Blessèd Number Nine

Now when He saw the crowds, He went up on a mountainside and sat down. His disciples came to Him, and He began to teach them saying:


"Blessèd are the poor in spirit,
for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Blessèd are those who mourn,
for they will be comforted.

Blessèd are the meek,
for they will inherit the earth.
Blessèd are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness,
for they will be filled.
Blessèd are the merciful,
for they will be shown mercy.
Blessèd are the pure in heart,
for they will see God.
Blessèd are the peacemakers,
for they will be called sons of God.
Blessèd are those who are persecuted because of righteousness,
for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

"Blessèd are you when people insult you, persecute you and falsely say all kinds of evil against you because of Me. Rejoice and be glad, because great is your reward in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you.

"You are the salt of the earth. But if the salt loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again? It is no longer good for anything, except to be thrown out and trampled by men.

"You are the light of the world. A city on a hill cannot be hidden. Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before men, that they may see your good deeds and praise your Father in heaven." Matthew 5:1-16 NIV

Why, when the beatitudes (οι μακαρισμοι in Greek) are listed, are they called the Eight Beatitudes? It seems to me there's a ninth "blessèd", which I have quoted in full and bolded. Even if I am not found among any of the eight blessed categories, I hope at least to be included among those in the ninth one. Although most of the time, I’m insulted and slandered behind my back or out of earshot, today it was to my face. I quoted the beginning of the Sermon on the Mount from Matthew because some of the other things Jesus said there have relevance to what follows.

Today I had one of my illusions shattered.

I bicycled down the mountain to visit an old friend. Before becoming Orthodox, he was a deacon at an Episcopal church where I used to do lay ministry. Talking about those days, he mentioned the former rector of that church, who is still alive but left the ministry and became a Roman Catholic. This former priest was someone whom I respected as a man of lofty principles, even if he wasn’t as on fire for spreading the gospel as I was. The church had once been notorious as a homosexual haven, but when he became rector, he “cleaned up the place” as I remember being told.

Today I was shocked to hear that this elderly ex-priest had discovered he was gay about fifteen years ago, and was living with his lover! (He and his wife divorced while he was still the rector. Everyone thought it was her fault.) As if this weren’t shock enough, my friend admitted, yes, this priest had told him that he was “gay” and had actually asked him to… well, you know… (he refused, of course!) and the very next Sunday, still preached a sermon castigating the homosexual life style.

Which of my illusions was shattered?
I’ve been thinking a good long time of how impossible it would be to be living a double life, sexually or otherwise, and still be able to face people with whom you have a trust relationship on a daily basis. I just couldn’t believe anyone could be that dishonest. I’ve been falsely accused of things I’d never done, and I defended myself with the argument that if I were guilty of such things, I couldn’t face the world or even look at myself in a mirror. Now, I have to say, if Father so-and-so could do these things and still consecrate the Eucharist and hear confessions, then anyone could, even me! I just didn’t think humans could be that bad. Call me naïve.


I got over the shock as I pedalled my bike up the mountain in the twilight. A beautiful crescent moon hung in the evening sky as I passed Kappaya, my favorite Japanese restaurant. I would’ve liked to have stepped in there for a bowl of Agedashi-dofu to tide me over for the rest of the ride but, though the lights were on, they would not be open for another half hour. So onward and upward…

It was chilly, and I’d chosen to make my ride clad in very light clothes, no jacket or scarf, just a pair of light cotton pants, a T-shirt and a long sleeve shirt over that. By the time I got home, I had a hacking cough for the first ten minutes. Then, I noticed I’d gotten a call from my friend Brock. I returned the call. He was at a coffeehouse we frequent, and I decided to join him. I changed shirts, grabbed my scarf, hoody and my Greek and Gullah New Testaments, hopped in my car, and drove over to meet him. When I arrived, he was working on his latest screenplay on his laptop while visiting with a mutual friend. The fellow had just lost his job and needed some encouragement, though he pretended not too. Brock kept company with him and just let him talk. Sometimes you need to do that with a grief.

There were a lot of grieving people around today. I spent some time with two of them, one with a past grief that he was still mourning, one with a present and maybe future grief, one older than me, one younger.

The older was a man a few years my senior who had lost his wife a few years ago. In his case, the mourning has taken the form of turning away from Christ. Though he was a Christian while his wife was alive, after her death he renounced Christ and reverted to Judaism (he has Jewish ancestry). I’ve been getting to know this man gradually over the last few months. He has noticed that Brock and I are constantly studying the Word of God, in Greek and English, and from conversation with Brock found out that I study both the Church fathers and the Jewish rabbinical writings. So he likes to encounter me, and we dialog. I speak of Jesus to him in Hebrew terms, call Him ha-Mashiach and call God the Father ha-Shem, and I respect my friend’s Jewish scruples. Today, though he hasn’t trusted me enough to talk about what happened to his wife, he mentioned her to me for the first time. It’s odd talking to him because, of course, the man is a Christian who has simply talked himself out of belief in Jesus, somehow because his beloved wife was taken from him. It’s not quite the same as talking to a person Jewish from birth. Being ready to confess Christ before men, that’s all it takes. Christ does the rest, and in His time, not ours. Though we may not see how the story ends, we still have our part to play, following Jesus.

Now, the younger man. He’s about twenty-five years old, confined to a motorised wheelchair, and his constant companion is a prison-trained dog, a gentle and patient pup named Parker. Brock and I have gotten to know this boy over the past six months or so.
He wheeled in this evening, went straight to the end of the coffee bar and stayed there, talking to one of the baristas. I went over to say ‘hey’ when I noticed he had a drink already and was on his cell, so I went back and sat down. I looked up from time to time (I was reading the Gullah New Testament) to see what he was doing, and I just felt something was wrong. Finally, I just went over to him across the room, knelt down beside him on one knee, and asked him if everything was alright. I could see that he was really stressed out and looked like he was ready to cry. All thoughts of giving him a little present I had with me died away with my first look. Nothing earthly would matter to this young man.

He started unraveling his grief. His mom is in the hospital. She's a diabetic and has a bad hernia problem, for which she was hospitalized last week. While there, she was tested and cancer was discovered, a bad kind. The family’s on welfare, they are ex-Mormons, and his mom’s physical ailments are in part due to the way she gave birth to my young friend. Somehow, instead of a normal C-section, she was cut open vertically, severing all her frontal muscles and causing chronic hernia. This was of course a long time ago. Since then, she developed diabetes, and has been in poor health generally. My friend is afraid she will die, because of other factors too numerous to mention here, which he described to me.

After he talked it out, I started explaining to him what he could do. Just two things.
“Keep visiting your mom,” I said, “and phone her whenever it’s appropriate. Let her know you love her and believe in her. That will help give her the will to hang on, to live.”
Then I told him the other thing he could do, “If you haven’t prayed yet, start to pray for your mom, talk to God our heavenly Father about her. Ask Him to heal her and spare her life. Don’t worry if you haven’t prayed before, God knows how it is, how you feel, how your mom feels, how troubled you are. He understands. He knows you through and through, and He loves you. You don't have to bargain with Him. Just say, ‘Father, please heal my mom and save her life, but Your will be done, not mine.’ And keep talking to Him whenever you’re alone or can’t sleep. Remember, you can’t do anything, but you can do these two things, Visit your mom and stay with her as much as they let you, and talk to the Father about her, asking in Jesus’ name.”

I had my arm around his shoulders and touched him and looked at him while speaking to him as if he were my own child. Then I just spontaneously started praying for him and his mom right there at the bar (there was no one too close, so it was rather private). Both of us had wet eyes. It was a good prayer time.

Just as I finished praying, and continued speaking a few more words of encouragement, I noticed an attractive young woman trying to go around us to the very end of the bar. She petted Parker the dog who was napping on the floor as she stepped over him, and then she sat down on a high stool facing us, with her back to the wall.
As I was still talking quietly to my friend, this girl, smiling broadly and looking right at the two of us, loudly said, “Don’t let him brainwash you with religion!” I stopped talking for just a few seconds, looked up and straight at her with a shocked stare, and then finished giving my friend the last few words I had for him. Then, as I was getting up to leave, I looked at this girl again and said to my friend, “I hope she was just joking when she said that!” As I walked away with Brock, who was watching it all in silence, I heard her start talking again, “Oh yeah, I was brought up as a Christian, but…” I didn’t hang around to hear her finish her sentence. As I left, I prayed, “Father, give increase to the seed Your hand has planted,” still shocked at the effrontery of this girl.

In my spirit, I just kept commending my young friend and his mom to the care of our all-loving and merciful God, as Brock and I walked out to my car where we prayed together before parting. I had never experienced this kind of thing before, even when we used to pray for people publicly in downtown Portland. We’d never look to see who’s watching. We’d just pray, there, on the spot, as God commands. But now I know this can happen, and so I’m sharing this story with you, so that you will be encouraged also, and ready for anything, always remembering what I had to remind myself today,

“In the world you will have trouble, but be brave: I have conquered the world.” John 16:33b Jerusalem Bible