The Beatitudes

Since our visit to the Mount of Beatitudes, I find myself repeating the verses in Matthew.

In the midst of an escalating conflict, in witness to an occupation, the beatitudes are comforting.

A real heaviness has fallen over Bethlehem. When we greet people and ask how they are, those who used to respond with generous smiles and hearty hand shakes now shrug and purse their lips, or furl their eyebrows and examine us. Some smile and say something pleasant, but their eyes betray them. We offer our hopes for something good. "Inshallah", they say. "God willing".

Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven. 

I'm tired of updating this blog with numbers. Numbers seem so dehumanizing when you're discussing the end of a life. Children playing on the beach were the last victims reported in the news. It is quite a different thing to be drawn into suffering through the news or stories. To feel that tug towards victimhood that is not your own, but comes with a sense of righteousness and purity. Very similar to what swept the world September 11, 2001. But while Keith and I are mindful about combating what is false in ourselves, we do see real and forever loss on the faces of people near us.

Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted.

There are many ways the people respond. Some gather at the wall and are met with tear gas. Others gather to pray and sing on Palestinian land, where settlers are attempting to occupy. Others go toe to toe with lines of soldiers and ask, "Why can't I walk here? Why can you come into my neighborhood with guns and tell me what to do?". In all of these settings, there is always one woman, almost always quiet, though her presence is well noticed. She does not need to say anything. She carries the picture of her murdered son.

Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the Earth.

All of this is happening during Ramadan, the most sacred time in the Islamic calendar. Families share a meal in the early morning, while it is still dark outside. Then they say their morning prayers as the sun rises. They abstain from food and drink for as long as the sun is up. At sunset, they say their prayers, and then break the fast with the Iftar meal. Keith and I shared Iftar with a family. What struck me was the vigor with which the family drank water. It is not an easy practice.

Blessed are they that hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they shall be filled.

Israel has agreed to stop bombing Gaza for five hours while the UN goes in to provide aid.

Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy.

Parent's struggle to sooth their children at bedtime, when the bombing begins in force. Forty children are among the dead in this long week.

Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.

And blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called the children of God.

They sure would deserve it.

The people of Gaza are not free to flee. They are trapped in this densely populated city under siege by walls and oceans and laws and broken laws. How blessed are they?

In the midst of an escalating conflict, in a time of occupation, the beatitudes seem empty, failed, or false.
I struggle with religion when I find myself using it for comfort, as a detached observer.

If religion and words of promise and inheritance and new kingdoms are comforting to those in Gaza, it is something completely different. But to let the promises from someone else comfort me when I have lost nothing, or to allow the prospect of another world to pacify me when I see injustice, is not an aspect of my religious practice that I want to nurture.

And so I catch myself when I am reciting the beatitudes, and I replace them with other words from my faith tradition.

Pure and undefiled religion is this: To care for orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself unstained.

What does the Lord require of you but to do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly?

Show me your faith without deeds.

The Gospel According to Matthew, the good news according to a tax collector. The betrayer. A collaborator. The Jew that collected taxes from Jews for Romans. An unlikely messenger to an occupied peoples.

Telling the story of God With Us, God the baby refugee. God the convicted. God the murdered. And yet, God the peace keeper. An unlikely Messiah. Not the zealot narrative a persecuted people might expect.

The text spends time establishing its relativity to a Jewish audience. Lineage and miracles. Checking off all the essentials of being the Messiah.

But forgoing my Messiah College education, and any proper exegesis, I am struck by the story of a person going around healing before beginning a dialogue about a new way.

Healing.

I have heard that word a lot here. I have not heard a word here spoken so much like a prayer. So painfully out of their grasp. So necessary, it forms in their mouth like water on a tongue at Iftar.

Healing would be a true miracle.