The lyrics and the tune are unlike any other love song that I know of. "My Funny Valentine—sweet comic valentine, you make me smile with my heart. Your looks are laughable-unphotographable—yet you're my favorite work of art. Don't change your hair for me—not if you care for me. Stay little valentine stay."
Frank Sinatra did the song justice. It's a ballad of unconditional love—a love that sees beyond the surface and discerns deeper meanings.
We have here in Luke a version of the Sermon on the Mount. Jesus speaks not from a lofty height but from a level place, as it says. Some scholars refer to it as the Sermon on the Plain. Whether Luke intended it this way, it's symbolic of his theology of a just society where the least are lifted up to a level of decent human existence. But it's more than that—it's richer than that, if we can use the term. It's people taking their place in the human community because they too are children of the one God. They too have a place in the sun. Though their living conditions are not ideal, they are cherished by their Creator. Indeed, there is the unmistakable impression that if anything, they are even more the objects of God's concern and affection, because of the hardship that defines their existence. They are not among the beautiful people—the privileged and the pretty—but God sings to them, "you make me smile with my heart: stay little Valentine, stay." Lives lived in the shadows will become, according to the Lord's own words, lives of fulfillment and satisfaction.
And yes, there's that disturbing aspect of what he says—that those who have already had more than their share of satisfaction will know loss and despair. It's a word of warning to those who live without a thought for the things that break God's heart. You've heard that prayer: May my heart be broken by the things that break God's heart.
Focus with me on the blessedness of the ones mentioned here. They are the ones who in that time and place were assumed to be outside of God's blessing, not at the center of it. So we can hardly imagine the jolt Christ's words would have given to listeners. "Wait a minute Lord, this goes against everything we thought we knew." If they're that bad off, it seemed obvious it was because for some reason or other, God had left them, or possibly was even punishing them. Since Jesus spoke the words, the church at its best has taken this to be a mission given by the Lord. When the Lord pronounces someone or some group to be blessed, then the Lord's followers understand they are to work toward that end. It is, in the best sense of the term, a self-fulfilling prophecy. Indeed, a vision carries that power. When a trusted leader holds out a strong picture, a driving image of what could be, then it takes on a life of its own. As others catch the vision and get excited about it, they begin to live toward the vision. If some leader arises with a vision of a sustainable future, he or she will find a lot of people waiting to respond.
What has always been a struggle for me is to get to the place where I understand the poor not as just the objects of charity or pity, but as fully part of the community. It's a challenge that goes back to New Testament times. In the writings of Paul we see it: some of them were coming to the Lord's Supper and staying in cliques—those well-off had the good stuff, and ate their fill. The poor were consigned to their own kind, and as a result had not nearly enough. And in the book of James, there was a problem: the well-off were given the good seats and the poor were invited to pull up a floor. This was occurring in the center of the faith community.
I see in this version of the beatitudes a spirituality, a cultivating of empathy, an ability to relate to what another is going through. But how do I do that? I can't pretend to know what it's like to be poor with no hope of that ever changing. But I can try to understand. Here is a partial list of what somebody wrote to try to express what life is like for so many: Being poor is seeing how few options you have. Being poor is running in place. Being poor is knowing that people who have never been poor are wondering why you choose to be poor. Being poor is a six hour wait in an emergency room with a sick child asleep on your lap. Being poor is $200 paycheck advance from a company that takes $250 when the paycheck comes in. Being poor is having a space heater in only one room of the house. It's knowing you're $50 short in rent money and there's no way to close the gap. It's hoping that the toothache will just go away. Being poor means working a job 40 hours for 10 weeks and 36 hours for 2 weeks—so the employer won't have to pay full time benefits. Being poor means people being surprised to discover you're not lazy. It's finding the letter your mom wrote to your dad, begging him for the child support money." Maybe I can try to understand what others are going through.
I can, in addition, try to be in touch with my own humanness. We think of the sick as people other than me, until I get sick. We think of the disabled as a whole other group, until I experience a disability. Financial reversal is something that happens to "them," until it happens to me. Someone who recently had a hospitalization said, "I was grateful for the help and the cure I got through the medical community." One thought kept coming back to me: what's it like for someone to have no access to doctors and nurses and pain medication and so on? What does that do to you? Realizing our common humanity—and that stuff happens to all of us—can help me cultivate the solidarity Jesus speaks of.
I can also direct my stewardship toward people and places where God is calling me to give. This isn't a plea for funds for the church. The truth of the matter is, we can all direct our charitable giving in ways that we think best, outside of and in addition to the church, and in ways that matter most to us, and I would guess most of us do. We have autonomy in this matter. It's fun to make such choices about where and how I will give. This is to be encouraged. It's not instead of church giving, mind you. It's another category of giving. I know folks who feel the most satisfying gift they make is to support a child in the developing world, whose photo they have and whose life story they know, through an organization they can trust. Sometimes if we're stretched already we put off this kind of giving—but even a small gift can set in motion a whole range of possibilities. Not just for the recipient but for the giver as well. I know that some outrageous claims have been made about how God will pay us back—but there is something there: faithful response to the spirit's guidance in giving can result in unexpected blessing. We can't say how or in what form God will give the blessing, but it will come.
I can try to make a connection—a real-life connection with somebody or some group that I wouldn't otherwise have anything to do with. Many of our members have done this: at one of the helping places in town, or a school, even in a developing country, or right in the neighborhood. Our Lord wants to encourage connection, overcoming the barriers that divide, building friendships that bring people together. We can sing that funny valentine song—a song of affirmation, caring, acceptance toward one who doesn't necessarily feel very good about himself or herself—you make me smile with my heart—just as the Lord has loved each of us through all our faults and sins, and helped us to believe again.
Let us pray:
God, in your Son Jesus, you have sent us a beautiful valentine. Help us to share that unconditional love with others, especially those who struggle, and to work for a world that reflects your compassion. Amen.
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