THE 21st CENTURY AND THE BEATITUDES
STANDING ON THE MOUNT where Christ preached the Beatitudes, I fight the wind that only moments before had raced across the Sea of Galilee, and, giving up, I remove my hat. I pause to survey the country side before I look for a seat among the exposed boulders.
MORE THAN ANYTHING, I’m reminded of Texas Hill Country. This is grazing land. Shepherds would have called their flocks together here amongst the outcropping of limestone.
TODAY A CHURCH RUN BY ITALIAN NUNS has preserved several acres from the vineyards and orchards that have long since encroached on most of the ancient pastures.
TIME HAS NOT STOOD STILL even in the land where Christianity was born. The Sea of Galilee has become a hot spot for windsurfers. More than a hundred have congregated in the newly-risen afternoon wind. On the hill I am high enough to let my imagination convince me their sails are sea gulls.
ISRAEL HAS TAUGHT THE LAND to feed its people. Black plastic is wrapped around bunches of dates. More plastic covers fruit trees. Harvest is only days away, and a bird is always eager to bury a sharp little beak into an apricot or a sugary date.
BUT, IF I TURN MY EYES AWAY from the road that brought me here, I can ignore the twenty-first century. I can carry myself back to the time when Rome called this place Palestine. Back to the time when Rome was disgusted with the hard-headed Jews who lived here.
I FIND A ROCK THAT DOESN’T HAVE TOO MANY BIRD DROPPINGS and settle on it among other members of the Bible study classes I’ve attended over the years. They are also hushed, seemingly meditative as the wind tears at their clothes just as it must have torn at the clothing of Christ’s many disciples so long ago.
OUR TEACHER, who struggles with the windblown pages of his Bible, encourages those of us who had enough forethought to bring one (I was not one of them) to open to Matthew 5:3. He begins to read, “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven.”
MY MIND IS SWEPT AWAY to the moment those words were first spoken. Out of the corner of my eye, I glance at our Jewish tour guide. He too seems caught up in some of the most beautiful, most hopeful words in the New Testament.
I BOW MY HEAD and let the rest of the words flow over me, blessing me again and again with a fresh understanding of grace.
You are blessed. Be a blessing!
MORE THAN ANYTHING, I’m reminded of Texas Hill Country. This is grazing land. Shepherds would have called their flocks together here amongst the outcropping of limestone.
TODAY A CHURCH RUN BY ITALIAN NUNS has preserved several acres from the vineyards and orchards that have long since encroached on most of the ancient pastures.
TIME HAS NOT STOOD STILL even in the land where Christianity was born. The Sea of Galilee has become a hot spot for windsurfers. More than a hundred have congregated in the newly-risen afternoon wind. On the hill I am high enough to let my imagination convince me their sails are sea gulls.
ISRAEL HAS TAUGHT THE LAND to feed its people. Black plastic is wrapped around bunches of dates. More plastic covers fruit trees. Harvest is only days away, and a bird is always eager to bury a sharp little beak into an apricot or a sugary date.
BUT, IF I TURN MY EYES AWAY from the road that brought me here, I can ignore the twenty-first century. I can carry myself back to the time when Rome called this place Palestine. Back to the time when Rome was disgusted with the hard-headed Jews who lived here.
I FIND A ROCK THAT DOESN’T HAVE TOO MANY BIRD DROPPINGS and settle on it among other members of the Bible study classes I’ve attended over the years. They are also hushed, seemingly meditative as the wind tears at their clothes just as it must have torn at the clothing of Christ’s many disciples so long ago.
OUR TEACHER, who struggles with the windblown pages of his Bible, encourages those of us who had enough forethought to bring one (I was not one of them) to open to Matthew 5:3. He begins to read, “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven.”
MY MIND IS SWEPT AWAY to the moment those words were first spoken. Out of the corner of my eye, I glance at our Jewish tour guide. He too seems caught up in some of the most beautiful, most hopeful words in the New Testament.
I BOW MY HEAD and let the rest of the words flow over me, blessing me again and again with a fresh understanding of grace.
You are blessed. Be a blessing!
Labels: beatitudes, blessed, grace, grazing land, Palestine, Sea of Galilee, Texas Hill Country, twenty-first century, windsurfers
posted by Chronic Hope at 5:53 PM
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