Thoughts on the Beatitudes, Part 3: Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of God

“Popularity is when other people like you. Happiness is when you like yourself.” – Michael Murdock,

“You were born to win; you were born for greatness, you were created to be a champion in life” (Joel Osteen, Your Best Life Now, p. 35).

You will certainly not die,” the serpent said to the woman.  “Because God knows that when you eat from it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God” (Gen. 3:4-5)

In every generation there is a struggle for the soul of Jesus’ church. Sometimes the conflict is theological, sometimes philosophical, sometimes cultural, often all three and then some. But whatever the manifestations of warfare may be, there is one poison well from which they all spring: the colossal sump of human pride, self-regard, and self-interest. The scourge of such hubris knows neither denomination nor political persuasion; is no respecter of age or sex; encompasses every nation, tongue, tribe, and language.

So our age is awash in various symptoms of self-aggrandizement. On the one side is the  double edifice of religio-economic Darwinism and prosperity, or faith, teaching. On the other stand the bastions of moral license and psycho-sexual entitlement. In between … well, that’s a spectrum broad and deep enough to drown in. We appear to be the culmination of a well-planned, millennia-old drumbeat of the ancient Tune, “You Shall Be as God” – a representation of the first of the demonic dystopitudes: Cursed are those who are the center of their own world; they have had their reward. The promise is exalted in all its encompassing glory; its purpose and end are the utter destruction of God’s image in his beloved

Jesus begins his description of true happiness with a hammer blow at the heart of the primal rebellion. The entry to being happy is the radical humility of being “poor in spirit.” Now, I am a firm and even ardent believer in radical humility … until I experience the reality of what biblical humility entails. That’s because radical humility is just that: God’s laying his axe to the root of who I am, how I think about myself, what I think about my place in the world, what I think about you. To allow such an intrusion feels like a senseless act of violence against someone I have taken decades to build up and protect.

Those who know me best can attest to how difficult it is for me to come by humility. The obstacles come out in everything from failure to apologize to a nearly uneradicable tendency to believe that I know and am right about pretty much anything and everything. The irony of my view of self is that it arises from fundamentally incompatible values that I learned from my parents. On the one hand, we were dead certain of our intelligence, our view of the world (and of others, of course), of our moral rectitude. On the other was a studied modesty that was never to boast or draw attention to oneself.

How far this is from blessedness. Indeed, it is mostly a misery. And there is no way out that I can see apart from a complete abandonment of the illusion of self-deification. This becomes ever more starkly evident when we consider Jesus’ own humility. Paul’s poetic description in Philippians 2:6-8 is one of the best summary statements of Messiah’s spiritual poverty in Scripture. One who eternally existed as God (no delusion here) endured a triple-emptying, first in simply becoming human; second, in his voluntary submission to an illegal and unjust crucifixion; third, in his utter dependence on the Father for his resurrection from the dead.

Let’s be clear about one thing: The Son of God did not endure the depths of self-denial so that we could somehow avoid it. To paraphrase the old Christmas hymn, “a cross he gives for you and for me.” By willingly and obediently taking on our sin, our death, our disobedience Jesus opens a door to the kingdom of heaven. The entry is clear and simple. It begins with a confession, “I am not God.” It continues with a visceral reaction to what the sinless Christ has done, “On my own, I am not fit for the kingdom of God.” Like Isaiah (6:5), we cry out, “Woe is me; I am undone.” Like Peter (Luke 5:8), we shrink back from the Holy One, “Depart from me, for I am a sinner.”

In response, Jesus attracts our attention to himself, has us draw near, cleanses our hearts, lowers our self-regard, equips us for service, frees us from the illusions of the self-made little divinities that we so want to be. I can no longer believe or trust in myself. If I have plans for today, I hold them loosely so that the Father can lead me in his way. If I accomplish much or little, I neither boast nor despair, either of which would be a claim to my own greatness. If I suffer the warfare of the world, the flesh, and the devil, I go to find strength in the one who withstood and conquered the fulness of their power.

Poverty of spirit IS the life of Jesus, the one who was “lowly of heart.” To be poor in spirit is to have that same life of Jesus in us. It is the life of worship, of recognizing the greatness and goodness of God, of surrender to the Father’s right to rule our lives. Over and over in the Gospels people come to Jesus to ask the question of questions: What must I do to find life? Others wondered what it meant to do the works of God. The young asked with all the self-assurance of youth; the older ones more hesitantly and with less confidence. In every case, the answer amounts to the same thing: Find the cross that fits our pride and self-love and let those things die; put down the flag of our own glory; stop leading the way to our own destiny; become one who follows the Lamb wherever he goes.

Father, give us the grace to make up the difference between our longing for happiness and our resistance to being poor in spirit.

As always, please feel free to like or share or comment – I would love to hear from you.