Final Reflections on the Beatitudes
Over the last few weeks, we have been considering the Beatitudes, those remarkable, paradoxical sayings of Jesus with which he begins the Sermon on the Mount (Matthew 5:1-12).
They are a source for continuing reflection with much more to offer than I can begin to express.
Here are some final thoughts on them before we turn to the Lenten season with its particular
themes and concerns.
As Anglicans, we belong to a worldwide communion that has the audacity to adopt as the
scriptural verse on its logo Jesus’ words: “The truth shall set you free.” He was not speaking of
a set of formulae, a collection of propositions that are to be memorized and regurgitated.
He said that he was the truth and you cannot package or control that. What we can do is learn
to live in that same way, to do as he did, to become the persons the beatitudes describe.
Apart from Jesus himself, the one who best embodies the qualities of the Beatitudes is his
blessed Mother. Think of the glorious song of praise she sang when her cousin Elizabeth saluted
the majesty of her motherhood:
“My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord; my spirit rejoices in God my saviour.” Magnificat!
Magnificat! Her song is the triumphant proclamation that humanity has been reborn into a new
and infinite life: the winter is past, the rain is over and gone, because human beings are no
longer doomed to the misery of loneliness. The centre of life is restored to us; we can be
fulfilled to infinity because we can lose our lives, to find them again in God.
If you read through the verses of the Magnificat (Luke 1:46-55) you find in them almost a
summary of the Beatitudes. You certainly find that ringing note of love and wonder and
humility and happiness about which they tell us.
“My spirit rejoices in God my saviour” — at the very beginning there is the primary lesson of
poverty of spirit; the fixing of the eyes not on the self but on God
“Because he has looked with favour on the lowliness of his handmaid” (the meekness of the
truly happy).
Behold, from henceforth all generations shall call me blessed. Surely she trembled when she
made that astonishing boast, trembled with love and wonder, but most of all with the
bewilderment of humility: for it is because “he that is mighty has done great things for me; and
holy is his name.”
And his mercy, his comfort “is from generation to generation for those who fear him” and
fearing, are able to mourn.
“He has shown strength with his arm; he has scattered the proud in the imagination of their
hearts. He has put down the mighty” — those who seek the external might that feeds pride and
is fed by injustice — and has lifted up the humble and meek” — the little ones, the clean of heart
who are childlike.
“He has filled the hungry with good things” — those who are hungry because of their suffering
of injustice, those who mourn, those who hunger and thirst after justice — “and the rich he has
sent empty away” — sent away those who treat created things as mere means to their pleasure
and profit.
“He has helped his servant Israel, in remembrance of his mercy” because to be a servant, to be
an instrument of God’s mercy, to bring to the world God’s life and light, is in itself to receive
God’s mercy in all its fullness.
To those who honour Mary she is also to be greeted by one of the loveliest of her titles: the
Morning Star, the star that heralds the dawn of the Word in the world. Through the birth of her
Son the whole world is reborn and renewed. Through the glory of her fiat mihi — let it be to me
according to your word — comes the Light of lights into the world and makes all things new.
The Morning Star is the star of joy because even in spite of sin and suffering, the world is lovely
again; joy because this is not an end but a beginning, the joyful sacrifice that precedes the
eternal banquet; joy because just beyond us is the blazing Sun of the eternal noon, the new
heaven and earth that are the dwelling place of God among mortals, and God will wipe away all
tears from their eyes. And there shall be neither mourning nor crying nor any other sorrow, for
the former things shall have passed away, and we shall see God’s face, and night shall be no
more (cf. Revelation 21:3-4).
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