Read the Lectionary Texts

One of the many makeshift athletic fields where we played as kids was our Whiffle Ball Diamond. It sat at the intersection of Calumet Avenue, where Cataumet Street met it in a “T” shape. We created home plate by rubbing a jagged rock against the asphalt until a rough outline emerged. First base was a grated sewer cover at one corner of the intersection, second base was the large double sewer in front of my house on the opposite side of Calumet, and third base was another sewer cover on the remaining corner.

On that Whiffle Ball Diamond, my best friend Dennis A. and I dominated every opponent. This was largely because we were pretty good at sports—especially baseball. It also didn’t hurt that we only played against kids who weren’t as skilled as us, like my little brother Steve and Danny L., the tall, skinny kid next door. And, of course, our perfect winning record was slightly aided by the fact that, as the home team, Dennis and I made all the rules. If there was ever a dispute, we’d vote on it. Naturally, it always ended in a tie—two to two—which was broken by the oldest player. That just so happened to be Dennis. After all, that was one of our carefully established ground rules.

Season after season, Dennis and I compiled a flawless record, defeating our challengers by an average score of—oh, about 212 to 2.

But our idyllic little world had its problems, chief among them the sewers scattered across the field. Every so often, someone would hit a grounder right at one, and we’d watch in horror as the Whiffle ball disappeared down the opening. Those balls weren’t cheap—nineteen cents each! We had to find a way to retrieve them. We experimented with rake handles, fishing line, hooks, and coat hangers tied to strings, but nothing worked. That’s when we had our brilliant idea: we would lower Danny L. into the sewer to fetch our lost balls!

Now, I won’t say Danny thought this was a great idea—or even a good one. But we voted. It was two to two. And Dennis cast the deciding vote. Off came the sewer grate, and down went Danny, held by his ankles. Thank God we never slipped and let the poor kid fall in! Eventually, he’d emerge, sludge up to his elbows, smelling awful, but triumphantly holding a brownish-colored Whiffle ball in his hand. And the game went on.

Looking back, Darwin might have had a field day proving his theory of natural selection in our neighborhood. It was survival of the fittest. Dennis and I were on top, and everyone else was on the bottom. We were the winners, they were the losers. I never really thought much about it—until years later, when I read Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount.

Ouch.

Jesus made a stark distinction between the poor, the hungry, the sorrowful, and the rejected versus the wealthy, the satisfied, the happy, and the admired. That’s when I saw my old neighborhood dynamic in a new light. Steve and Danny were in the first group. Dennis and I were in the second. And it shook me up.

When Jesus preached the Sermon on the Mount—or the Sermon on the Plain, as Luke describes it—he rattled the people of his day. And it’s still shaking the world.

We don’t talk about it much in the Church, but Jesus was tough on successful people. In today’s passage, he blesses those who are deprived—the poor, the hungry, the sorrowful, and the oppressed—and then warns those who are well-off—the affluent, the well-fed, the happy, and the respected.

Why does Jesus do that?

I don’t believe Jesus was biased against success or wealth. His ministry was financially supported by wealthy women. He invited the rich young ruler to follow him. After his death, his body was placed in a tomb provided by the affluent Joseph of Arimathea. The Bible does not portray Jesus as driven by class envy.

However, Scripture does suggest that those who are on top in life—financially secure, comfortable, and admired—have a high calling from God that they sometimes fail to achieve because their comfort lulls them to sleep.

Years ago, I read the autobiography of Chamique Holdsclaw, one of the greatest female basketball players ever. She was called the Michael Jordan of women’s basketball. Many of us watched her shine as a University of Tennessee Lady Vol. Yet, she almost quit multiple times. She clashed constantly with legendary coach Pat Summitt, who pushed her relentlessly. Holdsclaw nearly broke under the pressure.

Then, in a transformative moment, assistant coach Mickie DeMoss arranged a private meeting between Holdsclaw and Summitt. Chamique vented her frustrations, and Summitt finally explained why she was so tough on her: “You are the most gifted women’s basketball player I’ve ever seen. You could be the greatest of all time, but you’re too often satisfied with where you are. You need to elevate yourself to higher levels of play. You’re the only one who can make your teammates better.”

That’s why Summitt pushed Holdsclaw so hard. And today, as a retired WNBA star, Chamique credits Summitt for her success.

Do you think that’s why Jesus spoke to successful people the way he did?

Could it be that our well-being, our comfort, and our satisfaction hold us back from the higher calling God has for us? I suspect that may be exactly why Jesus said what he did.

Throughout Scripture, we see examples of how the well-off underachieve. One glaring failure is our tendency to forget those who are struggling.

At a clergy meeting, we discussed how our Good Samaritan Center had helped over 250 families in January alone. More than 9,000 pounds of food had been distributed. Over $11,000 had been given to help with utility bills. But resources were depleting fast.

As we talked, someone inevitably raised the concern of scammers abusing the system. That argument always comes up among the well-off discussing the poor. And yes, there are cheaters. But focusing on them distracts us from the overwhelming majority who are genuinely in need—people like my late mother, struggling seniors, single parents working tirelessly, and countless children who would go without heat if not for charity.

Why do we fixate on the few who abuse the system while ignoring the masses who suffer? Call it human nature, or sin, but it’s easy to forget the poor. The prophets condemned it, and Jesus warned against it.

In Matthew 25, Jesus describes a group condemned on Judgment Day because they ignored the hungry, the thirsty, and the imprisoned. Why did they neglect them? Perhaps they convinced themselves the poor were just lazy. Many still believe that today. Maybe that’s why Jesus said, “Woe to you who are rich, well-fed, happy, and admired.” Those are the ingredients of forgetting the poor.

But it doesn’t have to be that way.

The Gospel challenges us to be part of God’s Kingdom, eradicating poverty. Jesus invites us to rise to a higher calling.

So, let’s learn about poverty. Let’s get into relationships with those who experience it. And let’s live as though we are poor, recognizing how thin the line is between us and them.

Back in the old neighborhood, we didn’t see things this way.

But that was before Jesus shook us up and taught us a brand-new way to play the game.