If you want to have your hair follicles itch, read commentaries
on The Beatitudes. Writers differ, immensely, almost universally. I even read a
Catholic Bishop’s statement this morning that “Today, we can’t take the Beatitudes
and examine them individually.” Hmm. How else would we, I wonder?
Actually, the pattern that emerges reminds one of the
village character, limited in intelligence but, reportedly, a master at hitting
“bulls’ eyes” painted on barns dead center with bow and arrow. Since his work
appeared at night and unobserved, an inquisitive stranger followed the challenge
to “hide and watch.”
Oh yes, seems the fellow was shooing his arrow into the barn
first and then drawing the target around it. There are numerous paths to both
seeming enlightenment and seeming perfection. Some paths more misleading, even more
deceptive, than others.
In like fashion, writers on the Beatitudes tend to draw conclusions around their own particular religious or moral belief structure.
Yes. Even Donald Trump could translate “blessed are the poor” to mean, “Hey,
ain’t it great that I have so much and so many have do little?” Or, leaning the
way of Matthew, he could ascribe “Blessed are the poor in spirit,” to mean, “Great.
We’re not giving those who suffer for their genetic makeup any relief under
my watch.” Franklin Graham and others would surely back him up.
Hardly a Biblical scholar, or even a pious writer, I’ve done
a fair layman’s job at studying the New
Testament version of the Ten Commandments: the eight Beatitudes issued by
writers from the mouth of the Galilean during The Sermon on the Mount. I guess
I favor Matthew’s version for poetry, but Luke’s for verisimilitude, as Matthew had time for finessing, but Luke wrote
his first.
My take is that the Galilean, piercingly direct as he was,
meant exactly what he said, translated by me as “Chortle away, suckers. My people
will be getting their due reward as you began to howl.”
I particularly love “the poor in spirit.” What a wonderfully
transcendent thought. Who could be more “poor in spirit” than a young teenager
who first realizes the presence of a sexual preference, totally prescribed by
nature, that will entail a life of hatred, abandonment, loss of rights, and blind
prejudice? Maturity may indeed bring acceptance, but only after a young life has
been marred by a bitter and popular bias. The same can be said for a younger child
who has passed through the mysterious genetic transformation whereby the
ubiquitous female embryo either remains female, or, through a set of genetic
folds and modifications becomes male prior to issue. Imagine the weight of
being “poor in spirit” when the child discovers that, through a genetic tick,
the wrong sex has emerged in the wrong body.
Would we also extend our blessedness to the poor woman made
to choose between her children's lives by the evil forces of Nazi fascism, or, later, by the
demons of poverty and starvation?
Seems to me, someone once understood. Good for the Galilean.
As for Luke, the Galilean never flinches from his distaste
for the love of riches. Consider the false followers who praise his name but
love their wealth in far greater intensity. They may dance today and shout their
victory but, “They also serve who only stand and wait.” John Milton said that.
"History falls heavy on the head of the wicked." I said that.
For me, and this is just my opinion, (hold on to your own if
you’ve thought it through), the Galilean is telling his people to wait, and be
good for goodness sake. Suffer your trials and tribulations, and patiently work
for the common good, although the wicked about you flourish.
My attorney friends call it “Pro bono publico.” My profession, in a less noble sounding manner,
calls it “Reward in Heaven” work. Strive for the good, though it offers scant
pay compared to the evil.
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