Phillips Brooks, Episcopal Bishop of Boston in the late 19thcentury, known for his inspiring oratory, famously quipped.
“You preach to comfort the afflicted and to afflict the comfortable.”
If you didn’t quite catch that let me repeat it.
“You preach to comfort the afflicted and to afflict the comfortable.”
And woe is me, woe are we. Jesus, in his sermon from a level place on the plain, is inflicting pain on the rich as he raises up the poor, as he raises up the hungry.
Remember Jesus quoting Isaiah, in the synagogue?
“I have come to preach good news to the poor, freedom to the captives, and sight to the blind.”
Now he preaches to the would-be disciples, to the people gathered there.
“Blessed are you who are poor…. Woe to you who are rich.”
“Blessed are you who are hungry…Woe to you who are full.”
This is not the smoothed over, tame version in Matthew,
“Blessed are the poor in spirit…Blessed are those who hunger for righteousness.”
This is not Jesus meek and mild. This is Jesus radically wild.
To be poor in the flesh, not just in the metaphorical spirit, is measurable, but not always visible. And though we may not acknowledge it, we walk past the poor every day. With those cardboard signs. With the paper cups jingling with coins. Pushing grocery carts or carrying backpacks with all their worldly goods.
Some of you may have tasted real poverty. Maybe many of you have skated close. In the recent 35-day government shutdown (and I pray to God there not be another), you may have inched closer.
Government workers, reminiscent of the Great Depression, stood in bread lines. Having to choose between food or medicine. Heat or shelter. Back to work, people are still behind on their bills. And the contracted workers who clean the buildings and work in the cafeterias and mow the lawns, will never see a month’s worth of back wages. They are farther behind still.
The difference between being a home owner and becoming homeless is a just a lost paycheck or two or three – that includes about 80% of everybody in the United States.
Still most of us have never slept on the street or under a bridge.
When I was in seminary, I worked at Grace Church in Georgetown. It’s located on Wisconsin Avenue on the edge of the C&O Canal. Grace was founded in the 19thcentury by the hoity toity Christ Church up the road. They wanted a place for the riff raff to worship without disturbing their upper-class sensibilities.
So, Grace was founded on the evangelical values of service to the poor. At Grace, they could find food and clothing and a place out of the cold – without cluttering up Christ Church’s pews.
This mission has long defined Grace. When I worked there, Grace was home to the Georgetown Ministry Center staffed by one and a half professional social workers. They worked with the homeless population who camped out in the church yard. To give them a mailing address for their disability checks. To get a shower, and clean clothes. To get help finding a job. For the mentally ill and diabetic, Grace was a place to get their meds. For those who struggled with substance abuse, Grace was the place for 12-step meetings. Many of these homeless had also served our county in Vietnam and in the Gulf War.
While David Bird, the rector, was away for a month in the summer, I was left in charge. The Ministry Center had weekly meetings on the church steps to listen to the needs of the real poor people right in front of us. We listened to their concerns and complaints, suggestions and ideas.
There is the stereotype of the grateful poor, and these resourceful homeless men and women, did indeed thank us for our noblesse oblige. Appreciative for the basic needs of life: food, clothing, shelter. But I will never forget one particular meeting, where a gentleman stood up to dress us down.
“You know,” he said, “we feel very welcome here during the week, Monday through Friday. But the most unwelcoming of days here is Sunday. On Sunday, we feel left out, locked out of this church. What are you afraid of? Open these god damned red doors!”
And so, we did, no thanks to me or to the social workers, but thanks to the homeless themselves. Give us this day our daily bread — for body and for soul.
They joined us in Bible Study. They joined us in the choir. Jay-Jay, a schizophrenic sang the most unusual and beautiful descants. They gathered in the circle with us for communion. And of course, they came to coffee hour, which at Grace was a holy meal and a sacrament unto itself. They joined us for caring for one another — on a level place.
They turned our comfortable places in our comfortable pews, upside down. And we were blessed by them so much more than they were blessed by us.
Here at Emmanuel, blessed are the poor, blessed are the hungry.
Carpenter’s Shelter Breakfast and Dinner.
The Alive Food Panty.
Bag Lunch Program for the Homeless.
Meals on Wheels.
Hunger Free Alexandria.
Our stomachs full, Emmanuel is very mindful of the empty stomachs in our own backyards. It costs us very little to toss that extra jar of peanut butter, box of cereal or can of tuna into our shopping carts.
But Jesus today asks us for much more. Capital “M”, much more. Not just to feed the five thousand but to turn over the rocks and examine the nasty, negative forces that keep the poorest poor and the richest rich. Culturally. Economically. Concretely. Personally.
Four hundred Americans at the top of the ladder own more than 150 million at the bottom combined.
Combined.
Why is that? What do we do with that? Locally. Globally. I don’t have any easy answers. I am asking for myself as much as for you.
Blessed are the poor, plain and simple, says Jesus in the Sermon on the Plain.
The kingdom of God, here is not heaven in the great by-and-by, not that delayed gratification and reward for the grateful poor.
But the kingdom of God, in the words of Jesus, is this world, our cozy and comfortable world turned upside down.
A world where the words of the poor are gospel. Where the voices of the poor are heard.
So, for heaven’s sake, let’s consider how we can dig down, dig deeper, and let Jesus actually afflict us, more than just a little. Let the words of Jesus, dig into us, dig up and turn over our comfortable places in the market places. So, in turn we figure out how to comfort those truly afflicted, the poor and the poorest of the poor.
Let’s pray that we figure out what in heaven’s name we can actually do to turn this world upside down.
What kind of hell are we going to raise — right here, right now – to bring about the kingdom of God?
Today, tomorrow what are you going to do?
