Epiphany 6, Year C | Luke 6:17-26
St. Andrew’s Episcopal Church
February 13, 2022
the Rev. Jonathan Hanneman
To watch the full service, please visit this page.
“Blessed are you who are poor…. But woe to you who are rich…” – Luke 6:20b, 24a[1]
A month or two ago I offered a warning about our journey through the Book of Luke this year. Luke is a very physical Gospel, and it has similarly physical, practical expectations of Jesus’ disciples, including us. In Luke’s account, Jesus is far less concerned with otherworldly matters than he is with everyday interactions and how people treat one another. He doesn’t pull punches or soften his statements to make anyone feel more comfortable, no matter who they happen to be. He’s come to turn the world upside down—to reverse not only our standard expectations but also our practices. Luke’s is very much what we would term a social justice Jesus, and what Jesus has to tell us today might—and probably should—give all of us pause.
In our day, Luke’s Jesus would have been an extremely polarizing figure. Most of us would probably say he was spending far too much time focusing on politics rather than religion or spiritual formation. And from our cultural viewpoint, that would be right. But that isn’t because Jesus is actively trying to pick a fight with anyone in particular.
Jesus knew nothing of the past 2,000 years of social and political developments. He doesn’t care if you’re from Roman-occupied Palestine like him, Tang Dynasty China, the Incan Empire, or the 21st Century United States. His statements are how he, as the Only-begotten Son, understands the expectations of his Father, with whom he and the Holy Spirit are[2] One God. Jesus vastly predates our moral, social, religious, or political expectations and conventions, so it’s important that we remain aware of the many layers of interpretation we automatically pile onto what he says. When Jesus speaks, he isn’t interested in our modern associations and affiliations, our party preferences or social positions. His words are indifferent to any of those things—he’s simply telling us what God wants, no matter how we define or categorize ourselves today. When he offends us—and he will, no matter where on the political-social spectrum each of us may fall—he’s inviting us to ask ourselves some questions.
· Why is what he’s saying angering or bothering me so much?
· What aspects of my culture define me more deeply than my covenantal baptism into Christ?
· In what way does my regular understanding or practice stand in opposition to God’s desires and expectations?
And most importantly,
· What changes must I make to align myself with what God wants for our community and the world around us?
No matter how hard we resist or struggle or try to worm our way out of it, God’s Word will never conform to us. We are the ones who must either make the changes necessary to follow Christ or choose instead to neglect and reject him.
Quasi-trigger warning aside, today’s Gospel brings us to the opening of what’s commonly known as “The Sermon on the Plain,” as contrasted with Matthew’s “Sermon on the Mount.” Although we assume these “sermons” record separate incidents, they might simply be two people’s version of the same event.[3] Whether or not they’re different occasions, you may remember this as one of my go-to passages for demonstrating Luke’s practical emphasis. In Matthew, Jesus tells us “Blessed are the poor in spirit,” which leaves us some wiggle room as to whom he’s speaking. But Luke’s Jesus is blunt: “Blessed are the poor.” There’s no space for spiritualization or emotionalization, no reinterpretation to include ourselves if we think we’re humble or meek enough—the poor (indigent, really) are the ones who are “blessed” and the ones who therefore participate in God’s reign.
Before dealing with any of these “blessings” and “woes,” we need to clarify what exactly Jesus is saying here. A lot of preachers will tell you that the word behind “blessed” means “happy” or “fortunate,” but that isn’t quite right. The term itself was commonly applied to the honorable dead—people who were held in high repute and considered truly at rest. Based on other known regional “blessing” and “woe” lists, it’s probably closer to our idea of “respectable” or “enviable.”[4] So Jesus isn’t arguing that poor people should be “happy” in their condition or falsely proclaiming they’re “fortunate” because of their poverty. He’s presenting us with one of his reversals. We tend to think that wealth and prosperity indicate that God is honoring an individual, but Jesus is telling us to respect, or even envy, the indigent. (We’ll get into the “why” of that in a few minutes.)
When we see a series of statements contrasting “blessings” and “woes,” we tend to interpret “woe” as a kind of curse. But that isn’t what’s going on here either. What we have is simply a transliterated moan. You could think of it as “oh, no!” or “it’s so sad!” Basically, after Jesus declares all the people we think of as being lesser in society as the ones to envy, he’s turning to his “respectable” audience members, and in distress saying something like, “Ohhh! You wealthy people, you who constantly feast and celebrate—this is as good as it gets. There’s nothing more left for you!”
There are a few ways we might try to understand or interpret this message of reversal Jesus is announcing to us. Maybe the poor are enviable because they still have room for hope and change, whereas the wealthy don’t have anything special to look forward to: if you’re already on top, the only place to go is down. Or maybe since the wealthy have less need to rely on God for aid and subsistence, they miss out of some sort of intangible, spiritual “blessings” by lacking an actively dependent relationship with God: the wealthy will never know God as intimately as the poor because they don’t need God’s help to the same level or in the same way. We can try to draw those and similar applications from what Jesus says here, but knowing Luke’s physical emphasis, I suspect we’re still missing the point.
Instead, what if Jesus is trying to prepare us for a Kingdom of God we simply don’t expect? What if he’s trying to manage our expectations, essentially offering us a parable about equity and overconsumption? We tend to think of heaven as a place of constant feasting and overwhelming joy, where everyone drives luxury cars around on gold pavement and where gems the size of buildings are as commonplace as street signs. Everyone’s rich. Everyone can do whatever they want whenever they want. Everyone’s life overflows beyond our wildest imagination.
But what if that isn’t the case? What if God’s reign is an era of plenty without being a world of excess? What if God’s reign isn’t a time or place where everyone is “blessed” with too much, where each of us will need restaurant-sized coolers to hold all our food or storage units big enough to contain all our other storage units? What if the Kingdom of God is simply a place of “enough”—an existence where everyone—absolutely everyone—has exactly what they need?
Not too much. Not too little. Simply enough.
In that situation, the enviable nature of the rejected and danger to those we find enviable makes a lot of sense. If you have too little, if you’re hungry or alone or cast aside from society, then “enough” might just be a little piece of heaven. When you’re longing for a full stomach, a square meal is a feast. When you’re scraping to make ends meet, having the clothing to stay warm and a place to stay without constant threat of eviction is a dream. But if you’re among those used to luxury or overeating or exceptional service or having everything you would ever want, then “enough” will feel like deprivation—or even torture. If heaven is a place of peace and sufficiency, where everyone has exactly what they need but not necessarily anything more than that—if that’s what God’s reign is really like—then for those of us used to having too much, who are free to indulge in just about anything, life with simply enough could easily become our own personal hell.
So I suspect what Jesus is giving us here isn’t really statements about the moral character of certain economic classes or a series of platitudes to comfort[5] those in distress while cursing or shaming those who aren’t. It’s a wake-up call, a warning not to be ruled by our appetites or deceived by our presumptions that the way things are is the way they’re supposed to be. Perhaps serving others and sharing what we do have isn’t just to offer kindness to those around us. Maybe it’s training: practical exercise for the reality of the life under God’s reign where all will ultimately dwell, in the Kingdom of Enough.
[1] All Bible quotations are from the NRSV unless otherwise noted.
[2] I really want to say “is” because of the single unity of the Godhead in life and function, but it sounds terrible in English.
[3] The “level place” Luke mentions could very well be somewhere on the mountainside he tells us everyone has been descending.
[4] See the Sermon Brainwave podcast #828 at https://youtu.be/rs_5NkqcaKA.
[5] Or maintain control over