Blessed are the poets of peace: poems of the Beatitudes, part 3

 

 Blessed Are the Pure in Heart
(for they will see God)
Matthew 5:8

Blessed are those who see the best,
who refuse to judge vagrant or neighbor
without hearing their stories,
who do not claim in their hearts
to love their enemies
while training to shoot them.
Inner and outer person tango,
keeping perfect time,
even when no one is watching.
They hold the treasure
of an undivided heart
that seeks nothing less
than to love God and serve neighbor.
Their bandages have fallen off.
No cataracts obstruct.
With heart and eyes wide open
they see God.


Blessed Are the Peacemakers
(for they will be called children of God)
Matthew 5:9

Blessed are the poets of peace,
word artisans who craft songs for the market,
the road, and the gathering places.
Those who stride the in-between spaces
and fill them with dahlias,
who wander the ruins
scattering seeds for tomorrow.
Blessed are the poets of peace,
the seers and sayers, dreamers and doers,
lovers of syllable and sound.
Foolish as children, all of them.
Children of God.

Blessed Are Those Who Are Persecuted
(for theirs is the kingdom of heaven)
Matthew 5:10

The blessed gather in ordinary houses
all across China. They keep the curtains drawn.
Their ranks are rumored to be in the millions.
In Turkey the blessed disappear
without warning, leaving the children bereft.
Egyptian jails host the blessed.
The Russian blessed still worship
in ancient cathedrals,
but they keep their voices low.
Across Northern Africa, in Southeast Asia,
Afghanistan, and Iraq,
the numbers of the invisible blessed grow.
Is it joy?
Do they begin to see what they own?

A longing that burns in the gut: poems of the Beatitudes, part 2

Blessed Are the Meek
(for they will inherit the earth)
Matthew 5:5

I was a shy child
and an awkward adolescent.
In a group of over four people
I was the silent presence,
mute and stupid.
I’ve outgrown most of that
but I still feel the pain of the meek.

Not likely to get ahead in life
or claim the American Dream,
they give up their place in line
and end up sitting in the back.
They never rush the door on Black Friday.
You never hear them asking questions
at the end of a lecture
or see them marching the streets in protest.
They will never be CEOs
or own prime property.

The thought of the meek
inheriting the earth
is patently ridiculous.
Your up-side-down
spun-around kingdom
dizzies me, Lord.
Makes me want
to be a child again,
get on the merry-go-round.


Blessed are Those Who Hunger and Thirst for Righteousness
(for they will be filled)
Matthew 5:6

Hunger and thirst are radical words.
Words for earthquake victims,
and war refugees who lack clean water,
for those who wait outside their tents
for the aid vans that may or may not come.

Don’t ever tell me you’re starving to death,
my mom told me, ‘cause kids in China are.

Is it possible to so hunger for personal holiness
or social justice that the longing burns in the gut,
makes you useless for normal endeavors,
abnormal, obnoxious to your peers?

I long for things to be made right,
things inside me and things around the world,
but the longing is short-lived.
I can go for stretches of time
with no thought of holiness,
no remembrance of immigrants or abuse victims.
I’m much too bland for extremes.

Forgive me.
Make me abnormal and obnoxious. Hungry.

Blessed Are the Merciful
(for they will be shown mercy)
Matthew 5:7

Blessed are the merciful
for they will be hoodwinked,
bamboozled, and taken advantage of
from every possible angle.
Blessed are the merciful;
their bleeding hearts
and inappropriately generous ways
will keep wealth and fame
forever out of reach.
Blessed are those who weep
for what no one else even sees.

Blessed are the merciful
in the topsy-turvy kingdom of heaven
for against all odds
they will swim in an ocean of mercy.
They will find themselves at home
in a universe of wonders.
They will rest in love.

This rag-tag crowd: poems of the Beatitudes, part 1

 The Mountainside

Now when Jesus saw the crowds, he went up on a mountainside…. Matthew 5:1

I love your classroom, Lord.
When I was a kid in Ramona Elementary School,
in that old yellow building just off Main Street,
I would gaze out the row of windows,
longing for recess, wanting the freedom
of grass and trees and open skies.
Your outdoor classroom sounds perfect.
I imagine myself in that crowd,
sitting on the grass, looking up at you
there on the side of the hill,
your voice clear and strong
in nature’s amphitheater.
I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

 Blessed Are the Poor in Spirit
(for theirs is the kingdom of heaven)
Matthew 5:2

My friend Sarah is perpetually depressed.
She whines and simpers so much
it's hard to be around her.
Can I talk to you? is prologue
to at least an hour of listening
to her litany of woes: parents
who didn’t like her, a failed
marriage, a son’s suicide,
and a grown daughter who, like me,
doesn’t enjoy her company.
Poor in spirit seems a mild description.
So how is Sarah blessed?
How does she possess the kingdom of heaven?

For that rag-tag crowd of people gathered
around you on the hill, and for all us
pilgrims gathered now around you in Spirit,
we hear you tell us, The kingdom of heaven
is at hand! It’s here! It’s available
for anyone, especially the most unlikely.
It’s waiting for Sarah
to enter and be blessed.

Blessed Are Those Who Mourn
(for they will be comforted)
Matthew 5:4

The earthquake in Turkey and Syria
dominated the news for weeks.
Images of villages decimated,
tall apartment buildings brought down,
and in the midst of rubble, the people.
A mother, tears tracking the dirt on her face,
tells the cameraman, I’ve lost everything. She has.
Grief hangs heavy in the dust.

Hope is scant among survivors who have lost
loved ones, homes, their means of making a living,
and all sense of security in a world
gone dark and dangerous.
How are these the faces of the blessed?
Who dares tell them, Be happy;
comfort is coming.

So many questions, such complexity
under the surface of this simple statement.
You call for human feet and human hands
at the service of your kingdom, but
how can I be a part of what I barely believe?
How can I say to you, Here am I; send me?
To them, Be blessed?