When Jesus saw the crowds, he went up the mountain;
and after he sat down, his disciples came to
him.
Then he began to speak, and taught them, saying:
“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom
of heaven.
“Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be
comforted.
“Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the
earth.
“Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness,
for they will be filled. “Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive
mercy.
“Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.
“Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called
children of God.
“Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’
sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
“Blessed are you when people 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 in the same way they persecuted
the prophets who were before you.
A Blessing for NOW
I can’t tell you how many times I have heard this scripture,
but I had never heard it like I did the other day. I had always heard the
Beattitudes like promises unkept or still unrealized, those who are poor, in
mourning, meek, hungry - you will someday see the kingdom of heaven, you
will someday be comforted, you will someday inherit the earth,
and someday you will be filled but not today. What is someday
if a person is persecuted now, what is someday if they seek for peace
now, what is someday if you need mercy now? In this way, reading these
Beatitudes always seemed more like platitudes, that is until they were read to
me.
In Bible Study, I asked Jim Lissman to read the scripture
aloud. His deep voice took its time rolling over the words, and each came like
waves of blessing washing over us, “yours is the kingdom of heaven, you will be
comforted, you will inherit the earth, you will be filled, you will receive
mercy, you will see God, you will be called children of God, yours is the
kingdom of heaven, and your reward is great,” You could tell, Jim knew the
verses, by his cadence, speaking familiar words without the falsity of being
rote, his voice made them both times warm and comforting, like a lullaby. It
was like Swing Low, not the instructions verse of, “if you get there before I
do,” but instead the bolstering chorus of, “coming for to carry me home.” In
that Spiritual, there is a promise buoying the chorus in the same way there is
a promise buttressing the Beatitudes. Maybe I heard it such because it was read
differently, and maybe I heard it such, because it was what I needed to hear.
These Beatitudes spoken as a reassurance of a future yet to be.
You see, I had shared where I needed God, was with some
medical issues, that were quickly changing my future. In short, fibroids were
going to make birthing children not as easy as it might have been when I was
younger. Up until that point, I had always considered myself exceedingly
healthy. I could hike, I learned to ski at thirty-one, I could run, I could put
my palms flat on the ground and bend my elbows with straight legs, I still had
something like 20/12 vision, and to be honest, I thought I was pretty enough
and interesting enough for men to still be curious on occasion, despite my odd
occupation. But genetics doesn’t always pay attention to whether you can ski
the blacks or read the clock across the room. And so at thirty-three, the all
too common, but rarely spoken of, fibroids, decided to take over, along with
months of nonstop bleeding and subsequent weight gain due to hormones intended
to stop said-bleeding. It has been incredulous and out of control for a life
and a person very much optimistic and quite functional. The week I went home
from the doctor with pamphlets outlining my not so stellar options, different
friends turned thirty, got pregnant, were “trying,” and got engaged. It was
hard not to look at the contrast, and after truly excitedly congratulating a
friend on his upcoming engagement, I walked to bathroom, as women are apt to
do, and took a moment to settle my brain and breathe. I went home, and bawled
as the garage door closed behind me. It felt as if life was passing me by.
Though it was late I texted a few friends, some told me that
there was some plan that would unfold, which sounded more like an empty fairytale
of someday, which my life itself had proven otherwise, that you don’t
always end up with the prince in the castle. It made me think the Beatitudes
likewise, shouldn’t be read as specific predictions. Other friends told me, I
wasn’t old, which denied the bloody evidence that was suggesting otherwise. It
was like telling the Beatitudes’ Peacemaker that there was already peace and no
protesting was necessary. Finally, one friend reassured me, “Katy you will have
kids, if you want them, when you want them.” It was its own Beatitude. Not
because it pretended I could easily birth children, but because it reminded me,
of what I knew somewhere deep down, that life will be what it will be, and even
if it’s not a fairy tale, there is goodness in the world, and through that
goodness promises are kept, that though someday may look different, there still
exists happily ever after. He was right, and I pictured it, maybe I was like my
own parents, who when I asked about their being unable to have kids and needing
adopt reminded me, “Katy we wanted someone to tuck in, we wanted someone to
read to.” Maybe it was like another friend said, “that though it is not a
vaginal birth, that when a kid comes, a C-section isn't going to make that kid,
or the experience, any less wonderful.” I knew this was also true. It was like
I had told myself over and over, “When it is time, if it is just me and having
a kid on my own, I can do it, and I will, and it will be good.” These were
promises of someday that allowed me to hold out hope, and in that hope, find
comfort. “Katy you will have kids, if you want them, when you want them.”
“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” “Blessed
are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.” When I looked at the
Beatitudes, “is,” and, “will,” seem stronger words than the “someday,” I was
reading into the scripture and it is these words, of “is,” and “will be,”
I believe in. And I know I am not alone.
Saturday night, I checked my
Instagram and scrolled though dozens and dozens and dozens of picture of
friends in handfuls of different cities at women’s marches across the country,
in Austin, in Boston, in Boise, in LA, in New York City, in Atlanta, in D.C.,
in Portland, Blessed are you in Seattle, Blessed are you in Miami, Blessed are
you in San Francisco, Blessed are you in San Antonio and Kerrville, Texas,
Blessed are you in Pendleton, Blessed are you in Phili, Blessed are you in
Helena, Montana, in Denver, Blessed are you, Blessed are you in the Berkley
Arts Center making signs, Blessed are you from San Diego to the Vermont State
House, Blessed are you to the 300 people in the town of Joseph Oregon, and
those few in Stanley Idaho, LaGrande, Oregon, Raleigh and Greensboro, North
Carolina. Not because you are marching for one political party against another,
because I don't think you were, but because you were being the Beatitudes,
naming a future yet to be, naming that it can be good even if it’s right now,
naming that Women’s issues are important.
I thought about how Baker
City had no march, and I thought about
how far I had had to go to find care, over snowy passes and back to LaGrande,
to Boise -
across time zones and state lines, and couldn’t help but think these two might
be related. What does it mean that Baker
City citizens had to
travel to another place to support women’s rights? How much do we care about
women’s health when we do not care for women, with issues as common as mine,
within our town lines? Why can’t there be a Title-Nine for healthcare, that no
procedure, or medicine, or research, or location, could discriminate on gender
such that there had to be equal services for all genders? It seems it’s been
separate and unequal for a long time, I thought about the hemorrhaging woman in
the Bible, and wondered if she had the same thing I do, and I wonder why has it
taken so long to figure this out, with very few good options, when even Jesus
sought that the hemorrhaging should be healed, preexisting condition or not.
And I think about what Jesus did in that story, when she came over and touched
his robes, he asked who had touched them, and he said to her, “Your faith has
made you well.” It’s been another verse that hasn’t been my favorite for the
same reasons that I didn’t like the Beatitudes, because they seemed empty promises
to those suffering now. But I can see differently now, the woman reaching out
and touching Jesus’ robes is like millions of marchers on
Saturday’s streets, people naming a need, and believing it can change,
and will change, and is changed, people reassuring others that this goodness is
the future. In those pictures some held signs that said, “women’s health is
women’s rights,” others reframed words like, “nasty women, blood coming out of
her, and grab them by the __ into images of kittens, depictions of biological
fact and words of strength rather than shame. And I think too this is what the
Beatitudes are doing, this is what Jesus is doing when he speaks them, taking
those, “who are poor in spirit, those who mourn, those who are meek, those who
hunger and thirst for righteousness, those who are merciful, those who are pure
in heart, those who are the peacemakers, those who are persecuted for
righteousness sake, those who are reviled,” and turning their suffering
upside-down, that they are the ones who are blessed, that by the very
reassurance of those words they are blessed, not someday, but now, and that
that blessing is and will be always.
They are words for wherever we find ourselves, it is a
blessing for those deep longing places in ourselves. So for me, still bleeding
with a long road ahead, I am reassured as if hearing a lullaby, because I know
I am blessed. Likewise, in an ever changing world, even if someday or
today looks different than the fairy tale we desired, we all can be blessed
by the marchers and their signs, declaring a future of goodness and care, whose
cadences echo words from long ago, blessed are you, blessed are you, blessed
are you. Amen.
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