I was not raised in a Christian family. My first real encounter with Bible reading was as a child, with a pocket-sized King James New Testament my grandmother had given me. It had been collecting dust on a shelf, until a vague curiosity compelled me to read it. Not knowing where else to begin, I opened to the gospel of Matthew. The antiquated language, together with the unpronounceable names of the genealogies, almost made me give up. But I pressed on. The familiarity of the Christmas story, at least, was comforting.
I came to rest in the Sermon on the Mount. Some of the sermon made sense, though I struggled with it as generations of Christians have — aren’t these impossibly high standards for mere mortals? They certainly seemed beyond the reach of a preadolescent boy with no background in theology.
The Beatitudes, however, especially the first four and the one about rejoicing in persecution, simply seemed odd. What did it mean that those who were poor in spirit, mourning, meek, and hungering and thirsting could be blessed by God? I did not have any knowledge of the Old Testament or the prophets. I could not hear the text as a post-exilic Jew might, with the words of Isaiah echoing in the background.
Yet this is how we must hear the text if we are to understand the nature of the kingdom Jesus inaugurated, the theological and social context in which we practice peacemaking.
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