Last week we began a series of sermons focused on the Beatitudes; eight statements that are central to the teachings of Jesus. Each builds on the one before. They are in fact, stair steps of faith. Last week we took a look at the poor in spirit. Translated it might read: Blessed are those who know their need for God. Today we look at blessed are those who mourn. In the Beatitudes Jesus seems to extol the very things we would try to avoid rather than embrace. He challenges our definition of being blessed.

I mean what was Jesus thinking when he sat down on the hillside that day to teach his disciples? It is more than a story of Jesus teaching; it is an event that invites us to place ourselves on that hillside with Jesus too.

To follow this man called Jesus was a riveting adventure. There was magnetism about him. You never knew what he was going to say or do next. They had watched him heal the sick and exorcize mental illness. One day they saw him turn five fish and a few loaves of bread into enough to feed 5,000! He was different than a magician; there was something holy about him. He always seemed concerned about those who had little; or were sick, or lost in some way.

As we walked with him along the dusty roads, there were so many things he talked about; so many wise sayings we had never considered, that we all wished he would write them down. None of us had been educated at the temple. We didn’t know how to write or even speak like he did. How would we ever remember them all?

One afternoon, in the heat of the day, Jesus had gone off to pray. He was always doing that; off by a tree, behind a boulder, even into some cave along the way. He simply had to pull away and have some time with God alone. Then when he joined us again, he was full of more examples to enlighten us. Sometimes it was a parable; other times it was a drawing in the sand. Sometimes he would ask us questions to get us thinking.

But that day, I remember he was different. When he came back he gathered us around him and said, "I have something to tell you." He asked us to go out and gather as many people as we could to listen to him. He said, "God and invite as many people as you can to that hillside over there." When we had all gathered, there must have been hundreds of us. When Jesus sat down, we remembered that when a rabbi sits it means some important teaching is about to begin.

Well, we were all ears. It was kind of the same feeling we got about our parents on occasion. You know, listen up, because they won’t be with us forever? So, we sat down too, ready to listen. Jesus was intense and focused, yet patient and gentle too. When he spoke there was a hush in the crowd. He said I have something to tell you that will bring you joy. Come and join me each day, under the shade of these trees when it is too hot to work.

We were excited about sharing him with others. But it was not what we had expected. He began talking about happiness; not the happiness that we know about, like when a calf is killed for a family reunion; or the dancing and wine flowing at the many weddings in town. No, he said "I’m talking about permanent happiness, the kind that no one can take away from you."

So we moved in closer. What could he mean? He said, I will not always be with you and I want to give you something that will guide and protect you." That worried us; where was he going? Then, strangely he began talking in opposites like: "Happy are those who are meek for they will inherit the earth." There was a murmuring in the crowd and we were a little embarrassed. Didn’t he know that the weak, the lowly, the timid, didn’t get anywhere? You had to be aggressive in this world to get what you wanted. He went on to even say, "Blessed are you who are persecuted for doing what is right."

I remember us looking at each other and the crowd. They were whispering and shaking their heads. Some even got up to leave. But then Jesus got our attention and all those there too, when he said "Don’t worry about bad things happening to you. If you are sad and mourning, you will be comforted." That got our attention all right. We all knew what it was like to mourn. There were burials every week of people who died of illness or hunger. There were families who were fighting; marriages that were over; not enough food in the market to go around; people with leprosy. Oh, yes, we all knew what mourning was about.

I suppose in retrospect there wasn’t much to be happy about, not in the material way at least. All of us in our village were poor. None of us had much of anything. Our homes were mostly a roof with stone walls and a dirt floors. The animals stayed inside to keep us warm. We wore the same clothes everyday washing in the creek when the dust was too much. We rarely had meat or fish unless it was a special occasion.

You know, to hear him talk, it seemed like his whole message was blessed are the desperate. Like be happy even if your luck has run out. Then he said something like, so" It might be bad now, but when you get to heaven this is going to seem like nothing." Quite frankly, dying to be relieved of our hard times didn’t sound too appealing either!

Jesus looked at us that day with a look of such love and patience that it melted us. He seemed to care about everyone the same way. His words had such a message of hope in them; like we wouldn’t always be like this; that things could change. I was especially drawn to his statement that even in the tough times happiness could still be found. That what really mattered is what is inside us, not our outward status.

Jesus’ words today are still very counter cultural. It seems like the meaning of the Beatitudes 2000 years ago was as confusing now is it was then. What can they possible mean in a culture that honors the self-assertive, the confident and the rich? We believe more in saying blessed are those who hunger and thirst for a good time. Or blessed are those with big titles and bigger paychecks. Or how about the top one: blessed are those who look out for number one first? Modern society lives by the rules of survival of the fittest. We know how this works: the one with the most toys wins. Yet we know that this is a shaky place to put our trust; for they are only temporary.

But God sees the world in a very different way. For God, it’s not survival of the fittest but rather triumph of the lowly, the victims, the poor, the helpless. Our proof is in where Jesus focused his attention: a widow who gave her last money to someone more desperate than she; a tax collector whom everyone hated; a woman married five times; a man with leprosy; an adulteress; lives marked by dependence and sorrow, but also repentance and a longing to change. These are the ones who are blessed, not by their miserable positions in life, or our wealthy ones, but rather because in our reaching out for God there comes an inner joy that supersedes anything the material world had to offer.

Think a minute about your own life; times when you were down and out. It might have been financial fears, or internal loneliness. Perhaps it was the loss of a friendship or a job that brought you satisfaction, times when no amount of money could make any difference; times when you felt separated from God and others.

These are the times we cry out in the middle of the night. These are the times we feel desperate; times when we have no choice but to be dependent. Yes, blessed are the desperate, for often it is only when we have tried everything else that we finally turn to God in desperation. It is then that at last we recognized the need we have beyond ourselves.

Grieving is one of those times. When we lose someone precious in our lives, we cannot turn back the clock; we cannot erase the pain with a check. Any of us who have ever walked the dark valley of the shadow of death, knows it is anything but happy. Happy are those who mourn for they shall be comforted? What can Jesus possibly mean with these words?

Death comes to us in many forms. Sometimes it steals quietly into our lives entering surreptitiously in the death of a dream; in the loss of our health or even in the death of a church. Mourning comes to us in the facing of irreversible loss. Our grief may hold us in a shattered sense of security, disorientation, fear of abandonment, or a bitterly shaken faith. Such mourning is far from what we could consider being blessed. Yet here’s the light shining in the darkness: Just when we think we can’t go on, a joy can walk right n our door and sit down.

I suspect those of you who have traveled this journey, know what I’m talking about. They are those unmistakable surprises that bring hope our way. They are the blessings of comfort we never thought possible. They come in words or touch, ideas or solutions, not only from friends and family, but often from an unsuspecting stranger God has sent our way.

It happened to me in the unexpected loss of my husband, which I have shared with you before. Newly arrived in Colorado, in a new job, I was without friends, neighbors or a church home, as yet. I was terrified about finances and confused about the heap of bills that arrived each day. One day a woman in the insurance department, in the hospital where I was a chaplain, stopped in my office and introduced herself. She said she had learned of my situation and wanted to help. "Each day when you get your mail," she said, don’t open any medical bills. They will just make you more upset. Simply put them unopened in a manila envelope and drop them off at my office every Friday, and I will make them go away."

I remember standing there with the hair on the back of my neck standing up. I knew she had been sent by God, a person unaware, sent to comfort me. She came bearing this most precious gift and gently laid it at my feet, unaware that God was saying to me anew, "Blessed are you who mourn, for you shall be comforted."

God promises us comfort in the midst of mourning; blessings that have the possibility of flourishing and blooming in the midst of darkness. I remember the image I had of Mt. St Helen’s after the earthquake. The trees were gone, the plants and birds were no longer, and the only remaining sights on the mountainside were charred stumps and the black soot of death and devastation. It was the same desolation I felt then.

But less than a year later I saw pictures of green sprouting out of the ash; buds beginning to form and small flowers pushing their color beyond the black of the mountainside. It was the promise of new life that the insurance woman brought to me that day; the same promise that comes to each of us in our darkness.

Remember, my friends, the promises God has made to us. The psalmist cries out what we know to be true:

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death

I will fear no evil, for you are with me,

Your rod and your staff they comfort me.

(Isaiah. 43)

Now thus says the Lord; I have called you by name and you are mine.

When you pass through the waters, I will be with you.

And through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you;

When you walk through fire you shall not be burned,

And the flame shall not consume you, for I am the Lord your God.

Loss has the power to strengthen and shape us in ways that may not have occurred without the experience. It can aid us in setting more helpful priorities for our lives or gaining a new maturity.

None of us hope for suffering. Most of us try to avoid it at any cost and why wouldn’t we? I don’t believe in a God that brings us low so that we can become better people. But I do believe when it comes that God is there working at bringing new life out of death.

Whatever causes us to mourn also has the potential of bringing a comfort we never imagined, or it can be a faith crisis. We can either doubt the existence of God or learn to trust God’s greater unseen purpose.

Suffering brings us a humility that paves the way for us to hear the second meaning of this Beatitude and that is this: Blessed are those who mourn the ways they have fallen away from God, for they shall be comforted. The definition of sin is anything that separates us from God and all of us know how easy this is. Strangely, it is in the midst of our mourning that God will reach down and scoop us up. Make no mistake about this: Needing God is to know the difference between a helpless dependence or a strong and wise reliance on the one who loves us so much.

Not until we recognize our own fallen ways do our aching hearts crack open enough for God to enter. Deborah Douglas puts it this way:

"It is only when our hearts break, that they break open: then the word of God can enter deeply, like a seed in a harrowed field."

There are times in our lives when we drink deeply from the cup of comfort. There are other times when we are able to be the vessel of comfort God uses to draw another close. It is in this way that God fulfills his promise to wipe away every tear from our eyes. Amen