Kelsi Vanada

Dear Friends in Christ,

Today’s Gospel reading is Luke’s account of the Beatitudes (Luke 6:17-23), different from the longer, better-known version in Matthew 5. What I immediately notice is that it feels more direct, bodily. Not the poor in spirit, but just “Blessed are you who are poor.”

Not those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, just “Blessed are you who are hungry now, for you will be filled.” Translator and scholar Sarah Ruden re-translates this as “they will feast to the fullest.”*

Never mind feasting to the fullest—I can’t stop thinking about the people in Gaza who have nothing. Who are starving, when I have so much that I end up throwing food away. I want not just eternal happiness for them, but feasting now, justice now. And the reality feels pretty hopeless.

To be honest, I’m not sure what to do with the idea of hope right now. It feels either too naïve, or perhaps too far removed from action: an unhelpful wishing from a comfortable position at a safe distance.

We don’t know precisely when Jesus implies these Beatitudes will be fulfilled. But I realized that they do give us a vision. And I don’t think it’s just a vision for the afterlife—it’s a vision for what we long for now, for the way things should be, for what we are called to work toward here and now. We need that vision in order to have any hope at all.

Madeleine L’Engle, the writer who helped me find the Anglican tradition, writes that one way of praying is to imagine the person you’re praying for in the situation that would be most comforting or fulfilling for them. No words required—just picture the sick person well, thriving in their element.

Maybe reading the Beatitudes can be a way to pray by picturing wholeness, justice, full bellies and laughter and play. The hope is in the vision—God’s vision.

Peace,

—Kelsi

*Ruden, Sarah. The Face of Water: A Translator on Beauty and Meaning in the Bible. New York: Pantheon Books, 2017. 138.