Unseen Righteousness

Whooda thunk it? This sets up one of the lesser followed statements recorded in the so-called Sermon on the Mount. (It was first given this title by St Augustine about 392 CE). It concerns the oft ignored concept of undetectable fasting. The Galilean tells us

“When you fast, do not look somber as the hypocrites do, for they disfigure their faces to show others they are fasting. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward in full. But when you fast, put oil on your head and wash your face, so that it will not be obvious to others that you are fasting, but only to your Father, who is unseen; and your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you.” (Mathew 6:16 NIV-17)

During the Sermon, he shifts between the indicative form and the imperative. The indicative mood is a verb form that makes a statement or asks a question. (See: The Beatitudes). The imperative mood is a grammatical mood that forms a command or request.

Here he is commanding, not illustrating. Does that mean he was particularly adamant, or simply illustrating a path to, as opposed to a standard for, righteousness? This forms a dilemma for us in these troubled days. Is it more proper, in the face of social injustice, to be seen on the streets as a supporter of good, or to be alone with our thoughts of how we might bring about  one act of righteousness to those deserving of our love?

The Galilean may not tell us. Those who truly believe he walked this planet some 2,000 years ago must rely on his words then, as recorded. Or will he speak to us in our solitude and contemplation? Who knows? One may hope, but one must also look.

I remember reading once, years ago in my formative years, the account of a man who died in a town somewhere in America. He was not famous. He was not part of society. He had never received awards of public accolades. He had no family and no apparent friends who came to “hang out” with him. He was just a speck on the Mount Everest of history.

Then a strange thing happened. At his funeral, people began to arrive, first as singles, then as couples, then as droves. The Church became filled and officials had to change the arrangement. It seemed to those present that every adult in town came to the last rites of this nondescript brother. The whole affair appeared bizarre at best.

Then those there started talking to one another. It became apparent that this simple and unassuming man had accomplished at least one act of kindness to everyone with whom he came in contact. Moreover, the acts occurred in private and without a sharing. Unseen and unknown they were. Are mowing yards, fixing faucets, comforting the bereaved, a friendly word to a lonely person, an act of social acceptance—all these and more—acts of humanitarian fasting, even if no one is watching?

Yes. I think the Galilean speaks to us if we listen. One can almost hear his voice echoing through the halls of time, perhaps in a modern indicative parlance, as he watched this gathering of the unaware: “Now that’s what I’m talking about.”

Sorrow

It’s proving difficult for me to write about The Sermon On The Mount today. I live in a country, the ruling party of which has just trampled on the very essence of the Galilean’s beautiful work. The very idea of eschewing anger, fornication, vindictiveness and greed is, they say, such rubbish. Their ruler and savior stands above the laws of man and God.

We have, as a nation, waved a curse on the very idea expressed in the following:

Blessed are the poor in spirit: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

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

Blessed are the meek: for they shall inherit the earth.

Blessed are they which do hunger and thirst after righteousness: for they shall be filled.

Blessed are the merciful: for they shall obtain mercy.

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

Blessed are the peacemakers: for they shall be called the children of God.

Blessed are they which are persecuted for righteousness' sake: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Blessed are ye, when men shall revile you, and persecute you, and shall say all manner of evil against you falsely, for my sake.

We have said, as a country, that we no longer wish to be the light of the world, a city that is set on a hill and cannot be hid.

We have said, as a people, that we choose instead to be an example where might makes right, rulers rule outside the law, minion toadies define righteousness and sin, and where we denounce our godly brothers and sisters as our enemies. We proceed now to trample upon the least of those among us, while the greedy triumph, alone with their rusting treasures stored in mighty skyscrapers.

We mourn for Zion, while the Galilean shakes his head.

Who led us hither?

The teacher?

The reader and thinker?

The humanist?

The worker?

The questioner and writer?

The reporter of truth?

No, none of those have cursed the meek or peaceful. They don't propose to sell our country for personal gain. Rather, they seek righteousness and pray in secret, each in their own manner.

Tragically, it is a cult of the self-defined godly who brought us here, those who define their faith from one or two sentences of redacted Bibles. They are those who sound their trumpets loudest in the churches and in the streets, the hypocrites who shall have their reward, a consummation for which we devoutly wish.

They are the ones who praise the fornicator, the divorcee, the hater of his brother, the mocker of the least among us, the promoter of hatred and anger, the greedy deceiver, the denouncer of veterans who have gone into harm’s way at the request of their country, the praiser of evil dictators, the destroyer of the planet given to us by the Galilean’s father, the promoter of corruption, and the spreader of a blot on humanity itself.

The Galilean never said it, but I wish he had included, as his final benediction, “Woe upon them who call themselves of me but treasure evil, those who would follow the ungodly despite his transgressions, those who sin and call it holy.”

That’s what America has become.

Better Get Ready

I regret that it’s ending, this study I’ve enjoyed making of the eight Beatitudes as reported by the Gospel writer of The Book of Matthew. They fascinated me on a number of levels. First, they express, no matter how we might choose to interpret them, the fact that salvation is not a gift reserved for the rich and mighty, as so many in modern America believe. Nor, it seems, is it reserved for those whose biological makeup might be different from ours or our skin color different. Sorry.

No, the words of the Galilean, as expressed by “Matthew” open a vision of glory and happiness for “the least of those among us.”

That brings me to the second, and main point. I think the Sermon on the Mount, as reported in Matthew, as coming from the lips of this simple preacher, are epochal in these times for another reason. That is that they are so eschewed by the modern fundamental evangelicals who have kidnapped Christianity for their own selfish and nefarious purposes. They couldn’t carry the transcendental power they do if Franklin Graham and his heroes didn’t hold them in such disdain, even threatening to punish those who would form their lives by these simple sayings. (See: the parable of the Samaritan who was punished for giving a drink of life-giving water to a dying immigrant).

Last week, I visited the eighth of the Beatitudes. Some scholars claim it doesn’t belong with the others, since it attaches the blessing to an outward condition and not to a disposition of the heart, i.e. “Blessed are they who are persecuted for the sake of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” (RSV) This seems to be supported by the next verses (5:11-12 RSV), "Blessed are you when men revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account. Rejoice and be glad, for your reward is great in heaven, for so men persecuted the prophets who were before you.”

I’m not a scholar of the Bible, just a confused wanderer trying to understand how so many people could use the document to foment hate. Anyway, we could argue all day about the number of Beatitudes or the cause for the difference between the version in Matthew and the version in Luke. For the latter point, I’ve read many explanations, such as the claim that the shorter version must be the most accurate. What strikes me is that the explanations seem to flow more from the personal beliefs of the explainers than from empirical evidence.

For example, who do you reckon might adhere to

“Blessed are the poor in spirit,” (Matthew), as opposed to

“Blessed are the poor,” (Luke)?

Yep, someone who became a billionaire when the physician slapped them on their bottom may indeed grow up to feel they are “poor in spirit,” because they are unable to decide which public school to close next or which voting group to disenfranchise. Or someone who made a fortune the hard way, selling chicken sandwiches for example, may suffer the pangs of the damned trying to decide which sexual orientation to hate most.

And I now come to my final observation on the Beatitudes as stated by the Galilean according to the writer of Matthew. It is said that, “Some writers have endeavored to trace in the group as a whole the steadily ascending stages in the development of the Christian character.” (https://www.bible-history.com/isbe/b/beatitudes/).

I drift toward this view. If I’m right, there are a hell of a lot of so-called “Christians” who are in a heap of trouble.

It's in there, I promise, and
you don't have to look that hard.