Overwhelmed

The task is too large. The information is too great. Where do I even begin? This is how I started today in a quiet prayer in the crisp colder air of the approaching dawn. I can teach the historical context of the Beatitudes. I can delve into the Hebrew and Greek meanings and uses of the words. But can I actually settle my soul long enough to not focus so much on my own feelings but on the person of God? For just a few seconds?

When I was 13-years-old my mother told me, “You think too much.” She did not mean it as a compliment, although I took it as one. I thought that asking questions of life and its meaning was what intelligence was all about. Frankly, it came naturally to me. I am still asking questions. I think it is simply part of my DNA. Plus, I knew I was never going to be the fashion model type, but I could pride myself on how intelligent I (thought I) was. The issue isn’t whether or not I will ask tough, meaningful questions; it is more about what I do with the answers once I feel I get them. Can I actually listen, just in case God might be trying to answer me?

When I think of what it means to be Poor in Spirit, I think about Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure, when they encounter Socrates (pronounce SO-Kreits). As the ancient thinker ponders the grains of sands, he pronounces that “the only true wisdom consists of knowing you know nothing,” to which Bill and Ted respond joyfully, “That’s us, dude!”  I couldn’t help but notice the irony this morning as I tried desperately to come up with some great wisdom to share on being “poor in spirit.” Bill and Ted had a better handle on this than I did. Feeling overwhelmed is a much better place to start when trying to discuss what it is to be poor in spirit.

I have to be honest, I judge poverty — or at least who is worthy enough for me to consider poor. When I see a Hispanic woman with her child, begging in a parking lot, I think that she probably can’t find work. But when I see a scraggly white man with his sign at the street corner, do I think he must be some kind of con or druggie or else he wouldn’t be out here? When I see the tattered homeless downtown, do I think they are authentic, but when someone who drives a car and has a cellphone comes to the Warm Nights mission, do I think they are scamming the system? (I don’t anymore, but it was my initial response.)  What about the woman who would come into Starbucks for her drink while complaining that her government check hadn’t yet arrived? Do I get to decide who is really poor and who isn’t?

The Greek/Hellenist aristocrats looked down their aquiline noses at those who worked in a trade or a craft, stating that the craftsmen were really dependent upon society for their livelihood. One didn’t merely sell one’s wares, one sold oneself. Of course, because of the time these craftsmen spent working, they had little leisure time for politics, education, and war.  Therefore, according to these aristocrats, craftsmen made lousy citizens. Beggars, on the other hand, were somehow under the protection of the gods; still, beggars weren’t considered part of society at all.

The Hebrew Scriptures had two main words for poor, Ani and Evyon. Evyon was the term for someone who was so desperately destitute that he wasn’t too ashamed to beg in order to survive. Ani was a term for one who was trying desperately (and perhaps not successfully) to scrape by through hard work but was too proud to beg. They maintained a facade of normalcy while they worried about being able to fulfill a future they could only dream of. When Greek translators of the Hebrew Scriptures wrote of this group, they called them beggars because of the Greek notion of beggars being under the gods’ protection. So, then, are the Ani. This is how Matthew uses this word. 

For Matthew, I don’t think it’s about being a spiritual beggar before God as much as it is the everyday common workers who scrape to get by to do the best they can in trying to be all that God desires them to be. Still, they know their best is not enough. It will never enable them to realize their dreams of being great in God’s kingdom. They are dependent on the benevolence of God to see them through the day. Yet, these are the very ones who, in Matthew’s counter-intuitive world, are the very fabric of the Kingdom. The commoners. The ones who would be least expected. The ones that everyone else might judge to be unworthy, according to their own standard of worthiness. And in Matthew’s Kingdom of Heaven, the playing field is leveled. The aristocrat, the craftsman, the beggar — each is valued. No one is looked down upon.

This means, of course, my self-conceived ability to judge others has been greatly compromised. In the Kingdom of Heaven, with this new level field,  I can’t seek to promote my own well-being or reputation or status over another’s. I can’t decide who is worthy. In the Kingdom of Heaven, the least is actually the greatest. And if I spend time trying to ponder this, I will certainly be overwhelmed.