Here is my sermon for All Saints Sunday, based on Luke’s version of Jesus’ beatitudes and woes.
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Years ago, I was a member of a wonderful church in Dallas called Royal Lane Baptist Church. They, like many Baptist churches, had a tradition of a Wednesday night meal and prayer service. On most Wednesdays, we were offered a full meal, but one week the menu was different because our speaker for that night was a person who worked trying to respond to the world-wide disparity of the availability of food, so we had what they called a World Hunger Meal.
What that meant was when we got in line we were given a colored ticket that determined what and how much we got to eat. I forget the exact percentages, but the majority of folks got a small portion of rice and beans, and there was a pitcher of water on the table to share; the next group got rice, beans, and some sort of greens; the last group, which was only a handful of people, got rice, beans, greens, ham, cornbread, dessert, and ice tea.
One of the men in the church was quite vocal about his dissatisfaction at being in the majority. He complained from the time he got his tray until he sat down at his table, and then he continued ranting about how he didn’t need this kind of object lesson to know people were hungry.
About that time, one of the children in the church who had drawn the full meal, sat down next to him and was unaware of the man’s complaints, looked at his plate and said, “Wow! You didn’t get much food at all and I have a bunch. Have some of mine.”
The little boy didn’t have a frame of reference to understand world hunger, but he somehow knew how to recognize the need in front of his face, which is at the heart of Jesus’ words in our passage this morning.
Starting with that story is telling the punch line before the joke, in a way, so we need to back up a bit in Luke’s account.
We are reading this morning from early in Jesus’ ministry, not long after his baptism. There were some who pressed him about how his new gospel fit the mold of established religious norms. They wanted him to tell people that what mattered most was to keep the rules. Instead, Jesus gathered a group of disciples around him from different walks of life and social standing and talked about relationships as more important than regulations.
Luke says Jesus went up on a mountain to pray all night long and when he came down he gathered those we know as the twelve disciples and the first thing he said are the words we just finished reading. Many commentators draw connections between this passage of what we commonly call the Beatitudes, which are in Matthew’s gospel, and there are similarities, but the two accounts are not describing the same event. Matthew tells of Jesus preaching to a large crowd, and the sermon goes on for three chapters. Luke says Jesus was talking to his disciples, and the sermon is short, though a little longer than what we read.
It is also more direct. Where Matthew writes that Jesus said, “Blessed are the poor in spirt,” Luke says, “Blessed are the poor”—and the word means those who actually don’t have enough to provide. The same with those who are hungry, those who are weeping, and those who feel marginalized and rejected by society because of who they are. Jesus’ words in Luke then take a turn the sermon in Matthew does not. Jesus turns to those who are rich, those who don’t have to worry about where their next meal is coming from, those who have enough and says, “You have it coming”—this is not going to end well for you.
But before we talk about what all that means for us, I want to read part of the sermon left out by our lectionary. These words follow immediately after what we read.
“But I say to you who are willing to hear: Love your enemies. Treat well those who hate you. Bless those who curse you. Pray for those who mistreat you. If someone slaps you on the cheek, offer the other one as well. If someone takes your coat, don’t withhold your shirt either. Give to everyone who asks and don’t demand your things back from those who take them. Treat people in the same way that you want them to treat you.
“If you love those who love you, why should you be commended? Even sinners love those who love them. If you do good to those who do good to you, why should you be commended? Even criminals love those who love them. If you lend to those from whom you expect repayment, why should you be commended? Even criminals lend to criminals expecting to be paid back in full. No, love your enemies and be helpful and lend without the hope of getting anything back. Then your payment will be generous and you will be acting the way children of the Most High act, for God is gracious to the ungrateful and to those full of wickedness. Be compassionate just as God is compassionate.”
Be compassionate just as God is compassionate, which means to love others in a way that understands the equation will never even out. We talk a lot about God’s enduring love that never lets us go. It helps to remember as we read these verses that God never breaks even. God always loves us more than we love in return.
When we start keeping score, when we think love and compassion can be measured like a profit and loss statement, we not only miss the point, but we become part of the problem that causes the disparities in the world—in our country—that make us to things like that Wednesday night Hunger Meal.
It is heartbreaking to me that our passage for today seems so poignant. The lectionary cycle would have had us read this passage no matter what the headlines; that it falls on a day when forty million Americans are losing their access to food they need to live makes Jesus’ words even more essential for us to hear.
Earlier in the week, as the deadline drew closer, a small pub in Guilford put out word on social media that anyone who was losing benefits could come by and get a free meal. They are not a big corporate restaurant. They don’t have a large profit margin. They know they are not going to break even on this. And they are feeding people. Some of the other places in town followed suit, basically saying what that little boy at the church dinner said years ago: “Wow! You didn’t get much food at all and I have a bunch. Have some of mine.”
All Saints’ Sunday reminds us of the lineage of love in which we stand. It also invites us to recognize and affirm our common bond and union with all humanity of all economic standings, all ethnicities and races, from all times and places. We are joined together not because of what we have, or what we’ve done, but because we are all created in the image of God and worthy to be loved, which also means we are capable of great compassion because we were made to be agents of God’s grace and goodness to one another. The heart of what it means to be human is to be compassionate, not to keep score. Amen.
Peace,
Milton