The Plain Truth
Luke 6:17-26
“He came down with them.” There certainly are more memorable and provocative phrases in this passage than the one with which it begins. For example, “Blessed are you when people hate you.” Now that’s an attention-getter! Or “Woe to you when all speak well of you.” I’ll bet that raised a few eyebrows when Jesus first said it, and no doubt still does. But the words I want to draw our attention to are those that open the passage: He came down with them.
The he, of course, refers to Jesus. Not surprisingly, them would be his disciples. Luke’s account of the calling of the twelve disciples immediately precedes this passage. As Luke tells it, Jesus spends the night in prayer atop a mountain with many of his followers. When day comes, he chooses from among them the twelve who will become most closely associated with him. Immediately after calling them, Jesus comes down the mountain with them to a level place where a great multitude of people awaits.
He came down with them. Matthew’s version of this story, which is the more celebrated version, has Jesus going up the mountain to preach rather than coming down. It’s Matthew’s account that gives us the sermon’s unofficial title, “the Sermon on the Mount.”
By contrast, here in Luke Jesus delivers the sermon on level ground—on a plain. Some Bibles that feature subheadings even title this “the Sermon on the Plain.” It’s the same basic sermon as found in Matthew, but there are some key differences. We’ll touch upon some of them, but if you want to hear a fuller account of those differences, I suggest you come to Bible study.
Suffice it to say, the difference in setting between a mountain and a plain is not only a matter of geography but theology. I mentioned a few weeks ago, when we began our reading of the Gospel of Luke, that Luke presents Jesus as being especially mindful of the poor. In the sermon he preached to his hometown congregation in Nazareth—by Luke’s account his first public words—Jesus read from Isaiah a passage proclaiming good news to the poor. He declared that the promise of that good news was fulfilled that very day in and through him. His ministry would be one of good news for the poor, the captive, the blind, and the oppressed.
As Jesus moves on from Nazareth to surrounding towns and villages bearing this message of good news, masses of people follow him, eager to hear the hope in his words and desperate to feel the healing touch of his hand. They are waiting for him when he steps down from the mountain's height into a great sea of humanity. The poor, the sick, the lame, those possessed by spiritual forces and those dispossessed and forced to live on the fringes of society, they all surround him. They come not only from Galilee, his home region, but from Jerusalem, from throughout the province of Judea, and as far away as the coastal lands of Tyre and Sidon, gentile territory.
Jesus has come down for all of them and for each one of them. He has come down not only from the mountain’s height but also from his heavenly throne. He has emptied himself of heavenly glory for the sake of his earthly mission—his mission of mercy for sinners—for the poor, the oppressed, the blind, the captive. Surrounded by the desperate throngs, he stands upon the plain, having leveled the ground between God and humanity.
Having come down, Jesus then looks up. He looks up at his disciples, for the words he will soon voice are meant especially for them. It bears noting that the sermon Jesus is about to give is addressed first and foremost to his disciples. He called them. He chose them. They left their fishing boats or their tax booths and their families to follow him. They have been set apart from the world, and have left the world they knew, to follow him. They are no doubt seated close to him, close enough for him to make eye contact. As Luke writes:
Then he looked up at his disciples and said:
“Blessed are you who are poor,
for yours is the kingdom of God.”
As he did in the synagogue in Nazareth, Jesus again begins his message with a word of good news for the poor: “Blessed are you who are poor.” Wait a minute! Isn’t something missing? You may be asking yourself, “Isn’t it supposed to say ‘Blessed are the poor in spirit?’ ”
First of all, if you’re asking that question, award yourself a point. You know your Bible. The blessing upon the poor in spirit is found in the Gospel of Matthew. Luke, however, omits it (or Matthew adds it; it’s not clear which).
The same thing happens with the next blessing. “Blessed are you who are hungry now,” says Jesus in Luke, “for you will be filled.” Blessed are you who are hungry now. Full stop. No qualifiers. In Matthew, however, the hunger is a spiritual hunger. Jesus blesses those who hunger and thirst for righteousness.
I’m not going to tell you that one version is correct and the other is wrong. That’s not how Scripture works. Each Gospel author has different points of emphasis. Luke wants to highlight Jesus’ affinity with the poor, the disinherited, the downtrodden. They may be overlooked or ignored in the eyes of the world, but God sees what the world does not. They may be regarded by society as a problem to be solved, a nuisance to be tolerated, or worst of all, a tragedy about which nothing can be done, but God doesn’t see a problem, a nuisance, or a tragedy; God sees only his beloved.
But let’s ask a fundamental question. In what world are the poor blessed? In what world would we describe those struggling with food scarcity as blessed? In what world do we dare call blessed those who are weeping? Not in this world. In this world we cut off aid to programs that provide access to food, water, and electricity to millions in Africa. In this world we stop funding for treatment of infants born with HIV in Uganda.
A recent article in The Atlantic offers a sad litany of programs for the global poor that have been forced to shut down in just the past week: a cholera-treatment trial in Bangladesh, refugee hospitals in Thailand, soup kitchens that fed hundreds of thousands in Sudan.
Blessed are the poor? You have got to be kidding!
That is the voice of many a critic of Christianity who accuse Christianity of offering the poor only the hope of heaven without addressing their earthly need for food, water, housing, electricity, medicine, and education.
If Jesus actually taught this kind of heavenly escapism, then the critique would carry weight. But Jesus doesn't offer the poor and hungry a heavenly escape from suffering; he offers himself. Remember what he preached at his home synagogue: “I have come to proclaim good news to the poor,” good news that was fulfilled right then and there through his presence.
We are not good people in need of improvement, we are dead in sin and in need of resurrection.
And let’s remind ourselves that in this sermon Jesus is addressing—not exclusively, but primarily—his twelve disciples. And if he’s addressing the disciples, then by extension he’s also addressing the church, for we are heirs of the disciples. Listen to this direct address:
Then he looked up at his disciples and said:
“Blessed are you who are poor…
Blessed are you who are hungry now…
Blessed are you who weep now…
Blessed are you when people hate you…
Far from offering an escape from suffering, Jesus blesses the church for modeling what is an alternative way of being in the world. To be a disciple of Jesus is not about fleeing from pain and suffering but rather entering into it. For that is what Jesus himself does by modeling for the church the way of the cross.
Martin Luther, the father of the Protestant Reformation, spoke of two competing theologies: the theology of glory and the theology of the cross. A theology of glory looks a lot like how the world defines success. The blessings of God consist in the things that we would want for ourselves with or without God—good health, growing prosperity, the respect of our peers, continuous self-improvement, freedom from pain and suffering.
To the theology of glory, pain and suffering, sin and death are a hindrance that we must overcome…with the help of God, of course. You see, God does his part and we do our part. God helps us to become the best version of ourselves—kinder, gentler, more prayerful, better citizens and neighbors, more patient with other drivers, and more conscientious about recycling. And for our part, we work with God by continually growing in faith and obedience, progressing ever onward and upward. If the cross is mentioned at all, it is but a speed bump on the road to glory.
But the theology of the cross allows us no false sense of control. We are not good people in need of improvement, we are dead in sin and in need of resurrection. The theology of the cross sees our obsession with health and wealth, with maintaining our good reputation and growing in self-actualization as illusions that offer only a false sense of security.
That is why Jesus says “woe to you who are rich” and “woe to you when all speak well of you.” The woes are not curses but rather warnings. When we place our trust in such things we are grasping at an illusion. Do not rely upon that which is not trustworthy, Jesus is saying. Do not trust in lies.
By contrast, the theology of the cross speaks the plain truth: God doesn’t work through our triumphs so much as our failures because to the world the cross for damn sure looks like failure. The world looks at the cross and rightly sees horror but not hope.
But to the church, whom God has given the eyes of faith, the cross is the source of our hope because it is a sign that God works through the brokenness of the world. Suffering and death are not alien to God. They are not a speed bump along the way; they are the way. The death of Jesus Christ on the cross is the way that God forgives us and reconciles us to himself. Therein is the glory.
And if God’s glory can be revealed in something as terrible as the cross, then what wonders is God working through the broken places of your life?