Jeremiah 17:5-10; Luke 6:17-26
Rachel Naomi Remen is a doctor – she was, perhaps, genetically disposed to be a doctor. She comes from a family tree full of doctors and nurses. But in addition to all the medical persons in her orbit there was, she says, one mystic – her grandfather the rabbi.
Her grandfather taught her about blessing. For her fourth birthday, her grandfather gave her a story. He said, Rachel, this is the story of the birthday of the world. In the beginning there was only holy darkness, the Ein Sof, the source of life. Then, in the course of history, at a moment in time, this world, the world of things, emerged from the heart of the holy darkness as a great ray of light. But then there was an accident, and the vessels containing the light of the world, the wholeness of the world, broke. And the wholeness in the world, the light of the world, was scattered into thousands of fragments of light. And they fell into all events and all people, where they remain deeply hidden until this very day.[1]
Naomi received this story as a birthday gift from her grandfather – it is a story about blessing. What blessing it is to have this fragment of light in you, this divine light of the world that God created, that shattered into countless shards and fragments and found its way into each human being, each event of our lives. The idea that there is a piece of this light in everybody and everything is an extraordinarily beautiful idea.
We are, indeed, blessed.
But then, you might notice, there is something about the story that stirs a tiny bit of discomfort in you, as well. It is this: the fragments of light that exist in each one of us and everything in life are only there because the world broke.
It broke – exploded, actually – into thousands and thousands of pieces; like a glass that falls to the ground and shatters and scatters so completely that you know right away that you will never put it together again. The wholeness that was there a minute ago is gone forever. It’s all broken. And in just this way the world was broken.
That is not the part we usually think of when we think of what it is to be blessed.
Most of the time when people speak of blessing we really are talking about good fortune. It’s what Christians tend to say instead of saying, “I’m lucky.” We say, “I’m blessed.” And we are not very different from the people who lived in the ancient world. They, too, tended to view blessing as fortune, as riches. Job was blessed when he had a sturdy home, a large family, good livestock and crops, and his health. He was cursed when all that was taken away, according to the story of Job in the Old Testament. There is no confusion in this story about the difference between blessing and curse.
Which is why it had to seem strange when Jesus came down and stood on a level with all his followers and spoke about blessing in this way:
Blessed are you who are poor. Blessed are you who are hungry. Blessed are you who weep. Job would not have agreed, I think.
Perhaps, if we are charitable, we might hear his words of blessing as compassionate, gentle words of encouragement to people who are struggling through hardships. It is likely that most or all the people Jesus was with were poor. They knew what it was to be hungry, they were familiar with sadness and loss and pain. We might hear Jesus’ words to them as sort of a consolation prize, and nothing more than that – if only he didn’t go on to talk about woes.
Woe to you who are rich. Woe to you who are full. Woe to you who are laughing.
Tell the truth: where would you rather be – among the blessed poor or the woeful rich? Would you rather be starving and crying or full and laughing? It had to have sounded puzzling, if not plain messed up, to hear Jesus speak these words. He turned everything upside down.
It’s a difficult concept to wrap our heads around, even for mature Christians who have some understanding of the nuances of blessing. The more life we have lived, the more we understand that disappointments and a certain amount of suffering is inevitable. We learn that delayed gratification is often better than instant gratification. We might even learn that our moments of suffering bring their own surprising rewards, such as cultivating gratitude or a new appreciation for what is really important and what is not. People develop a healthy tolerance for pain – not pain for its own sake, but for the sake of what it teaches us. Still, these words of blessing and woe suggest that it might be wrong to celebrate or be thankful for the good things in life. And that does not seem right.
There are occasions when the scriptures suggest that God plays favorites. Parents are not supposed to have favorites, but we see hints that God might favor the poorest and the weakest of God’s children. We see it in Mary’s song, when she praises God for bringing down the rich and lifting up the poor. And we see it again here when Jesus blesses the downtrodden and pokes at the well-off. In Catholic theology it is called God’s preferential option for the poor.
It doesn’t quite mean that God likes the poor better than the rich. It doesn’t really mean that God plays favorites in the way we understand that term. It simply means God recognizes that some of us need more care than others, and wants to give that care. It just means that God treats us according to our needs and expects from us according to our ability.
It means that when we are in need we are more able to receive what God wants to give – that is key.
Knowing our own need is crucial in our relationship with God. At the same time, I realize, this is counter to most everything the world teaches us about what is good. We want to feel strong, self-reliant, invulnerable. There is no comfort in feeling need, and yet it is the key that opens us to a relationship with God.
Actually, recognizing our own vulnerability and weakness is a matter of honesty about the human condition in general. It is the beginning of understanding what it is to be human. And it is a piece of the stories of our faith – the stories of how we came to be as we are. From the fruit Eve plucked from the tree of knowledge to that tiny shard of light in Rachel’s grandfather’s story, that pierced through us, giving us ability to see our brokenness, our weakness, our need.
The story that Rachel Naomi Remen’s grandfather gave her about the birthday of the world has more to it. This is the rest of the story:
Rachel’s grandfather told her the human race was created as a response to this accident of the world breaking apart. We are here because we have the capacity to find the hidden light in all events and all people; to lift it up and make it visible once again and, thereby, to restore the world to wholeness. It happens at a personal level. We do this work step by step, bit by bit. We heal this broken world one heart at a time. This task is called tikkun olamin Hebrew, “restoring the world.”
It’s a hopeful story, built on a realistic foundation, as all true hope must be. The world is broken, this we know. All you have to do is open your eyes to see this. But this is a story about what we do with the brokenness.
Dr. Remen would say that we should pay attention to the ways we deal with our own brokenness. Our personal shortcomings, losses, wounds are actually the way we are connected to the rest of the world. These are things we all share. And if we try to pretend that we are not broken we are holding ourselves apart. When we try to protect ourselves from hurt, we distance ourselves from life.
The blessing that Jesus pronounces in this passage of the gospel contain a recognition that it is in our connectedness to one another and all of life that we find blessing. God has made us to be in relationship with God and with all of God’s creation. But if we are too concerned about our own brokenness showing, we risk letting pride put a wall around us. If we are too concerned about the material stuff of life, we allow greed to put a wall around us. If we are too concerned about being self-sufficient, we allow that very self-sufficiency to become a wall around us.
Judaism has a tradition of offering a blessing for everything that happens. Because everything comes from the hand of God, whether it be welcome or not, whether it has the appearance of blessing or woe, comfort or pain. To say a blessing in a time of celebration or a time of grief is to acknowledge that God is present in everything and to affirm your trust in the power and goodness of God. To see blessing in everything is to break down the walls of pride or greed or self-sufficiency that separate us from God and God’s love. To be blessed is to know the essential connection we all have with one another and with our creator God.
And so we all, each one of us, do our small part in repairing the brokenness of the world. Each small act of kindness, each gift of love, each time we express compassion instead of judgment, each time we extend grace and forgiveness we do a part of the work of repairing the world, tikkun olam. And each time, we become both blessing and blessed.
