Somewhere In Dreamland

There was a cartoon many, many years ago of two little children in rags who skipped along through town, gazing longingly into the window displays. They passed a bakery and drooled over the cakes. They passed a toy store and sighed over the dolly and the soldier. Then they went back to their impoverished, struggling mother who tried her best to make a home for them from the little money she had. They had hard bread to eat and thin soup to drink for their dinner. When they asked for a bit more, their mother broke down and cried. The good children comforted her, telling her not to worry because they were really full anyway. Then they went to bed and dreamed of all they had seen in those store windows.

What they didn’t know is that the proprietors of those businesses had seen those little faces peering in through the windows, and their heart gave way. Each had run out, holding a little something from their business to give to the children, but it was too late; the children had already turned away.

When the children awoke from their beautiful dream, they saw that they were back in poverty and hunger. They tried to keep up a happy face but it was hard. Then there was a knock at the door and who should it be? The baker and the toymaker with lots of wonderful gifts for them. Their dream had become a reality.

What does it mean to be poor in spirit? Some see it as a romanticized view of poverty where its inhabitants are to be happy in their circumstances, seeing themselves as special to God. Others see it as a more solemn recognition before God that we are nothing before Him and  in dire straits without Him. Certainly, to be impoverished is to be dependent on the benevolence of others, which may or may not arrive in time. I just can’t imagine, though, that this is the picture that Matthew is painting of those who are the lifeblood of God’s kingdom. 

We, like the children, get glimpses of a world in which everyone is valued. Each has enough to eat and is treated with dignity and respect. It’s a world where people truly love each other, no matter their origin or their station in life or even their opinions. It’s a world that is fair and just. But too often, that glimpse is little more than peering into a window of God’s town, and walking away with only our dreams. 

Maybe the better question is, “Who are the poor in spirit?” I think that in this little cartoon, the ones who are poor in spirit are actually the baker and the toymaker. They can see how unjust the world can be and they are heartbroken, yet they are not content to stay there. They are willing, in spirit, to join with those who are in need, those whom the world has not been a place of dreams but perhaps more of nightmares. They want to help make those dreams for a kind and loving world come true, each in their own particular way.

I was raised on this cartoon. I love watching  the cartoon but I don’t live the cartoon. For too long, I have been an outsider getting warm, gushy feelings when I read about others who, like the baker and the toymaker, do amazingly thoughtful things for others. I see the plight of others, but am content to stay heartbroken. This is what I need the most help in.. This is my Advent confession. 

How do I become this Kingdom person, when too often I don’t even see those little faces peering into my window, much less run after them with goodies? Advent is a season of longing, longing for the world that God has promised. But I need to see that this promised kingdom-world is right outside my window, if only I dare to look and respond. It isn’t simply a matter of theology — it’s a matter of real life. And if I can’t see that, then I can’t see God’s kingdom.