Cause and Effect

As inspiring as the message of the Sermon on the Mount is, we are at last forced to consider why the crowd came to hear it. We should also consider its lasting effect. Neither will cheer us on this bright Sunday morning.

The disciples came because it was their duty. The Galilean had chosen and assembled them soon after he withstood his temptations. It seemed their duty, more or less, to sit near him on that Judean hill. Followers follow.

As for the crowd, we don’t know. Their motives may not have withstood detailed scrutiny. Matthew reports that, after choosing his disciples, the Galilean:

“… went throughout Galilee, teaching in their synagogues, proclaiming the good news of the kingdom, and healing every disease and sickness among the people. News about him spread all over Syria, and people brought to him all who were ill with various diseases, those suffering severe pain, the demon-possessed, those having seizures, and the paralyzed; and he healed them. Large crowds from Galilee, the Decapolis, Jerusalem, Judea and the region across the Jordan followed him.” (4:23-25 NIV)

There’s the rub. Even in today’s society, it wouldn’t be hard to draw a crowd by performing miracles, especially ones aimed at curing medical malformities. Sadly, one can draw crowds in modern society by simply promising miracles. Our most intriguing example is of one who expands this theory to the maximum. He promises miracles, fails to perform them, and uses lies (false witness) to disguise the failure to his true believers. Further, when science offers a miracle-like solution to an epic problem, he disparages the very actions need to make it work. His followers make disobedience to truth a bedrock act of acquiescence. Paraphrasing a line from an epic American film, they scream, “We don’t need no stinkin’ facts.”

That brings us to the question of loyalty. As for the Galilean, it seems to have been, at least in contemporary measure, what some describe as “a mile wide and an inch deep.” Some of the same folks who gathered with great hope on the Mount, may have been in the crowd that screamed for the Galilean’s blood when it appeared that his miracle-performing days were over.

Contrast that with our modern example whose followers seem not only unphased by his shortcomings but virtually emboldened by them.

“What does it mean” we might ask ourselves. Is there some hidden genetic trigger that guides us more fervently to greet, avarice, hate, and destruction than to the opposite attractions of love, peace, forgiveness, and righteousness?

Does it mean the virtues expressed in The Sermon are no longer pertinent in American life? After all, those prophets who call themselves “evangelicals” never mention The Sermon and seem, by all their actions, to eschew the very notions expressed in the Beatitudes. They turn instead to the cruel dictates of the older biblical texts. They even form cruel nicknames for the dwindling group of believers who still find “The Blessings” exalting.

What would we say if, somehow, the Galilean were to ask us, in modern parlance, to “review” his most famous sermon?

Perhaps it would be a good idea for each of us raised in a Christian culture to spend some time pondering that question.

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.

Theology Time

I suspect that you could chase a die-hard fundamentalist with a copy of The Beatitudes. I doubt that many would even believe that it was taken from the Bible they claim to love so well. In short, those teachings lie far from accepted Christian dogma for many, some quite prominent, Americans. As the book in question also warns against the futility of serving two masters, one cannot serve the Galilean of The Sermon on the Mount and Ayn Rand, the author of Atlas Shrugged, the modern guide for many conservative brothers and sisters.

This brings us to the study of the next of the “blessings” as espoused on that mount: “Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.”

To grasp fully the importance of this, the eighth on the list, it would be instructive to review the past seven. If you remember, the Galilean is reported to have said

“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven;

Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted;

Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth;

Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they shall be satisfied;

Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy;

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

Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called sons of God.”

So far.

As we contemplate the first seven “blessings,” let’s just imagine what the followers of the current American president would call those who make an honest effort, in their daily lives, to adhere to the words of our beloved Rabbi. Some terms come to mind.

Libtard

Snowflake

Taker

Bleeding heart

Socialist

Do-gooder

Peace dove

Of course, in direct opposition to the current popular term “nationalists,” there is an overarching term for our Beatitudinists. That would be “humanists.” Franklin Graham once said that they are “worse than Communists.” There is a wall somewhere that bears the names of 57,939 Americans who might disagree. They rest in peace among others that we honor this weekend as we hope for no more wars. Yes, the peacemakers these days run the risk of being called “surrender monkeys,” but we accept it. The Galilean would not have it otherwise.

So there we are. Of course, being called names is in no way comparable to being marched off to gas chambers. As we are told from birth, though, mighty oaks from little acorns grow. Maybe the Galilean remembered that long ago on that hill surrounded by crowds of followers. Mighty Oaks are mighty trees that know nothing of their final purpose. Mighty evil is mighty evil. Mighty good is mighty good, even if we receive the condemnation of others for pursuing it.

Maybe this came to mind in a later moment described by Matthew, when a disciple asked the Galilean, “Teacher, which is the great commandment in the Law?” And he said to him, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind. This is the great and first commandment. And a second is like it: You shall love your neighbor as yourself. On these two commandments depend all the Law and the Prophets.” 22:36-40 ESV

I don’t think we’ll see that on Twitter this Memorial Day weekend.

Peace, Honor, Country ....

Theology Time: There’s an old saw concerning the point at which a preacher quits preaching and starts meddling. According to early Christian writers, and my opinion, the Galilean reached that point nearly 2,000 years ago. He said, standing on that rocky mount in remote Judea, “Blessed are the peacemakers: for they shall be called the children of God.”

Say what?

It doesn’t make much sense does it? According to most research, there have been less than a couple dozen years since America’s founding that it hasn’t been at war, at least for one day. A Christian nation? I report. Ya’ll decide. For a complete listing of America’s warlike excursions, click here.

What would the Galilean say about all this? I can only imagine. He might want to see some of the folks at the top. He might say something couched in modern phrasing, like, “What part of ‘peacemakers’ did you not understand?”

He might say something like, “You didn’t listen to me about divorces. Why should I expect any more from you?”

He might say something like, “That’s the silliest-looking mustache I’ve ever seen. Do you really expect people to take you seriously?”

He might say something like, “You graduated from West Point. Duty? Honor? Country? Destruction? You should know better. And please quit with the ‘rapture’ stuff. I don’t even know what you are talking about.”

He might say, “Please show me where I said anything like ‘blessed are the makers of aircraft carriers,’ if you would please.”

He might say, “Would you please show me where I ever called the makers of guns ‘the least of those among us’—the ones most in need of our love and succor?”

He might say. “Did I ever instruct my disciples to go forth and slay those whom they didn’t love?”

He might say, “Oh, and while I am at it, I never liked those Nazis. Sad to say, some of those they murdered were distant, far distant, relatives of mine. I approved that war, but I never called their descendants ‘fine people’ that I can recall.”

He might say, “Ya’ll better start paying attention to ya’ll are listening to.” (I think he was from Southern Galilee, wasn’t he?)

He might say, “You people give me a colossal headache. Don't make me come back down there.”

Well, he might say a lot of things. What he did say was, “Blessed are the peacemakers: for they shall be called the children of God.” Neither Rupert Murdoch nor his prancing imps can change that.

If it sticks in your craw, and you consider it meddling, you might better start paying attention to whom you listen.

Blessed are the Bomb Makers?
I can't find it.

Pure of heart ... ?

Theology Time: Still stuck on the Beatitudes I am. I suppose it’s because they suffer these days from being so “bigly” ignored. I can’t turn anywhere without having the stricture from Leviticus against homosexuality thrust in my face. Pretty explicit it is. The writer called it, a man laying with another man as with a woman that is, “an abomination.”

The writer was from a group just emerging from the Stone Age, so he wrote without the scientific knowledge of biological descent through modification, or of genomic organization and the modifications possible. Still, he allowed his strictures to be quite explicit.

But so were the commands by Moses concerning the fate of the Midianite women and children captured in war—explicit that is. Seems he commanded his victorious soldiers, “Now kill all the boys. And kill every woman who has slept with a man, but save for yourselves every girl who has never slept with a man.” - Numbers 31 (NIV)

How can we, if we are to accept every sentence in the Old Testament as coming directly from the mouth of the Almighty, supposed to reconcile all this? Last time I visited a church full of evangelicals (the ones who hate the differently genomed the most), about half those under 40 years of age had violated a direct command from Himself. In Leviticus 19:28, the Bible says, "Ye shall not make any cuttings in your flesh for the dead, nor print any marks upon you: I am Lord."

I am sure that he didn’t mean to include faded nautical tattoos on the shoulders of aging vets, just the flowers and snakes crawling from the bodices of beautiful young women and the hateful sayings on the arms of swaggering young men. But, anyway …

Do I stand as the only confused one? I fear that many (so-called) Christians seem to have abandoned the words of Yahweh and, instead, follow the words, written by poet Paul Simon, and sung with his pal Art Garfunkel, “Still, a man hears what he wants to hear, and disregards the rest.” How are we supposed to maintain a purity of heart in these times?

That brings us to today’s Beatitude, the sixth: “Blessed are the pure of heart, for they shall see God.”

Oh dear.

Are you afraid, dear reader, as am I, that our national leaders of today would consider the act of striving to be pure of heart as a sign of weakness? If you aren’t, carry a person who is dying of a curable disease to one of our leaders and seek succor for this example of the least of those among us. You’ll find out real fast (dare I say “bigly”) who shall see God and who won’t, at least according to the Galilean. (Someday, we’ll get back to what he had to say about divorce. That’s a real hoot).

The Sermon on the Mount is a marvelous account of purity in thought and heart. I only wish someone could get the haters to read it. Maybe some have. That possibility makes me think of Exodus 9-12, (NIV) “But the Lord hardened Pharaoh's heart and he would not listen … .” The Lord? Surely not. That makes me think of a college experience. A nationally-known sociologist, Dr. Grant Bogue, assigned me a reading back in the 1960s called Our Schizophrenic Society. It as all about how the disparity between the teachings of adults and their actions must have been adversely affecting the minds of the young.

If that was true in the 1960s, what would we make of it today? Pure of heart? Give me a break.

Have mercy ...

Theology Time for the week. Oh dear. I’m still stuck on the Beatitudes, primarily as recorded by the Gospel writer Matthew as being a part of the Sermon on the Mount. This is a little-known segment of the Christian New Testament, largely redacted by the fundamentalist segment of our country—the so-called Evangelicals. To many “hard-shells,” the ten “blessings” seem more of an embarrassment than a directive or mandate. We’re stuck with them, though, at least until the new Bibles come out.

Certainly, our target this week would be an insult to the likes of Franklin Graham, the latest self-appointed prophet of propriety. It does appear that the fifth of the Beatitudes represents a case in which the Galilean stops preaching and starts meddling. Without any apparent embarrassment, he announces, “Blessed are the merciful: for they shall obtain mercy.” Can’t one just hear the “Out of Context Crowd” clamoring for the microphone?

Merciful? Oh my goodness. What in the world was he talking about? It doesn’t appear to be a typo, for it agrees with another directive later in the same document, "Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful" (Luke 6:36).

Merciful? Who needs it in a world moved to such a degree by raw hatred of others? Who needs it in a country led by person who begins each day with digitally transmitted scorn and vitriol published against those who disagree with him in the slightest?

Merciful? Who needs it in a world where so many condone murderous executions because of the physiological makeup of a specific persons, amidst the tacit approval of so many in our own country?

Merciful? I struggle with the concept when I hear people around me promote the persecution and demeaning of those the Galilean called his beloved.

Merciful? How does one explain the concept to young children in a country that builds aircraft carrier after aircraft carrier while healthcare clinics in its rural areas go broke for lack of funding? (We might come back to this one later.)

Merciful? How do you explain mercy to a young child of five who has just been told, and implanted with a primal fear, that a loving old man in the sky will send their precious bodies to an everlasting pit of fire for the slightest mishap?

There are those who say, “Oh, we’re fulfilling the ‘merciful’ stricture when we point out to sinners their shortcomings and admonish them for their evil ways.” They add, “Oh, it is also quite merciful to instruct the uninformed. What better example of mercy than to interrupt their sinful, albeit peaceful, ignorance and let them know about the everlasting pit of fire? Now that’s what you call real mercy.”

The Galilean tells me that he’s not sure about all of this. People seem to be putting themselves in the position of determining what constitutes a sin. He thinks they are limiting themselves to the whole concept of mercy as he sees it, which is to provide succor to those the world deems “the least,” not the “most.”

Oh, don’t get me wrong. I don’t really talk to the Galilean. Nor does Franklin Graham. I just read the words he is reported as having said.

I don’t think many others do. Shall we be merciful to them by pointing out the errors of their ways?

Heck, I guess we’ll have to.

I need to talk to that man.

Righteousness ...

Righteous. Now there is a word that can kick your butt early in the morning. I’ve heard it used to describe everything from a good person to a guitar lick to sect-approved behavior to a “Bogarted” joint. Seems like beauty is in the ear of the listener.

It seems understandable, then, that the writer Matthew used it, in some form, for the words of the Galilean while preaching on the Mount. He said, in the fourth of his so-called “Beatitudes:

“Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they shall be satisfied” (ESV, Matthew 5:6).

In some religious congregations, you are declared righteous because you have had your sins cleansed by Jesus.

In others, it means you are capable of sublime actions, as when the modern Jews proclaimed Oskar Schindler a “Righteous Person” for being credited with saving the lives of 1,200 Jews during the Holocaust by employing them in his enamelware and ammunition factories in occupied Poland and the Protectorate of Bohemia and Moravia.

Yeah. That makes sense.

On the other hand, there are people like Franklin Graham who seek righteousness by preaching hatred against those whom the process of natural selection made different. So it’s a slippery word at best, this “righteousness.” Who knows how the Galilean would have interpreted it? It’s my guess that it would have been a lot closer to Schindler than to Graham. That’s just my opinion.

Perhaps the more understandable words, though, are “hunger and thirst.” The Galilean didn’t make it easy. I’ve been lucky in my life. I’ve only hungered and thirsted for short periods unless you discount high school, and … well let’s leave that topic for, as H.L. Mencken put it, “future biographers.”

Once, though, I hungered and thirsted pretty darned bad. That was during SERE (Survival, Evasion, Resistance, Escape) training provided at no cost to me by the United States government. They took us outside Warner Springs, CA to that desert where, if you remember your grade school geography films, you can fry an egg on a rock at high noon and freeze water in a glass overnight. They starved us for several days in that dreadful environment. They also drove us into a fake prisoner-of-war camp and beat the crap out of us, but that is a story for another day.

The point is: by the time they brought us back, I had commenced to hunger and thirst most righteously.

I think that was the sort of state the Galilean advocated for those who seek righteousness. You have to put yourself in a state of high-hankering.

And I don’t care what Franklin Graham says, I don’t think a person can reach that state in a Manhattan skyscraper on a full stomach.

The Dark Side of Righteousness. 

Hard times ...

Theology Time: I’m still stuck on the Beatitudes. I skipped the Second last week for some reason or other. Maybe it’s because this year so far has involved so much mourning for me and my family. Back to it though, on the Mount, the Galilean sought to comfort us:

“Blessed are they who mourn, for they shall be comforted.”

Taken out of what seem to be the conventional context, we might expect to be comforted when we have cause to mourn. In this context, we might withstand horrible sadness in anticipation of earthly comfort. This comfort will be all the more soothing and wonderful because we have known the hard times and they are past. The winds of fortune blow from all directions. Wait for a better day. Help is coming. This [sadness] too shall pass. A better day is coming. Happy days will be here again.

We know that it isn’t true. Even when we pray in song, the way Stephen Foster did, imploring “Hard times, come around no more.”

Times don’t always get better. Sometimes they do. Sometimes they don’t. Sometimes it just keeps piling on. That’s why the conventional interpretation for the word “blessed” in the Beatitudes is “happy.”

No, we don’t accept hard times because they will end. We don’t mourn because our troubles on Earth will end.

We mourn because we anticipate a place  beyond Earthly life where mourning will end and those who have borne it the most will be the happiest to get shed of it. The Galilean was promising us a better home, a heavenly home, where troubles will be no more.

That’s not much comfort for those who harbor doubts instead of faith. Even those who aren’t affected by personal troubles must tremble at the condition of our country and the world. We recall the words of Matthew Arnold perhaps, in his poem Lines Written in Kensington Gardens:

I, on men’s impious uproar hurled,

Think often, as I hear them rave,       

That peace has left the upper world, 

And now keeps only in the grave.

Arnold found peace in quiet garden. Many find peace in the words of the Galilean, and bless him for it. A friend of mine from years ago during my time in the United States Navy, found it another way. We were in temporary duty at a base in Monterey, California. I had already received orders for Naval Security Forces at Da Nang. He had no idea where he would go. It didn’t matter. He hated every aspect of military life. Location made no difference.

His name was Robert and he carried around a number of problems, some social, some political, some romantic, some internal, and some external. One day, as we walked through a then-deserted Cannery Row, he looked at me with sad eyes and said, “You know, when a child is born, they give him a bucket, and as he goes through life, they shovel crap into it, and he has to carry it with him through life while it gets heavier and heavier.”

It was somber thought and I remember wondering, at the time, what John Steinbeck and Ed Ricketts would have thought of it. I didn’t think long on it. One morning, Robert failed to appear at muster. I figured his assignment had come through.

About two weeks later, shortly before I was to leave, a call came my work place. Personal calls didn’t pass muster, but they let me take it out of sorrow for my future, I suppose. A happy voice greeted me. It was Robert.

“Where are you?”

“At the nut-ward at the Treasure Island base in San Francisco,” he said.

“How did you get there?”

“I told them I was giving up my bucket of crap and the Navy could do what they wanted to with it.” Then the phone went dead.

I never heard from him again.

Comfort them?
Or test them for drugs?

A state of grace, or of confusion?

Those who know me can tell you that I stay confused about half the time. This state of being stems from ignorance, of course. I don’t seek ignorance. It simply floats down and covers me like a soft spring mist.

No wonder then that I find myself particularly confused early Sunday mornings when I set aside time for contemplation of the Christian scriptures. These allegedly set forth the prescription for a better life beyond the travesties of our earthly wanderings. Nowadays, though, among so-called Christians, we find the scriptures, particularly the words of the Galilean, mostly unused, or, at a minimum, heavily redacted.

I’ve mentioned this to the Galilean more than once. He says I think too much and should practice, as he puts it, “allowing the mind to drift along the current, as if, “… being carried toward internal peace by the River Jordan itself.” He still has the gift of speech, doesn’t he?

Once, I responded by asking him why he preached the Sermon on the Mount if he didn’t intend to hold his people to it. It is, I pointed out to him, considered by many to be the most beautiful passage of the New Testament, perhaps of any words over spoken. Why does he allow that wondrous wisdom to lie un-worshiped, while so many hijack his teachings and concentrate on their opposite?

He simply shrugged and said, “My ways ain’t your ways.” He knows that upsets me.

This morning I selected a single passage, one that experts (of which I’m not) call “The Beatitudes.” The word is from the Latin beatus, meaning “blessed.” Ahhh. Therein lies the root of my confusion.

I chose the first of the Beatitudes for closer inspection. Two of the gospels state it thusly:

“Blessed are the poor in spirit: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” – Matthew 5-3 (KJV)

“Blessed be ye poor: for yours is the kingdom of God.” - Luke 6:20 (KJV)

Yes, I’ve chosen the King James version since those in the “flag-decal crowd” don’t trust the scriptures unless they are presented in the original American.

Anyway,

“Why,” I asked the Galilean, “would you teach that we are blessed if we are poor in spirit or, worse, just plain poor? Aren’t your followers supposed to enjoy riches untold?”

“Idiot,” he explained.

“I didn’t say it,” Joel Osteen did.”

“Don’t aggravate me this morning,” he said. “I’m not in the mood for it. Next thing I know you’ll be quoting …uh, … what’s his name? Oh yes, Franklin Graham. He’s a real hoot, ain’t he?”

“Can we get back on topic?”

“Surely,” he said. Now tell me, what did the word ‘blessed’ mean back in my day?”

I thought. “I suppose it meant ‘favored,’ or something like that.”

“Idiot.”

“Was I wrong?”

“It meant ‘happy.’ You know what it means to be happy, don’t you?”

“I think so.”

“Don’t you remember my saying that my ways ain’t … .?”

“Our ways,” I said. “I remember.”

“Well then,” he said. “If my ways ain’t your ways, did you ever consider that it’s because my world is not your world?”

I stopped to think about that.

He said, “Haven’t you ever had to endure some pain in order to arrive at a higher state of pleasure?”

“Yes.”

“I mean a genuine, five-star, gut-busting state of pleasure, nothing like normal “feel-good days.”

“Does military service count?”

“Bingo,” he said.

“You’re telling me then that enduring poverty, or the poverty of spirit, might just be preparing one for a higher state of grace down the line somewhere?”

“Bingo,” he said.

“But what about those who only seek the wealth of the moment? What about those who seek false riches? What about those who deprive the poor in order to enrich themselves, their children, or their friends? What about those who worship such people and put them in charge of the common folks? What happens to them?”

“You don’t want to know.” He said. With that, he disappeared.

I wish he would have stayed. I had so many things to ask him. He had planted a seed. Why didn’t he stay and help it grow? Was he just teasing me? Why don’t more people live by what he taught on that rocky mountain top so many years ago? Why does he always leave me confused?

Well, I guess his ways ain’t my ways.

Been confused for a long time.

Morning Thoughts: December 23, 2017

“Blessed are ye that weep now, for you shall laugh.” That’s how Luke told it. “Blessed are those that mourn, for they shall be comforted,” is how Matthew reported it.

Both were, of course, telling of the words of the Galilean at the Sermon on the Mount, one of the most respected writings, historically, ever recorded. Mahatma Gandhi claimed it as a favorite work, but berated Christians for their lack of observance. The Sermon was a foundation of the now much-reviled Social Gospel, so comforting to those who mourned during the Jim Crow era of our country. Its teachings have fallen much into disuse in this age of “doers,” and “takers.” As Kurt Vonnegut, Jr. observed, there has been no proposal to place the Beatitudes on a statehouse lawn.

Those who espouse the so-called “Prosperity Gospel,” find the Beatitudes an embarrassment and consign them to the ash heap of history along with the entire sermon. They use the ubiquitous “out-of-context” defense by which we discard any Biblical teachings that contract our long-held beliefs or imprinted biases.

Anyway, one couldn’t help but recall this particular Beatitude during a week when three-quarters of our country mourned. What did they mourn? They mourned what they saw as the successful attack by a minority upon the poor and others of the “least of those among us.” Their counterpoints viewed their success as what they termed a Biblical prophecy, although exactly which one remains a mystery.

This dialectic frames the condition of our country now, it seems. Dissension ferments a bitter fruit within us, because finding common ground with those who trust in such diametrically opposed viewpoints is difficult, if not impossible. A divide, as great philosophically as the Grand Canyon is geologically, renders finding common goals difficult. What, we wonder, will happen to those standing on the side of the chasm that turns out to be the wrong side of history?

A holy heart residing within is the belief of a person with deeply embedded beliefs, implanted by nurture. A troubled soul can confront one who thirsts for knowledge. So we stand, tongues lashing and fingers pointing across the divide, each side hoping for history’s absolution.

Maybe the answer would involve what we currently refer to as a paradigm shift. As with the squirmy concept of what some people call the “axial age,” i.e, we find ourselves in a situation where the old paradigm is ending and the new paradigm isn’t ready yet.

We can only hope that cool heads and reasoned communication prevail in its formation.