The instructions we are given in the eight Beatitudes each resemble doorways. Every closed door, every obstacle in our path is transformed into an opportunity when we become open to God's spirit working in us. True, even when we ask, seek and knock, the unknown lies beyond the door.  Sometimes our fears of the unknown still prevent us from pushing past the threshold--even though perfect love waits patiently behind the door, entirely capable of casting out fear.

Once we open to love, we rename our obstacles, and we rename ourselves, too.  Maybe that's why the early Christians took new names when they converted.  Transforming the limiting beliefs we have about ourselves is a vital step on the path to wholeness.  I think this is part of what Jesus tells us in the Beatitudes.  

We may have begun as lacking in spirituality; when we open the door to God's love, we are lifted and filled with a heavenful of his spirit.

We may have begun as grieving and torn, yet when we open up to God's call, we recover from our shattered loneliness in the loving comfort he offers us.

We may have begun as simple seekers grasping for more belongings to add to our sense of worth, but when we open the way to God's love, we find every priceless thing has already been passed on to us.  

We may have begun as famished, without any goodness to point to in our lives, but when we open ourselves to God's love, we find we are satisfied, with enough goodness to share.

We may once have pleaded for mercy, but when we open the door to God's love, we extend compassion to our enemies no matter what we once imagined they deserve.

We may once have found fault in ourselves or others, but when we open up to God's love, we find only the best motives and suddenly God appears wherever we look.

We may once have found ourselves entangled in outward conflict, but when we open the way to God's love, we allow him to overcome the enemies within and as his obedient children, we lay our weapons down.

We may have been misunderstood, bullied, or attacked because of our response to God's love, but if in our openness we have acted in Jesus' character of reconciliation--that is, in his name--we've planted a little heaven on earth.  Eternal gain is worth the temporary pain.     

In ancient Greek medicine, eight conditions of human illness are recognized. Each of the eight beatitudes describe one of these extreme conditions. The first four Beatitudes are based on an absence of air, water, fire and earth. The second four center on an excess, in the same order: air, water, fire and earth.

The first Beatitudes, each exhibiting an absence of one of the four elements, illustrate aspects of our personal relationship with God. By contrast, the second four focus on an overflow of these same elements. The excess of these elements are illustrated in four attributes which affect others, allowing us to share with those around us the benefits of a restored relationship with God.

If you're just joining us, the study begins here.

The Fifth Beatitude

"Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy."


Its taken me longer than I had hoped to post about the fifth Beatitude.  I managed to catch some sort of virus that's going around--the sniffles kind, not the computer kind. The delay in posting has been a disappointment, if only to me.  Do you know anyone who expects to go on working despite health problems, who won't see a doctor until they're seriously impaired, or someone who won't take a flu shot because they'd rather let nature take its course?  I do.  Sometimes I get a glimpse of one of those people in the mirror. 

This is one of a series of posts which study the Beatitudes of Matthew 5 from the perspective of ancient Greek Culture.  The influence of Greek culture shows in people who do these things--folks who deprive themselves healing  in the name of virtue, people like me and maybe you, too.    Zeno (334 BC- 262 BC) taught Stoicism in Athens, a philosophy based on the importance of strict adherence to virtue and a life  in harmony with nature.  His harmony with nature was so great that Laertius wrote of his death:

"As he was leaving the school he tripped and fell, breaking his toe. Striking the ground with his fist, he quoted the line from the Niobe: "I come, I come, why dost thou call for me?" and died on the spot through holding his breath."

When we follow a rigid standard of self-denial like Zeno's, once in a while we overlook the limitations of others, assuming that everyone is equally equipped.  Most of us are not as rigidly consistent as Zeno.  When we slip, we jump back up and hope no one was watching.  We try to forget such failures.  But everyone needs mercy, because everyone falls:  the young because they're young, the old because they're old, and everyone in between because of gravity.     

The very wealthiest and most influential in Greek society--those who excelled--the best of the best, or as they thought,the most favored by the gods--were described as "makarioi." This is the same word that Jesus used for "blessed."  

In keeping with the theme of illness and health, the words "eleemones" and "eleethsontai," translated "merciful" and "(obtain) mercy," are specifically used of those who are afflicted--impaired by severe health conditions. 

Although there is no specific reference to air/breath/spirit  in the language of this beatitude, the concept applies nevertheless.  When a group of people responds to someone who is severely ill, we urge one another to back off from the afflicted--to "give him air!"  It's often the only practical thing we can do for the friend or the stranger who has fallen. 

Like the Stoics, we often think denying pain and suffering makes us more heroic, therefore more godlike.  But Jesus blesses the fallen and those who show them compassion,  not those who act harshly towards themselves and others.

"The godlike bliss of those who show compassion to the afflicted, for the same compassion will be shown to them!"

When our friends fall, we need to remember the times we ourselves have fallen.  We can keep others in prayer and give them some space to breathe.  High expectations and harsh judgements will not help any of us  learn to stand on our feet.

See notes on the sixth Beatitude here:

This post is part of a series which study the Beatitudes of Matthew 5 from the perspective of ancient Greek Culture.

If you're just joining us, the study begins here.

In ancient Greek medicine, eight conditions of human illness are recognized. Each of the eight beatitudes describe one of these extreme conditions. The first four Beatitudes are based on an absence of air, water, fire and earth. The second four center on an excess, in the same order: air, water, fire and earth.

I happen to be writing about the Beatitudes as a focal point of my work in progress, Walk Through the Valley.  These studies of Greek culture in the Beatitudes are a separate work and convey some of my own reflections on the subject which have developed in the years since Richard's death.  The main body of Walk Through the Valley, unlike these studies, is composed of stories from the lives of people who lived out the Beatitudes:  Jesus Christ, Francis of Assisi, and my friend Rich Mullins.

Initially, I noticed the Beatitudes describing these eight extreme conditions using Greek culture as a common factor influencing both Christ's audience and today's.   From my experience as an interpreter, I speculated that  there might be several commonly known  myths, stories or histories in Greek culture that would tie the themes of the Beatitudes together.  

Once upon a time I majored in Ancient Near Eastern Studies, but it's been a while.  Over the holiday, I happened to watch an old BBC special on the history of ancient Greece which seemed to confirm my theory.  At least, now I can point to several landmarks of Greek history and philosophy which were no doubt familiar to Christ's audience and seem pertinent to the themes of the Beatitudes.

And so this series of blog posts was born.  I find it fascinating that most of the historic events we will briefly examine took place in the ancient city of Athens, a center of Greek culture and the location of the great temple of Athena.  This connection would have been no secret to his audience.  I take this common factor as an indication of Jesus' boldness in challenging Athena--the goddess of wisdom of the ancient Greeks.  

Pericles (495-429 BC) had towering ambitions for his city.  He wanted Athens to become the wealthiest and the mightiest city in the Mediterranean basin, not only in his lifetime, but beyond.  By his influence as an orator, he kindled a fire in his fellow Athenians to engage enemies as diverse as Sparta, Persia, Sicily and Syracuse in the Peloponnesian wars for ever-greater control, power and wealth. 

Throughout long years of war, Pericles kept his city focussed on battle.  Here is a quote from one of his speeches:  

"Remember, too, that if your country has the greatest name in all the world, it is because she never bent before disaster; because she has expended more life and effort in war than any other city, and has won for herself a power greater than any hitherto known, the memory of which will descend to the latest posterity."

from Pericles' Third Oration according to Thucydides

Appropriate to the third Beatitude, in the winter of 430 BC, Pericles delivered a funeral oration for the heroic soldiers who had fallen in wars to advance Athens.  Proudly, he stated: 

". . . For heroes have the whole earth for their tomb. . ."

from Pericles' Funeral Oration as recorded by Thucydides

Months later, in the summer of 430 BC, the city of Athens broke out in a devastating epidemic characterized by fever. No one today knows the name of the disease, or where it came from.   It left families bereaved by the wars even further decimated.  Two of Pericles' own sons were claimed by the fever.  At last Pericles himself fell victim to the epidemic.

The Third Beatitude: "Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth."

The very wealthiest and most influential in Greek society--those who excelled--the best of the best, or as they thought,the most favored by the gods--were described as "makarioi." This is the same word that Jesus used for "blessed."

"Praeis" in the medical context describes a fever that has broken-in the ancient system of medicine, indicating an absence of fire. "Kleronomesousi" describes a portioning-out; "gen," earth.
 
Jesus reminds us that it is not the ambitious who inherit, but the meek--those whose fevers to possess more, to gain more power, have been broken.  The earth, the stars, the sky, the Sun and Moon live so much longer than any human that there is no point trying to own them.  It is the living, the content, who remain above the earth to share and enjoy it--not those who have paid with their lives the price for a measureless tomb.

Two ways to grow a rose:  either from beneath the earth, or from above it.

Click here to for a study of the fourth Beatitude from the perspective of Greek culture.

Like all scriptures, the Beatitudes Christ declared in Matthew 5 as part of the Sermon on the Mount can be studied from many points of view.  I'm excited about gaining another perspective by looking at them through the lens of healing.

Greek culture dominated the audience of the Sermon on the Mount, which was from the Jewish population of the Decapolis.  Romans ruled the area with military might,  but Rome adored the culture of ancient Greece, so the  people of that region had looked to Greek culture for generations.  The concepts of healing familiar to them were based on Greek medicine.

Here in America, we have something in common with the people of Decapolis:  we have been exposed to an admiration for Greek culture, too.  We have developed an entirely different system of medicine, but our nation  has likewise looked to the ancient Greeks and built upon Greek values, as have most democracies of today's world.  

Jesus had not much use for democracies nor republics either.  If such governments exist to help people cooperate, they are seldom successful.  His was not an earthly kingdom, yet Jesus had in mind to show us how to bring the Kingdom of Heaven to earth:  "The kingdom of Heaven is within (or among) you."   In other words, the solution to man's inhumanity to man isn't in our governments.  It's in our hearts.  Yet to bring the Kingdom to earth, we need to follow our hearts and create outside of ourselves the renewal and restoration we find within.   

The Greeks loved independence, individuality, competitiion, achievement, moral excellence, art and art objects, wealth, wisdom, and retribution.  They longed to become divine through human effort. 

Do any of those values resonate with us today?

The next eight blog posts will take a look at  the Beatitudes from the Greek perspective.   The First Beatitude is discussed here. 
        

Introduction to Walk Through the Valley

This book is a brief discussion of the ethics of the Beatitudes as Rich Mullins introduced them to me.  I wouldn’t blame you if you laughed to think of the Beatitudes as ethics in the rational sense of law and order.  The order of the Beatitudes is the order of diminishment, of foolishness, of extremes, of passionate wild abandon to righteousness. No human government would dare enact laws like these.  Yet they are able to produce profound shifts of internal attitude by allowing us each to see our human predicament through God’s eyes.

The Beatitudes Richard Mullins showed me went beyond a system of ethics; they were both a remedy to heal the broken soul and a blueprint to establish the Kingdom of Heaven on earth.

 Richard and I became friends on our first day as freshmen at the Cincinnati Bible College in 1974.  It is my intention here to write about Richard, not for him.  I’ll never claim to be a perfect Christian, but it was because of my friendship with Richard that I fell in love with Jesus Christ.  I would be surprised if readers found anything astonishingly new in this work.  Richard loved to hear and tell the old story.  My hope is simply to show readers Jesus as I saw him reflected in Richard’s eyes.          

Richard had a restless energy, but an even larger and more expansive spirit. During many conversations through the years, I learned that Richard found the dichotomy between mind and spirit a fascinating puzzle--and sometimes a frustrating one.  In the mid-seventies, his insistence on coming to terms with the body versus spirit dilemma set off a frenzied burst of reading outside his classroom assignments during the hours he worked at the payout booth of the parking garage, and well on into the night.  Some claimed his insomnia was due to his habit of sleeping only on the carpeted concrete floor of his dorm room, and never in the comfort of his bed.  The topic never came up and I never asked, so I still don't know whether this eccentric sleeping arrangement was an attempt to emulate his hero, St. Francis of Assisi. 

But I had an opinion about his reading habits.  I believed his constant reading was likely due to his highly active mind; and his effort to love God with all his mind, soul, heart and strength. 

The Ethics of Supporting the Arts: or, Thomas Aquinas, I Beg to Differ!

Funding artists is eternally problematic.  Art demands a high degree of freedom of thought and expression to keep it alive; a hefty payment can dampen that freedom in a moment, often leading to works that may acheive some semblance of entertainment, but which fail to compel us on any deeper level.  Complete failure of funding leads to the extreme of starvation--or, in many cases, a second job.  The internet age has led to some innovative options in funding the arts.  I'm sure I'm not the only one who finds all the possibilities intriguing.  But which options are most ethical, most likely to produce the spiritual results we long for?

 I'm speaking as an artist, not an academic.  So you won't find me citing academic authorities.  I have read the original source documents described here, researched the original languages when I find the meaning obscure, and applied the sense my spirit makes of these works.  I apologize more for my ignorance than for my lack of convention.   Please bear in mind that my opinions on these works may change at some future point when more becomes clear to me.  This essay will be published in four installments:  The Problem of Patronage, The Morgue of the Marketplace, The Fallacy of Fanfare, and Render to God that which is God’s.

 With all due respect to Thomas Aquinas, whose later works touching on creativity fascinate with the breathless quality of ecstasy, I beg to differ on the subject of supporting the arts, which he lays out in his Commentaries on Aristotle's Nicomachean Ethics.  And since he is a saint, I'm sure he will forgive me if I've misunderstood him.


 The Problem of Patronage


There are those who glorify the Middle Ages as a period when art achieved its highest purpose: to instruct the common man about God and spiritual life.  To a great degree, this is true.  For the ninety-nine percent of that day, most of their information about God came through the arts, although the men of power and influence within the Church seem to have kept a stranglehold on the subjects of these works.  The Church promised rich, influential men that they were storing up wealth in Heaven when they contributed to the beauty of the Church’s art objects here below. As for the one percent, the patrons whose fortunes funded cathedrals, choral works, the copying of manuscripts—what did they learn about spirituality from their contributions to the arts? 

I'm guessing not much.  

Patronage, puffed up and full of pride, is a spiritually bankrupt system built on sand and leaning hard into moral collapse.  Who told the rich man he could buy his way into the Kingdom of Heaven by funding a work of great beauty?  Not Jesus:  “It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than it is for a rich man to enter the Kingdom of Heaven.”

Patronage is the wealthy man’s answer to acquiring status in exchange for a portion of his riches. As Christians, we do not demand equal footing with the wealthy or the powerful.  We do not seek status.   We do not purchase worldly power.  We realize that looking good and being good are two different things.  There is only one who is good, and that is God.  We are each equal in God's eyes with every other human being.  We each look our best when we tell the truth about ourselves and our own need for grace.  Then we are poor in spirit.  Then we belong to the kingdom of heaven.   We bring heaven to earth when we acknowledge that every good and perfect gift comes down from above.

 The spirit of patronage is in direct contrast with the radical attitude of the Beatitudes, poverty of spirit.  God himself did not stand on his dignity, his pride, or his honor. Only God stoops so low as to humble himself, making himself nothing so that we can bond with him. God is born a puking, helpless infant in a barn, surrounded by beasts, endangered by the rage of a deadly King.  He's not asking us to do anything he hasn't already done.  

When he teaches us to be poor in spirit, Jesus does not ask us to beat ourselves up because we are so bad. He only asks us to follow his example because he is so good.


The Spiritual Conundrum of Riches


The moment Christianity became a legally endorsed religion in Rome in 313 A.D., I expect wealth became a spiritual conundrum.  Jesus taught his followers to pay Caesar what was due him, and to pay God that which is God's.  He taught his followers not to hold on to wealth--he even told a wealthy young ruler to give up everything he had to follow him.  The Roman Emperor, on the other hand, didn’t especially care what people did with their wealth, as long as they paid their taxes and refrained from funding an insurrection.  Obviously, as much as Constantine admired Christianity, he had no intention of giving up his own wealth to follow its teachings.  In fact, the stability of the Roman Empire rested firmly on the riches of the Emperor, and his solid relationships with the wealthy citizens of Rome.  Naturally, the new state religion stopped short of demanding that its most powerful citizens share their riches with all.  

Most likely, the newly political Church was not inclined to share the teachings of Jesus about wealth.  The dichotomy between Christ's concepts of spirituality and wealth and Constantine's remained unexplored.  Over time, a new path was forged.  The Church followed the Virtues of Aristotle, which had been uniformly respected and taught by the Greeks for centuries.  They insinuated that the well-to-do need not give up their wealth, but simply to selectively share their riches with the public by supporting religious art.  

In Jesus’ day, there were several gates to Jerusalem that merchants could pass through.  When entering through the wide gates, a tax was due, based on the amount of goods being carried into the city for exchange on the market.  Those who were savvy could use a narrow breach in the wall, called “The Eye of the Needle,” to escape these taxes.  There was only one catch, if you’ll excuse the pun:  a heavily laden camel could not pass through this passage.  Only the lightly burdened beast could scrape through the gap.  Over time, art patronage became the eye of the needle wealthy church members were encouraged to pass through to enter the Kingdom of Heaven.  But because the system of patronage permitted their pride to remain unchecked, wealthy patrons may still have eluded the true spiritual objectives expressed in the Beatitudes.  Art patronage might carry their status-seeking worldly values to the gates of the kingdom of heaven--but not inside them. 

When I attended the Art Academy of Cincinnati in 1975-76, I encountered an updated system of patronage with a new twist:  it was called conceptual art.  The work of the artist was to convince the public that purchasing his art would enhance the patron’s status, regardless of the technical or objective value of the work. Artists who engaged in this form of art guffawed loud and long on their way to the bank—or planned to while washing dishes for a living.  I was never fond of conceptual art.  I called it “con art.” After many conversations with Richard Mullins about the Beatitudes and art, I returned to the Bible College the following year.  I had become sure, partly because of Richard’s example, that there must be something better an artist who is a Christian can do.

 St. Thomas Aquinas, patron saint of scholars, philosophers, and theologians, solidified the convention of mixing two contrasting approaches in the Commentary on Aristotle's Nicomachean Ethics.  These ten scrolls blend Greek ethics with Christian teachings such as the Beatitudes.  The teachings of Aquinas ultimately produced a culture dominated by art and architecture produced in the name of the Church. This period of history, known as the Middle Ages, flourished for centuries and effectively transmitted faith to the masses by means of art.   
 
Although many artists benefitted from patronage, artistic geniuses like Michelangelo and Da Vinci found the system repugnant.   Despite being stifled by their patrons’specifications, each of them invented ways to rebel against the Popes who commissioned their works.  Their acts of defiance against the system of patronage can still be detected in the art they produced. 

 With all due respect for the triumph of art carried out through the culture of the Middle Ages and the spiritual wisdom of St. Thomas, a distinct tension remains between the Virtues of Aristotle, which depend on mostly on wealth, and the Beatitudes of Christ, which call simply for a Godly outlook--which any humble human can afford.* 

The most important objective in supporting the arts is not to divest the wealthy of their riches, but to give artists the opportunity to share their gifts.  The artist believes that the true and highest value of art lies in its spiritual ability to touch  hearts and lives.  The artist knows that over time, art can shift the perspective of a culture. To create a lasting and powerful work, the artist must not be too concerned about commercial success.  By its very nature art that moves us will be controversial, perhaps disturbing.  The artist will face criticism from those who are not immediately gratified by his message.  Still, the change in perspective effected by a work of art is priceless.  It can never be compensated by money.  

*A case can be made that Jesus was ripping on the Aristotelian Virtues line for line when he declared the Beatitudes.  His audience was primarily composed of Hellenized Jews who had been raised on the Law, the Prophets and Aristotle.  The odd-couple marriage of Aristotle's Virtues and the Beatitudes of Christ is celebrated in Dante's description of Purgatory in The Divine Comedy.  Dante's version of the Beatitudes is torn out of the context of the Gospels and re-interpreted in light of Aristotle's Virtues. Not only does Dante describe spiritual torture, his instructions on the Beatitudes provide it. Not that he failed to produce art. Art frequently results from, and causes, a human response of pain.  Aquinas' well-intentioned attempts to unite the Virtues and the Beatitudes--the basis of Dante's work—failed to resolve the irreconcilable differences between the two. Purgatory was surely the best Dante could make of what he had to work with.