Spiritual Bankruptcy – How My Distaste for Prosperity and Joy Is Diminishing

Pastor Cliff Chappell, St. John's All Nations
Church of God in Christ, Portland, Oregon

At various points in our ministry, my wife and I have been very nearly homeless on two occasions. We have been down to the last can of beans in the cupboard. And we have faced crises in which we despaired of adequate finances, medical care, transportation, relationships, and mental health. We can testify that being bankrupt is nothing to be sought, but that it is not without its blessings, either, whether the bankruptcy is economic, emotional, or spiritual in nature. 

My friend, Cliff Chappell, recently wrote, “To be bankrupt in our spirits would bankrupt us of our bad attitudes towards others. It would bankrupt us of our anger, hatred, and bigotry…of our arrogance, selfish pride, and it’s all about me syndrome.” He knows what he’s talking about. You can read his full post here. 

So, it may not surprise you that “The Blessedness of Possessing Nothing” is my favorite sermon by A.W. Tozer. His closing prayer to that message haunts me in its sincere desperation for God: “Father, I want to know Thee, but my coward heart fears to give up its toys. I cannot part with them without inward bleeding, and I do not try to hide from Thee the terror of the parting. I come trembling, but 1 do come. Please root from my heart all those things which 1 have cherished so long and which have become a very part of my living self, so that Thou mayest enter and dwell there without a rival. Then shalt Thou make the place of Thy feet glorious. Then shall my heart have no need of the sun to shine in it, for Thyself wilt be the light of it, and there shall be no night there. In Jesus' Name, Amen.”

But here’s how it works for me when I presume that I am anything other than spiritually bankrupt:

1. When I believe that I bring something of myself to the open table to which the triune God calls me (Paul Louis Metzger’s explanation of the Trinity’s invitation to us can be found here.), then I surely imagine that I must have something of myself to offer to others. 
2. When I offer anything to others as though it first belonged to me, then my reasonable expectation is that something will, in turn, be returned to me in exchange. 
3. These quid pro quo transactions, where other persons and their resources become commodities to be traded, lead me to believe that there is something I deserve, some right I may exercise, and some privilege to which I am entitled. 
4. When I do not receive my due, my rights, or my privileges, then I logically conclude that what is mine must have been misappropriated by others elsewhere. 
5. My unquenchable desire, therefore, is rationalized as simply pursuing the balance of justice. 
6. Thus, I determine to find out who has what is “mine” so that I can retrieve it from them. 
7. But how do I determine who it is that I need to take “mine” back from? I can identify them as anyone I perceive as having rights or privileges which, in my perceived impoverishment, I conclude that they do not deserve. In fact, whenever I have too little, then I am free to take from anyone who in my estimation has too much, or at least more than they deserve.

This process of “commodifying” one another can continue, even subconsciously, into marginalization, depersonalization, and a dehumanization that allows us to justify our exploitation, oppression, or even destruction of countless others. After all, they have what is supposed to be mine. Why wouldn’t I be right to take it back from them?

What keeps me from such self-centered pillaging of others' resources? It is simply this: my salvation and sanctification, my provision and protection, indeed my life and breath are but a gracious gift from among the limitless resources God makes available. When I recognize this, only then may I live in the assurance, confidence and joy that allows me to truly claim to others to be “your servant for Jesus’ sake” (II Corinthians 4:5). 

Otherwise, I will continue to see others, including you, as a repository of resources to which I should have virtually unrestrained access…until you notice how much more I have than you do.

The Father’s Day Dilemma

There's always room in God's closet
for another tie.

Pastor Stuart Briscoe is quoted as saying the qualification for Christian leadership, and especially pastors, must include “the mind of a scholar, the heart of a child, and the hide of a rhinoceros.” I have always felt that the third of those qualities was dangerous, however advantageous it might seem to be.

In law enforcement, department psychologists, chaplains, and human resources staff alike try to combat the natural effects of the highly emotional interactions required in that profession. There, it is referred to as “cocooning.” Imagine the stress of constantly dealing with both perpetrators and victims, both smiling criminals and angry citizens. Add the demands of both community and workplace politics. Multiply that by court appearances where two adversarial sides seem united only in their animosity toward officers who do both more and less of their job than either side would prefer. No one is surprised when officers begin to disengage emotionally from victims as well as their attackers, even from children as well as their abusers. But the officers themselves are often dismayed to find that in the process they have also distanced themselves from those closest to them.

The greatest quality in preaching:
that others hear a pastor's heart.

My students, my counseling clients, my Hospice patients and families, and especially my parishioners all count on my ability to remain open and caring to them in their particular circumstances, no matter which or how many other, worse situations I have faced with others, sometimes within moments of their call or visit. I serve on at least one team marked by a remarkable habit. We intentionally form close personal friendships with people who are going to die soon. And when each of those Hospice patients do reach the end of their earthly lives, we commemorate that fact together, sharing with one another around the room, processing together the constant experience of compound grief.

So, I should be able to shrug off something as simple as this past Sunday’s anonymous, post-worship-service note of “disappointment,” if not entirely disapproval. Here’s what it says: “Sent with tender observations. Thank you for today’s message. It resonated with us. We were disappointed that your message didn’t include a message about fathers. The Lord our Father. Our fathers – our children teaching their children from what they learned from their fathers. Mentoring someone who hasn’t had a father, or had a harsh father. Praise Godly fathers.”

In the recent past, I have begun to acknowledge some holidays. But previously my practice of preaching chapter-by-chapter, verse-by-verse through entire books of the Bible continued throughout the year. I was used to being questioned about Christmas or Easter failing to be Christmas-y or Easter-y enough. But in addition to all my reasons for pursuing a serious commitment to expository preaching, I also have been troubled by my marketing background and the usual bait-and-switch practices that only reinforce the habits of many who attend only on those “special occasions,” since the rest of the calendar pales in comparison. In short, I have very good reasons for not throwing out the next passage or swapping it for something more topical in my preaching schedule in favor of Christmas or Easter (though I have begun to relent for those occasions) much less Mother’s, Father’s, Memorial, Labor, Independence, Thanksgiving, Arbor or Groundhog Days.

When you say "Christmas-y" to me,
this is the image that floods my mind.

But that’s not the main reason that the note affected me so badly.

It is not like I had not considered potential applications from the passage. But the only overtly parental relationship in II Samuel 2 is that of Ish-Bosheth, son of the recently deceased King Saul. But other than stating the relationship, anything beyond simply mentioning that (which I did, since it is written in the text I read aloud) would be a stretch. No, what I had considered more was the great difficulty many face during mother’s or father’s day. Among our parishioners there is great fondness for many of our fathers, deep sorrow over the loss of some of our fathers, distinct frustration over the difficult relationships with a few of our fathers and, as my anonymous critic seemed to suggest, a tendency to sugar-coat even the worst of circumstances that have accompanied the damage and betrayal inflicted by fathers on a number of our parishioners.

And as for "Easter-y?" It's clear that for some,
the resurrection simply isn't magnificent enough.

One of them had sent me a Facebook message on Father’s Day afternoon, just as I was trying not to reflect too much further on the “absence” of a message on fathers (though in the course of the worship service we did, of course, acknowledge, speak of, and pray for/about/with fathers). This parishioner had been exposed to a more traditional emphasis on Father’s Day. Specifically, they have been under pressure to unilaterally “forgive and forget” the unrepentant man who contributed to her birth (I’m dancing around the term others might use here). The pain of her mother’s choice to return to him only multiplies the challenges she faces in her family relationships. But no one, notably, suggests that he has changed his habits, preferences, or boundary issues, even those that led to the legal penalties that resulted after he sexually assaulted his young-adult daughter while she was incapacitated by illness.

She was not in church on Father’s Day. If she had, perhaps she might have been spared the pressure (indeed, what she identified as the “guilt”) to which she succumbed. Her note expressed the anguish of trying to decide whether or not to call her father, much less apologize to him and forgive him as she had been instructed to do. Then, when she did, in fact, call and apologize, she faced the personal disappointment of having tried “to make the guilt go away.”

I shared with her what I have been slowly working toward sharing with you.

While He was still speaking to the crowds, behold, His mother and brothers were standing outside, seeking to speak to Him. Someone said to Him, “Behold, Your mother and Your brothers are standing outside seeking to speak to You.” But Jesus answered the one who was telling Him and said, “Who is My mother and who are My brothers?” And stretching out His hand toward His disciples, He said, “Behold My mother and My brothers! For whoever does the will of My Father who is in heaven, he is My brother and sister and mother.” (Matthew 12:46-50, NASB)

If we are to honestly pursue the blessings of knowing God as our heavenly Father, we must first begin be recognizing that our human fathers, however well-or-ill-intentioned, however succeeding or failing in their attempts, and however present, absent, attentive, neglectful, inspiring or otherwise they are or may have been, the role of parents in the lives of their children must always be seen in light of the perpetual efforts of God to raise us as His children. (Hebrews 12:4-13 is a good place to look for more details about how this works.)

Look more closely at God's word, and see if our
cultural occasions coincide or conflict or merely coexist.

So, admitting that my Christmas and Easter sermons are probably still not Christmas-y and Easter-y enough, I also know that it’s not just my Father’s Day sermon that is not Father-ly enough, either. My children experienced the fallibility of an all-too-human, inconsistently devoted, arrogantly ambitious and, for a time, clinically depressed and over-employed contributor to their genetic foundations. I have had some shining moments, and some unforgettably dismal ones, too. Some my children laugh about openly. But I fear that there are some they mention, if at all, only to each other. (“Can you believe what Dad said/did that one time when…?” is how I imagine the discussion going.)

My point, then, is this: the pretense of nostalgically perfecting our remembrances, or the rehearsing of wrongs inflicted upon us, or anything in between is a part of the reality of human nature and the ongoing effects of The Fall that should point us ever and only to the loving care of our heavenly Father.

Could that be more strongly emphasized on Father’s Day? Perhaps. If the passage supported it. Otherwise, I think we should continue to address it as often as it comes up in worship, fellowship and service…that is, pretty much every day, just as we commemorate the crucifixion, resurrection, and ascension, Pentecost, and so many other “occasions” as they arise in the course of preaching the scriptures and in the life of the congregation, not just because they show up on the calendar.

Blessed To Be Able To Pursue Happiness, though Cheated, Tortured, and Diseased

Does the Creator promise us life, liberty, and happiness? No. According to the United States of America, we deserve only the right to pursue happiness. And many of us do so inconsistently, even poorly, even in those few categories where some agree what happiness should look like.

Recently, Paul Louis Metzger quoted Augustine of Hippo at length regarding the mistaken pursuits of happiness, offering that “Some of us grieve over not obtaining happiness. Others of us think we have achieved it, but we are deceived. Others of us have the proper object of happiness, but we fail to realize it.” You can read the full quote, and the post in which it appears here. But Augustine describes three categories of those seeking happiness. The tortured seek happiness in what they cannot obtain. The cheated achieve what ultimately proves not to make them happy. And the diseased decline to seek for happiness at all.

But the questions all this raises for me are these: First, can happiness even be sought? And second, if happiness could be sought, how would one go about doing so?

In The Beatitudes (Matthew 5:3-12), Jesus pronounces the sentence of blessing or happiness over eight categories of persons whom we would hardly identify as happy: the spiritually impoverished, the bereaved, the gentle, those who long for righteousness, the merciful, the pure in heart, the peacemakers, and the persecuted.

The impulse to ask, “Seriously?!” comes from the place that recognizes these pronouncements as being what Metzger labels as “counterintuitive.” Certainly we should question whether any sane person would seek to be in any of these categories. But we would be wise to wonder whether anyone even could seek to do so. Part of being “pure in heart” would be the absence of any striving to purify ourselves, relying instead on the sanctifying (holy-making) work of God through the Holy Spirit. Trying to be peacemakers often prompts us to competitively impose our own sense of peace on others. Simply longing for righteousness necessarily reveals the empty void that remains unfilled.

I consider these issues today from a hospital room. It is one into which I worked very hard to be admitted, even though I am not the patient. The patient and I were nearly barred from it, due to circumstances entirely beyond our control. The reason this applies to our consideration of blessedness, happiness, and The Beatitudes, is that our present location, where my wife is recovering from knee-replacement surgery, is a direct result of taking control of the circumstances. Here is the briefest of explanations.

Over the past eighteen months of watching my wife struggle with the damage and painfully deteriorating effects of a pair of falls, relief has been repeatedly delayed by a variety of factors. Finally, though, the requirements of insurers, employers, and the medical community seemed to have been met. Yesterday, surgery was supposed to be just a couple of hours away. Unfortunately, when the surgical staff began to review the records provided, there were some unanswered questions. Without going into detail, suffice to say that some of the information provided was for the wrong patient, some was simply unreadable due to the grainy quality of the faxes sent, and most importantly there was no mention of an ongoing condition that, since it appeared to be a recent development, resulted in the fateful pronouncement, “No, we can’t do surgery today. You should get dressed and go home, and we’ll see what we can do about rescheduling once we resolve what’s going on with this.”

If you read much of what I write, you know that I believe strongly in patient advocacy. That is, I occasionally practice advocacy on behalf of patients, not that I am patient in my advocacy. Again, to shorten the tale, with the surgical staff unable to elicit a response from the clinicians in our community, I called the lab at the hospital in our area and explained in very direct terms (in keeping with Ephesians 4:29) what records they needed to fax to which number. The information arrived within minutes, it provided the information the surgeon and hospitalist needed, and all this resulted in my wife’s surgery being performed just a few hours later than had been planned.

To misuse Augustine’s categories, I pursued an outcome of which my wife was nearly cheated, during circumstances in which she was emotionally tortured (not least by the multiple errors that compounded the frustrations of previous complications from similar miscommunications), opening questions of just how diseased our system has become despite the interlinked network of electronic medical records that prevent rather than provide greater access and clarity with regard to essential patient information.

More to the point, however, we are happy. Blessed, even. The pain my wife experiences today, and in the coming days, is the pain of recovery, rehabilitation, and physical therapy toward the restoration of abilities she has missed for more than eighteen months. But had the surgery been postponed, or cancelled, or unsuccessful, Jesus says we would still be blessed. And I do believe Him. Even from our narrowly limited perspective, despite our initial feeling of “all this happening for no reason,” we began to see possible reasons, outcomes, and purposes in the tumultuous few hours, and the potential for greater and longer endurance being required.

So, can happiness be pursued? No. Because I did get what my wife and I wanted, yet only after it was nearly yanked away from her. And in the pursuit, I was happy. Why? Well, the better question would be, “How?”

In the midst of all of this, there was the belief that none of this caught God by surprise. He knew where we were. He knew what records needed sent. He knew what the outcome of the day would be. And He had already arranged to have all of it work together for the good of those who love Him and are called according to His purpose (Romans 8:28). I feel secure in being included in that promise. And that makes me very blessed.

Who Stands between You and Christ? Is It You?

"Something between me and Jesus?
What could that possibly be?"

We know what Jesus said. “I came not to be served, but to serve.”[1] “If I, your Lord and Master, serve you (literally, wash your feet), how much more should you serve one another?”[2] I serve a congregation who offers that we are “your servants for Jesus’ sake.”[3]

So, how is it that so many Christians seem so self-centered, so eager to demand that their rights be upheld, and so eager to restrict the rights of others with whom they disagree? How do the followers of “the man for others”[4] end up being all about themselves?

I think I might be, at least partly, to blame.

My Contribution to the Problem

I am, have been, and will likely continue to be competitive. My intensity in church-league bowling and softball, for example, used to draw harsh criticism from concerned church leaders. Ironically, these were leaders in churches where we always kept score. Monthly, quarterly, and annual reports measured attendance, membership, conversions, baptisms, giving, and a host of other calculations. Like most other pastors I know, I have been trained to constantly ask the late New York Mayor Ed Koch’s famous question, “How’m I doin’?” It should not surprise me, then, to find so many congregations following their pastors’ lead. Thus we develop the habit of evaluating our spiritual lives by checklists, bar graphs, and spreadsheets, whether literally or mentally.

"Maybe if I just hide from me...?"

We can quote Jesus’ teachings about looking to Him to provide the strength, wisdom and resources necessary to provide for others’ needs. But most of our emphasis on spiritual development, spiritual guidance, and spiritual disciplines focuses our attention on ourselves. As we stand in the gap between the power plant and those needing the light, why do we let the wiring remain so entangled and connected only to itself?

I hear the Lord’s question to me this way: “Are you still standing between you and Jesus Christ?” Yes. I am.

The Traditional Pattern: A Positive Self-Interest

I understand my rebellion against being a servant, from being held to my position between the resources God provides and the needs of the community He’s called me to serve. Like many, I measure success by the extent to which I experience freedom.

Our society regularly sacrifices on behalf of a liberty in which individuals are seen as autonomous. Each of us has the right to self-determination, we claim, at least to the extent that we are self-sufficient to do so.

"What I can I do to appease me?"

Still, we recognize that some boundaries are necessary. Otherwise others’ pursuit of their own self-preservation might infringe upon our ability to pursue our own self-centered preferences and privileges. Thus, when we have effectively self-promoted ourselves over against some other group, we believe our own self-aggrandizing propaganda. From our perspective, we deserve to be protected from others’ self-determination so that we can more comfortably live out our own self-sufficiency (even though our benefits are directly tied to the costs imposed on others). And so, in the service of sustaining our own liberty, we most often negate and sacrifice others for the sake of our positive self-interest.

Our selfish pursuit of such benefits costs others, even the brightest and best of our young men and women, their freedom, their health and well-being, and far too often their lives. But there are alternatives.

"Wait, why don't I just try being me?"

The Usual Alternative: A Negative Self-Interest

If unfettered selfishness can so easily be rationalized and allowed to run rampant over the lives of others, then it would seem logical to pursue self-discipline, limiting our appetites, desires and preferences. Self-denial works well for us in some areas, while our occasional lapses into excess (whatever vice it is on which we binge) give us opportunity for self-deprecating humor. But even those who most successfully implement a pattern of self-giving, and even the self-emptying that follows Christ’s pattern, are focused, still, on self.

Whether we keep score by how much we have, how much we give, or how much we suffer, we are still self-serving, self-centered, and self-focused. If the alternative to being selfish is not to be self-less (since that requires us to evaluate whether we, ourselves, are considering our selves), then what hope can we possibly have?

As that hope, I would offer…

"Okay, so that didn't work
out quite so well as I'd hoped."

An Alternative to Self-Interest

In The Beatitudes,[5] Jesus pronounces blessings to those in whom certain characteristics are found: the poor in spirit, those who mourn, the gentle, those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, the merciful, the pure in heart, the peacemakers, and those who have been persecuted for the sake of righteousness. There is much to be said about these eight characteristics and the blessings that accrue to those who embody them. But to my point here, I would simply note that each category is plural. “Blessed are you” is addressing not me, but us.

In fact, most of the references to “you” in the New Testament are plural. So, as I preface what will be a series of reflections on The Beatitudes as they apply in the context of my life, my family, my ministries, and my other pursuits, I will be trying to look beyond my interests. But I want to start by exploring our interests, most directly in considering next who we are.

And hopefully this will be a collaborative efforts. Please feel free to share your thoughts, questions, concerns, or confusions in the comment section below.

---

[1] Mark 10:45

[2] John 13:14

[3] II Corinthians 4:5

[4] Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s reference to Jesus Christ in his Letters and Papers from Prison.

[5] Matthew 5:3-12

The Impossibility of Anticipatory Sermon Preparation

On any given Sunday, you have no idea who may attend any given church.
And even if you do know a given parishioner will be in attendance,
you have no idea what kind of mood they're in, what kind of day they're having, etc.

“Twenty men crossing a bridge,

Into a village,

Are twenty men crossing twenty bridges,

Into twenty villages,

Or one man

Crossing a single bridge into a village.”

from “Metaphors of a Magnifico”

by Wallace Stevens

A friend phoned me one Sunday afternoon. “You’ve got to pray for us, Bill.” Her husband and mother-in-law had gone to the market. She was using the momentary calm to plead for any counsel on how to handle the irate reactions to the morning’s sermon. Her mother-in-law’s assumption was that I had been informed of her impending visit, and that I had tailored the sermon’s topic to specifically address her son and daughter-in-law’s concerns over her involvement with mediums (those who “channel” the spirits of the dead) and spiritists (those who channel other spirits), and especially those popularized by Shirley MacLaine in her book Out on a Limb.

Her reaction was not unwarranted. I had actually quoted MacLaine in the midst of a sermon on I John 4 in which I insisted, “Just because something is real, that doesn’t make it true. There are very real false spirits seeking to influence us any way they can. They are unlikely to decline an open invitation to do so.”

Her assumptions, however, were entirely unfounded. I had no idea she was planning to visit, much less attend services. And if I had, and my friends had warned me ahead of time, I would not have chosen to switch out the sermon for any other. Foremost among the many reasons for that obstinance on my part? Those responsible to hold me accountable to expository preaching (which, in my case, includes plodding along chapter-by-chapter and verse-by-verse through whole books of the Bible) would immediately notice that I had skipped the next passage.

But even among those who preach topically, those who prepare more situationally, or those friends who ascend the pulpit entirely unprepared in expectation of the Holy Spirit’s spontaneous utterance through them, no pastor can anticipate who will be in attendance at any given service. Neither can any of us anticipate the mental, emotional, social, physical, or spiritual conditions each individual may bring with them to that service.

Whatever number may cross the bridge into the sanctuary on a particular Sunday, they each bring unique experiences and expectations. And those experiences and expectations will likely be different from one service to the next. Andrew Blackwood’s Pastoral Leadership includes the admonition to consider that “pastoral visitation is sermon preparation. Knowing one’s congregation is indispensable. But preparing sermons on the basis of who may or may not be in attendance is inadvisable. Trying to imagine what distractions or disappointments, griefs or gratifications, rejoicings or regrets may be on their hearts and minds is, in a word, impossible.

What, then, are we to do, if not to tailor the presentation of our study, structure, and semantics to what we (think that we) know of our congregation’s participants and their perspectives? Pray. We pursue our study, structure, and semantics in the faithful pursuit of presenting the message God seeks to deliver to a congregation of which we know far less than we imagine. I am tempted to guess at and prepare for “the average parishioner,” or “the lowest common denominator,” or any other fictional standard. But ultimately, it is my trust in the Holy Spirit to guide every aspect from the selection of a passage to the final sentences of a conclusion, and everything in between, that keeps me from the mental gridlock that guarantees I will guess wrong.

This also means that when I am congratulated by those who find a particular message especially meaningful, helpful, or convicting, I cannot take credit for anything more than practicing the prayerful craft of faithfully pursuing study, structure, and semantics that convey the truth of God’s word to those He chooses to include in any given gathering. That, too, is a good thing.

Defining Bereavement, Grief, and Mourning…and the Blessings Therein.

Actually, I'm rethinking my epitaph.
It might read instead: "This machine is
temporarily out of order."

Most North Americans, in my experience, use the words Bereavement, Grief, and Mourning interchangeably. But some of us regularly discuss the experience of loss, its effects, and the means of processing its intrusion and integration into our lives. For specialists in Hospice and other fields like death education and grief counseling, there are important distinctions among these terms. I think that you may find these distinctions helpful, too.

Bereavement = having experienced a significant loss. Whether the life of a cherished loved one, a position of employment, a marriage, a child’s affections, or any other loss, being “bereaved” simply means, “I had this; now it’s gone.”

Grief = our reaction to bereavement. When we significantly value anything (whether positively or negatively), losing it upsets our sense of balance, order, and/or identity. The various elements of these reactions have been traditionally labeled within five categories. “Denial” is that buffer that allows us to process the loss in “bite-sized pieces.” “Anger” may be merely irritability for some, yet overwhelming rage for others, independent of what some might see as the “severity” of the loss experienced. “Bargaining” is our attempt to establish some argument or action that will change the reality of having experienced the loss. “Depression” often results when our mental, emotional, and physical energies have been nearly exhausted by the intensity, the hard work, of these reactions. “Acceptance” is that fluctuating state in which, I would hope, we are able to integrate the valued existence, of whatever we’ve lost, alongside the loss, of whatever existence we previously valued.

Mourning = our proactive response to grief. Most of us process our grief organically, independently, and successfully. Even when we find our way intuitively, though, we generally discover particular techniques that are especially helpful to us, and we practice them repeatedly as we “effectively mourn” the “authentic grief” that results from a “significant loss.” Some of us have specialized in discovering and developing as many of these methods as we can, and are available to help you when you feel “stuck” at some point, or find that some of your reactions are troubling and/or persisting. (If you find that you would like a referral for a grief counselor in your area, please send me an email at deathpastor@frontier.com.)

In addition to discussing death, dying, bereavement, grief and mourning, of course, as “Death Pastor” I also get the opportunity to discuss scripture, theology, and spiritual care just as regularly. In my tradition, as a theologically-conservative Christian, there is an assumption that the answer to every question is supposed to be “Jesus.” (A popular joke offers a Sunday School teacher asking, “I’m a furry gray creature with a bushy tail who lives in a tree. What am I?” After repeating the question twice and getting no response, he directs it toward his most promising student. She replies, “I know the answer is supposed to be Jesus, but it sure sounds like a squirrel to me.”) But as much as we might imagine that Jesus provides direct, even simplistic answers to all of life’s problems, when we actually read what He says, we find that He distinctly complicates our lives.

For example, Jesus says, “Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.” (Matthew 5:4) In my context, I hear that as “Some of us more openly express and process the grief we feel over having experienced a significant loss. When we do so, we invite the compassionate response of those around us to provide whatever comfort they may have to offer.” Again, in my culture, that differentiation makes perfect sense. Many of us choose not to openly express and process the grief we feel. We do not openly mourn. (In fact, too few of us actually mourn privately, either. We follow the usual prescriptions to “get over it and get on with life,” to “be strong for the kids,” or simply to “get a grip.”)

In the testimonies of Jesus’ life and followers, though, there are several words with similar ranges of meaning to our “bereavement, grief, and mourning.” Yet Jesus chooses a word that incorporates all three elements: the experience of loss, the effects of that experience, and the expression of those effects. If I may take liberties to translate one word with three, “Blessed are the bereaved, grieving, and mourning.” Culturally, in what I read of first-century Palestine, there was no need for such careful delineation as I have to practice today. If you lost something, and especially a loved one, then you reacted to that loss and expressed it openly. This “mourning” of which Jesus is speaking is often contrasted with joy, happiness, and blessing. It is seen openly, and recognized, and attracts comforters…or at least fellow-mourners, even professionals who would weep and wail alongside the family and friends—but that’s another discussion for another time.

Are we willing to name our reality?

Where Jesus upsets His culture and mine is in saying “Blessed are those who mourn.” He does not say, “Those who mourn will receive a blessing by being comforted.” We are blessed while we are bereaved, grieving, and mourning. It is not that we will be comforted at some point in the future, but that we shall be comforted in the midst of, and as a part of the reality of our bereavement, grieving, and mourning. That’s not what we may want to hear. It may be very different from what we seek to provide to others, compassionately desiring to comfort them. But the complications Jesus causes are many and varied. This is just one of nine blessings Jesus describes in what are called “The Beatitudes.” (Matthew 5:3-12)

In The Beatitudes, Jesus speaks to His disciples about a realm of existence, the kingdom of God, that seems entirely upside-down to them. The poor, the mourning, the gently, the pure, the peacemakers, the persecuted…these are the marginalized, oppressed and exploited, those who many see as sub-human. Hardly blessed, at least in our eyes. But Jesus says they are blessed. Not will be, not have been, but are blessed. How? Because they recognize the reality to which so many others have blinded themselves.

The world lives in the midst of an incalculable loss. Every day, every life experiences the longing for that which we were created to be and to enjoy. The environment, the economy, our relationships, and our own minds and bodies—these and so many other evidences remind us that something is not quite right. In fact, it is far from being merely satisfactory. Just as there are alternatives to each of the other categories Jesus addresses in The Beatitudes, those who mourn are blessed because they can name the reality they see. We are bereaved. We grieve. We mourn. And we are comforted in knowing that there is hope for the broken and damaged world, just as much as there is for us as broken and damaged persons. But only if we stop refusing to see things as they are. Before we can get angry, or begin to bargain, or deal with our depression, we must overcome our denial.

We are broken. And blessed. Not just because Jesus said so. But because Jesus is here to say so, to us.