After reading the Beatitudes and hearing Ginger’s sermon this morning, I’m reminded that “happy” and “blessed” are not synonyms.
Blessed are the protesters that fill Egyptian streets,
for soon they’ll know whose promise they can trust;
blessed are the shelterless who stand in line to eat
.and are told to make a meal of a crust.
Blessed are the broken who live with hidden shame,
for healing means it all must come to light;
blessed are the immigrants whom no one knows by name,
whose only chance is to stay out of sight.
Blessed are the beaten, the wasted, and the worn,
for rest they only carry in their dreams;
blessed those acquainted with sorrow and with scorn,
for they will understand what suffering means.
To be blessed means more than putting on a smiling face;
Wounded walks with wonder on this journey fraught with grace.