Matthew 5:1-12

When Jesus saw the crowds, he went up the mountain; and after he sat down, his disciples came to him. Then he began to speak, and taught them, saying:

“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.“Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted. “Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth. “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled. “Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy. “Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God. “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God. “Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. “Blessed are you when people revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account. Rejoice and be glad, for your reward is great in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you.”

I wonder if you were as much of an odd child as I was when I was younger. See, when I was younger, nothing would make me happier than being in my back garden, and standing on my head. I think for me, standing on my head would liven up an otherwise boring day. The grass hung in front of my eyes like a green fringe. Trees grew downwards, not upwards, and the sky was a blue lawn that went on forever. Birds and clouds flew under my feet. My swing set was no longer an A frame; it was a V frame. My house seemed in danger of falling off the yard, flying into space. I liked standing on my head because it made me see old things in a new way. It made life seem exciting and unpredictable. In a world where trees grew down and houses might fall up, anything seemed possible.

When I read this famous passage for today, it seemed to me that Jesus should have asked the crowd to stand on their heads when he taught them, because that was what he was doing. In this sermon, he was turning the known world upside down, so that those who had been fighting for breath at the bottom of the pyramid, suddenly found themselves closest to heaven, while those who thought they were right on top found themselves flat on their backs looking up.

The formula of the Beatitudes were not new to those who were listening. Beatitudes were quite common expressions in those days – everyday sayings, listing virtues that anyone would have been pleased to have. Blessed are the wise, for they shall not be fooled. Blessed are the strong, for their enemies shall fear them. Blessed are the wealthy, for they shall never go hungry. That kind of thing.

What was so shocking about Jesus’ list was not the form of the beatitudes, but the content. Blessed are the meek? The mournful? The poor in spirit? Who was he kidding? There is nothing blessed about any of those. What was so happy or blessed about hungering and thirsting for righteousness, or about being reviled and persecuted? Rejoice? Be glad? Really, Jesus?

Certainly no one with any sense would vote for any of these new definitions of blessedness, but Jesus did not ask for anyone’s approval. No, he just redefined the Good Life in nine short sentences, and held them out for all to see: nine portraits of Kingdom People, previously known as victims, dreamers, pushovers, fools, and losers. These are the chosen ones, He said, the blessed ones, who will see God face to face. These are the happy ones, the lucky ones who shall be satisfied – not because they got an advanced copy of the rules and played by them to win, but because the concept of winning was the farthest thing from their minds.

There is no doubt, this is a list of losers. The merciful who keep forgiving their enemies so their enemies can crush them all over again. The pure in heart who believe everything they hear and would empty their bank accounts to keep crooks in business. The peacemakers who step into the middle of a fist fight and get clobbered from both sides. These, apparently, are God’s favourites – not the effective, successful people in the world, but those who cannot even compete in the big leagues, who would not know success if it walked up and handed them a trophy. The blessed ones would insist that there must be some mistake. The blessed ones would give the trophy away to someone who needed it more. The blessed ones would put the trophy in their attic, so they would not be tempted to think well of themselves.

And here we sit, upper middle class suburban Sydney folk. Most of us don’t know what to do with the Beatitudes. Many of us have heard them so often and for so long that they have lost their shock value for us. They sound almost sweet and familiar – a nice Christian poem – something to needlepoint and hang over the piano. Other of us hear them like new commandments, and worry that we are not meek enough, pure enough, persecuted enough.

But friends, there are no shoulds, or oughts, or shalts, or shalt nots. The Beatitudes are not a list of conditions who should try to meet in order to be blessed. The language of the Beatitudes is not transactional language – do this and you will receive this. No, it is performative language: this is who these people are right now, and when Jesus pronounces them blessed, they are given Jesus’ blessing. It is not the language of law. It is the language of gospel, of hope and promise that the way things are not is not the way things will always be, and that those who find themselves at the back of the proverbial plane now will be sitting in first class before the trip is through. The sermon on the mount is all about Jesus’ lavish blessing of that which society doesn’t have much time for: people in pain, people who work for peace instead of profit; people who exercise mercy over vengeance.

Today, this same gospel is being preached all around Australia and the world – in a dusty church in Kenya where people sit cross-legged on a packed dirt floor while bees fly in and out of the open windows; in a shack on stilts in PNG, where the majority of those present must listen hard because they cannot read; or even down the road at the Chinese Evangelical Church on Carlingford Road, where new migrants have gathered to praise God in their own tongue.

Much of the power of the Beatitudes depends on where you are sitting when you hear them. They sound different on top than they do from underneath; they sound different from the front than from the back. Up the front, with the religiously satisfied and self-assured, they sound pretty confrontational. Where is your hunger and thirst, you well-fed Christians? Where is your spiritual poverty? Where are the bones of your soul showing through your clothes? Why aren’t your tissues soaked in tears?

But right up the back, with the victims, the pushovers, the fools, the losers, the Beatitudes sound completely different. Shhhh, they say, dry your tears. The whole earth belongs to you, though someone else holds the keys. It won’t be too much longer now. Heaven’s gates are opening for you, and the first face you see shall be the very face of God.

This same gospel is being preached in many many places today. The words won’t change. It’s just the ears that change, each of us hearing Jesus’ description of the Blessed Life through our own filters – as something foreign, or something familiar, as something to be sought, or something to be feared. I guess we can do anything we want with the Beatitudes; people always have through history and culture. Some have ignored them; some have admired them and then walked away, like the ducks in that proverbial story about Webster the Preacher. Some have used these words as a measuring stick to measure their own blessedness. Some, like Bishop Oscar Romero, have used them to declare revolution.

The simplest thing to do with them, friends, is to let them stand you on your head, so that you cannot see the world in the same way again, so that you cannot be sure anymore who are the winners and who are the losers.

Upside down, you can begin to see God’s blessed people in places it would never have occurred to you to look. You begin to see that the poor in spirit, the meek, and those who mourn are not just people you can help, but people who can help you. You will see that hunger and thirst for God is not a void to be filled, but an appetite to be envied.

Upside down, you begin to see that peacemakers are not namby pamby flower children, but physicians, prescribing God’s own peace. You will see that the pure in heart have just never gotten the knack of locking their doors. Upside down, you begin to see that those who have been bruised for their faith are not the sad ones, but the happy ones, because they have found something worth being bruised for. You will see that those who are merciful are simply handing out what they have already received in abundance.

Upside down, you will see how much the Beatitudes make sense considering who they are coming from: our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, our upside-down King, who had all the powers of the universe at his disposal, but who did not consider his equality with God as something to be exploited, but instead came to us in the most vulnerable of ways – as a powerless, flesh and blood baby to refugee parents. It’s as if he is saying: you might hate your bodies, but I am blessing all flesh. You might admire strength and might, but I am blessing all weakness. You might seek power, but I am blessing all vulnerability. Our upside down Jesus cried at the tomb of his friend, and turned the other cheek, and forgave those who hung him on a cross. Jesus was God’s Beatitude: God’s blessing to the weak in a world that admires only the strong.

The world looks a bit strange upside down, but maybe that’s how it looks when you’ve got your feet planted in heaven. Our upside down Lord Jesus did it all the time, and he seemed to think we could do it too. So, blessed are those who stand on their heads, for they shall see the world as God sees it. They shall also find themselves in excellent company, turned upside down by the only one who really knows which way is up. Amen.