Luke 6 — draws clear lines between God’s dominion and worldly domination.
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Psalm 1
Happy are those
who do not follow the advice of the wicked,
or take the path that sinners tread,
or sit in the seat of scoffers;
but their delight is in the law of the Lord,
and on his law they meditate day and night.
They are like trees
planted by streams of water,
which yield their fruit in its season,
and their leaves do not wither.
In all that they do, they prosper.
The wicked are not so,
but are like chaff that the wind drives away.
Therefore the wicked will not stand in the judgement,
nor sinners in the congregation of the righteous;
for the Lord watches over the way of the righteous,
but the way of the wicked will perish.
Luke 6:17-26
Jesus came down with the twelve apostles and stood on a level place, with a great crowd of his disciples and a great multitude of people from all Judea, Jerusalem, and the coast of Tyre and Sidon. They had come to hear him and to be healed of their diseases; and those who were troubled with unclean spirits were cured. And all in the crowd were trying to touch him, for power came out from him and healed all of them.
Then he looked up at his disciples and said:
“Blessed are you who are poor,
for yours is the kingdom of God.
“Blessed are you who are hungry now,
for you will be filled.
“Blessed are you who weep now,
for you will laugh.
“Blessed are you when people hate you, and when they exclude you, revile you, and defame you on account of the Son of Man. Rejoice in that day and leap for joy, for surely your reward is great in heaven; for that is what their ancestors did to the prophets."
"But woe to you who are rich,
for you have received your consolation.
"Woe to you who are full now,
for you will be hungry.
"Woe to you who are laughing now,
for you will mourn and weep.
"Woe to you when all speak well of you, for that is what their ancestors did to the false prophets."
This week, every sermon in America wrote itself.
Here’s a tweet from Elon Musk (quoted on Bluesky by Bruce Wilson, who writes on authoritarianism and Christianity, to make sure readers get the point), wherein the man now running the United States government (and who is illegally dismantling food and medical assistance programs) calls the poor “parasites.”
Contrast that with Jesus in Luke 6. Almost as if he’s subtweeting the world’s richest human:
Blessed are you who are poor,
for yours is the kingdom of God.
and don’t forget his follow—up:
But woe to you who are rich,
for you have received your consolation.*
As we say in my church, “Here endeth the reading.”
Pretty much says it all.
* * * * * *
When Christians think of the Beatitudes, they usually recall the version found in the Gospel of Matthew:
Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.
Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.
Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled.
Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy.
Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.
Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.
Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
No doubt about it, but Matthew’s got a gift for poetry. He placed this sermon on a hillside, making this Jesus’ central teaching in what is called the “Sermon on the Mount.” Indeed, the setting matched the prose. There’s a lyrical lift to Jesus’ words — the couplets elevate readers, freeing our souls to spiritually soar. We find ourselves up on that mount with Jesus, eagerly awaiting the blessings coming from heaven to those denied them here on earth.
Luke is blunter. There’s no rhapsodic rhythm in his words. Indeed, Luke’s Jesus delivers the truth straight up, like a good scotch:
Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God.
Blessed are you who are hungry now, for you will be filled.
Blessed are you who weep now, for you will laugh.
In Luke’s account, Jesus isn’t on a hill. He has just come down from a mountain and is in a “level place.” New Testament scholars call this the “Sermon on the Plain,” in contrast to Matthew’s mount. The stage is flat; any sense of hierarchy — that “up” and “down” of human social structure — is gone. All the characters are standing equally with Jesus. We don’t soar. Instead, we look at Jesus face-to-face: Blessed are you who are miserable right now because the kingdom is with you.
And it wasn’t enough for Jesus to insist on this seemingly elusive reality. He added that oppressors aren’t really as powerful as they believe:
But woe to you who are rich, for you have received your consolation.
Woe to you who are full now, for you will be hungry.
Woe to you who are laughing now, for you will mourn and weep.
Nothing is as it seems, Jesus insisted. The playing field of human relations is far more equal than we think — and in God’s kingdom, the poor are blessed and the rich are cursed.
Blunt, even kinda brutal.
And “blessing” and “woe” aren’t vaguely spiritual words whose import is only about some distant, promised reward or punishment.
“Blessing,” μακάριος (makarios) in Greek, means happy, fortunate, or favored. I wrote about the Beatitudes in Grateful:
Blessing is not just happiness, but favor. In the Christian scriptures, the word specifically means God’s favor, often called “grace” or “abundance.” “Favored are the poor” or “Gifted are the poor” would be equally valid ways of making sense of makarios.
The sense of the Beatitudes is not “If you are poor, God will bless you” or “If you do nice things for the poor, God will bless you.” Nor is it “Be happy for poverty.” Instead, “Blessed are the poor” could be read, “God privileges the poor.” If you are poor, you are favored by God. God’s gifts are with you.
As is the case with us today, people in the ancient world thought that the rich were blessed. Indeed, the word makarios itself had a more popular, slangy use: It also meant “god” or someone who was “elite.” Basically, a blessing wasn’t just something you had (or might get), it was who some people were. They were the Blessed. Caesar was makarios.
Today, you might say that Elon Musk is Chief of the Blessed. God-like. The makarios.
Again, from Grateful (with two relevant asides):
The “Blessed” were the big shots of the ancient world, the upper crust, those who lived above all the worries of normal existence. The poor, “the losers,” had to live with shame. Even back then, the blessed were the rich, not the poor. [An added aside: you might even say that the poor were “parasites.”]
In the Roman Empire, the world in which the Beatitudes were first preached, the richer and more powerful you were, the more valor and virtue you possessed, the closer you were to the emperor at the top of the social hierarchy, the more blessed you were, the more blessings you could seize for yourself, and the more blessings you could (if you chose to) bestow on those beneath you. [An added aside: typically “blessings” were bestowed to control underlings.]
When Jesus said, “Blessed are the poor,” he overturned the hierarchical structure of blessing.
But maybe Luke thought that Matthew was being too subtle. (Luke was written after Matthew.) And so, Luke lowered the sermon from mountain to plain — and made his point plainer, too.
Blessed are you who are poor…Woe to you who are rich.
There’s nothing “spiritual” or uplifting here. This is worldly, tough, prophetic.
“Woe,” οὐαί (ouai) in Greek, is an interjection of grief or a denunciation. In the New Testament, Jesus used it to pronounce judgment on the wicked. The explanation of this term in Strong’s Greek Lexicon is chilling:
In the ancient Near Eastern context, expressions of woe were common in both secular and religious texts. They were used to lament misfortune or impending doom and were often part of prophetic literature to warn of divine judgment. In the Greco-Roman world, such expressions were understood as serious pronouncements, often linked to the moral and spiritual failings of individuals or societies.
Blessed are you who are poor…Woe to you who are rich.
Again, there’s nothing “spiritual” or uplifting here. This is worldly, tough, prophetic.
It is a holy denunciation. From Jesus himself.
Jesus repeated warnings like this throughout his career with harsh rebukes and threats toward the rich. This is one of the major themes in Luke’s gospel. He began his book with Mary’s prophecy of the rich being cast down, it runs through Jesus’ parables about Good Samaritans, rich fools, and sending the privileged away, and ends with Jesus’ poorest followers sharing meals of gratitude to overcome their grief.
Luke’s next book, Acts, opens with the early Christian practice of communalism — “All the believers were one in heart and mind. No one claimed that any of their possessions was their own, but they shared everything they had.”
The poor are NOT parasites. It is among the poor that the commonwealth of God is made manifest. The poor are favored by God. The poor are closest to the heart of all compassion.
We can have political and policy discussions about how our societies — especially societies shaped by some vague commitment or memory of biblical ethics — treat the problems of poverty, inequity, and poor people themselves.
But there’s no question about how Jesus saw the poor. Or how he treated them. Blessed are the poor; woe to the rich.
That’s the Bible. Jesus got these “radical” ideas from the Hebrew scriptures. Ancient prophets, like Jesus, warned that societies who neglected or abused the poor stand under God’s judgment. Leveling the economic playing field between the rich and poor was the intention of Sabbath. Jesus was born among the poor; Jesus was poor. His teaching challenged the hierarchy of wealth and power. The early church was built on common property. Period. Full stop.
Any teacher or leader who denies this, denies the Lord. Any politician who believes that the poor are “parasites” clearly violates the central moral teaching of Jesus — and a political movement based on such beliefs puts a nation in jeopardy of God’s judgment.
That’s the politics of woe, the politics of the wealthiest man in the world, the politics of MAGA — demeaning and abusing those whom God favors.
The poor are not parasites. Blessed are the poor.
Nothing could be clearer.
Here endeth the reading.
*”Consolation” means “comfort.” The Common English Bible translates this verse: “But how terrible for you who are rich, because you have already received your comfort.”
INSPIRATION
Vulnerable God,
you challenge the powers that rule this world
through the needy, the compassionate,
and those who are filled with longing.
Make us hunger and thirst to see right prevail,
and single-minded in seeking peace;
that we may see your face
and be satisfied in you.
— Janet Morley
I saw an old cottage of clay,
And only of mud was the floor;
It was all falling into decay,
And the snow drifted in at the door.
Yet there a poor family dwelt,
In a hovel so dismal and rude;
And though gnawing hunger they felt,
They had not a morsel of food.
The children were crying for bread,
And to their poor mother they’d run;
‘Oh, give us some breakfast,’ they said,
Alas! their poor mother had none.
She viewed them with looks of despair,
She said (and I’m sure it was true),
‘’Tis not for myself that I care,
But, my poor little children, for you.’
O then, let the wealthy and gay
But see such a hovel as this,
That in a poor cottage of clay
They may know what true misery is.
And what I may have to bestow
I never will squander away,
While many poor people I know
Around me are wretched as they.
— Jane Taylor (1783-1824), “Poverty”
Love everything
Love the sky and sea, trees and rivers,
mountains and abysses.
Love animals, and not just because you are one.
Love your parents and your children,
even if you have none.
Love your spouse or partner,
no matter what either word means to you.
Love until you create a cavern in your loving,
until it seethes like a volcano.
Love everytime.
Love your enemies.
Love the enemies of your enemies.
Love those whose very idea of love is hate.
Love the liars and the fakes….
Love love.
— John Keene, “Beatitude,” PLEASE READ the entire poem HERE. It is both beautiful and incredibly challenging and thought-provoking.
God does not create poverty; we do, because we do not share.
— Mother Teresa
Happy are those
who do not follow the advice of the wicked,
or take the path that sinners tread,
or sit in the seat of scoffers;
but their delight is in the law of the Lord,
and on his law they meditate day and night.
— Psalm 1
I can't do much but pray.
I ain't got much money
To give away
And sometimes I resent
those who do.
And so all I can do is pray.
For myself
For being more forgiving
And figuring out
How I can be giving.
I pray for those
who are fighting, fighting, fighting
and hating, hating, hating.
I pray for God's love
to break their hearts
To shine through the cracks
To let them know
There's enough
Enough love,
Enough food,
Enough friendship
In the world for everyone.
To let them know
There's enough God
Enough holy
Enough compassion
Enough safety
Enough everlasting arms
For everyone.
Oh God
I haven't got the words
But I have you
In my mind
In my heart
In this world
In everyone
Even when they don't know you
Or don't want you
Or can't be bothered to find you.
You are there,
you are here.
Oh fill us
All of us
With your love
With you.
Thank you Diana as always. I welcome your posts as breaths of fresh life and clarifying honesty in the wrestles of these days, the ripples of which daily arrive on our shores and shape shift the perspectives emerging in our political and theological ecologies. Just as all our weather eventually arrives from off the Atlantic, and the Gulf Stream speeds towards us from North America with its powerful influence on our low and high pressures, so do many of us the UK find ourselves deeply troubled by the ‘weather’ being created by Trump, Vance and Musk. But the light will not be extinguished and I thank you for continuing to remind us. Praying for you and all who are and will be made sorrowful by the unleashing of these days.