Lent 3
TEXT: Matthew 5:5 Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit
the earth
“Yet saints
their watch are keeping”
The community of La Consulta, in the
Nicaraguan province of Chinendega, is a cluster of 26 homes scattered along a
series of dirt paths shared by wandering pigs, chickens, roosters, dogs, and
the dozen or so oxen that are driven back and forth to the river a couple of
times each day. In those 26 houses made
variously of homemade bricks, sticks, a clay tile roofs also made by hand in the
community, are sheltered around 140 people – 38 families. One home I visited – about the size of my
living room – sheltered 14 people of multiple generations – from suckling
babies to wizened adults. While the
number may be higher than other households, the cohabitation of various
generational family units was less the exception than the rule.
At the center of the community was a common
well, operated by cranking a handle to pump water into buckets; a Catholic
Church about the size of our formal lounge, where the women of our group slept,
and a two-room clinic built in more recent years that was the sleeping quarters
of our men. A covered porch on the front
of clinic provided the only shade in the area, and was where we gathered for
meals, morning and evening devotions, community worship, and leisure time
sitting. Behind the clinic was the
single latrine. Perhaps ten minute’s
walk further up the path was a Protestant church and a 5 or 6 room school.
There is no plumbing in this desert
community where temperatures climbed above 120 degrees before
As an indulgence to our visiting
group – the first to this community since the year 2000 – 2 showers were
constructed, each about the size of an elevator, made of four posts wrapped
with tar paper up to about my shoulder, within which was placed a barrel of
well water and dipping bowl with which you poured water over your naked
self. The one and only time of the day
you dreaded a breeze was while standing inside, when the entrance flap would
billow aside to afford the entire community more of an acquaintance than you
really intended to extend. And there was
always an audience watching – yes, at shower time, but at every other time as
well. From the time we rolled off our
air mattresses in the mourning, through morning devotions and meals, all the
way to bedtime ministrations, a line of faces surrounded the porch, curious,
interested, watching; faces nesting big, brown, infinitely deep eyes.
I don’t imagine I’ll ever sing this
verse again without thinking of those people – and their eyes: “while saints their watch are keeping.”
Modern Christians don’t much no what
to think about the concept of saints. On
the one hand we Protestants are acquainted with enough Catholics to know about
the various patron saints that animate that tradition – the patron saint of
travel, of doctors, of children, etc.
These are the faith tradition’s “uber Christians” – the specially
gifted, or noteworthy, or uniquely spiritually endowed – who “watch over” us in
their own mystical way. In a less specific
sense, there are those biblical images of the saints in heaven, gathered around
the throne of God – the community of all
those who have died in Christ – who are similarly “keeping watch.”
But as comforting as the idea may be
of heavenly eyes concerned with our well being, it might seem a little
mysterious to our rationally bent minds.
Moreso, a little difficult to square with Jesus’ assertion that the
inheritance of the earth is to the “meek.”
To our way of thinking, the meek are people with all the flavor, body
and rigor of boiled okra. The meek are
the perpetual targets of bullies, the punch line of jokes, the pale,
soft-spoken flimsies that hover around the edges who would love to be noticed
seldom are except to be singled out for derision. The meek are not the heroes of our
imagination.
Perhaps it is a surprise to learn
that in all of scripture, two people are referred to as meek: Moses, who faced down the most powerful
political figure of his day and martialed an entire nation across a wilderness
and up to the doorway of a new land, and Jesus, who faced down the devil and
death and pulled the cords of heaven and earth close enough to re-tie. Meekness, you see – at least in the biblical
sense – is not about absence, but presence; the person possessed with righteous
anger, with enough strength of character to not compromise or sell out, and
enough humble trust to willingly receive whatever God wills. It is a person so right with God, so right
with self and passionately concerned for others that her or his life is a
constant presence to all three. These,
says Jesus, are the ones who taste the life that God has promised.
The
meek are those who don’t have to be the center of attention. By not being self-absorbed, the meek person
can afford to pay attention to the leading of God and the circumstances of
others. It reminds me of one sage’s
symbolic comparison of heaven and hell.
In both settings, the scene is the same:
a long dining table – not unlike the long folding tables we once used in
our fellowship hall – with diners along both sides, each holding a three foot
spoon. The only difference is that in
hell, every person is trying to feed himself, but because the spoon is so long,
is unable to succeed. In heaven,
everyone is well-fed and satisfied because all those present are using their
elongated utensils to feed those across the table.
The meek as those conscious of the
community of heaven and a conscious participant in the community of the
earth. There is an old but descriptive
image of an ember from a fire, isolated from the primary flame. It glows for awhile – maybe even seizes to
passing breeze to lick up an occasional flame – but robbed of the supportive
heat of the larger fire, soon cools and becomes essentially dead. The point is hard to miss: isolated and alone, the glow of faith is hard
– ultimately impossible – to sustain.
How many biblical images echo, at least implicitly – the same wisdom? Branches from the vine. Limbs from the body. Computers from the internet. OK, that last one isn’t from the Bible, but
you get the idea: connected, we thrive;
dismembered or disconnected, we shrivel and starve and cool.
It is, at
times, a counter-cultural notion in this land of the individual, but it hasn’t
always been that way. If this is the
land of the “self-made man,” it is also the land of the barn-raising, the
prayer chain, and the
Christians
aren’t the only ones who feel those kinds of common bonds, but despite our
frequent snipings and squabbles, Christians hold at the very core of our
teachings the binding thread that weaves us into community.
Which recalls
to me the most prevalent description of the saints in scripture: simply all those disciples of Christ who
constituently form his body. The Apostle
Paul addresses his letters “to the saints in
In the midst
of our troubles – the heresies that roil and tear us into schisms; the internal
squabbles and the external tensions – it’s one thing – a comforting and
enlivening, perhaps even corrective and disciplining thing – to picture the
saints in heaven keeping watch – pulling for us, encouraging us, chastising and
nudging us. But it is another thing to become
mindful not just of the eyes above us, but those around us as well – the
“keeping eyes” of our fellow-disciples and saints, watching; contending with
us, at times, reinforcing us and offering the moral support of their faith,
their presence, their hope; and offer our own eyes on their behalf. It is an awesome thing to know ourselves to
be stewards of each other’s faithfulness – to be saints keeping grace-filled,
courageous and expectant watch over each other.
I am living
this day under the grateful memory of those deep brown eyes convened around the
porch in La Consulta, keeping watch – not just because we were different, but
maybe mostly because we weren’t, and therefore to them we mattered enough to
see. Through the day and through the
night, in our work and play and leisure and meal, these saints their watch were
keeping. It is a lifestyle I hope to
learn from them – and live, and teach.
Imagine the strength we might know if we were mindful of all the
supportive, caring, encouraging eyes watching from heaven and across the pews,
from one church to another, and indeed across the world.
Watching.
Lifting.
Embracing.
Reviving.
Protecting.
Knowing, and known.
Saints,
lovingly, compassionately, keeping watch over one another.
Thanks for the lesson, people of La Consulta.