Kendall Smith, No-Div
Kendall is an elementary science teacher and an avid lover of books, nature, and long walks. She is easily distracted by thunderstorms and loves a good conversation over coffee.
Years ago, I heard a pastor say, “If our Gospel isn’t good news for a struggling mother in Haiti, then it’s no Gospel at all.” That thought has stuck with me…mostly because I have an uncanny ability to get stuck in my own perspective. It is so easy to read the Gospels and assume that Jesus is talking directly to me, in my day, in my time. To forget that Jesus lived in a specific time, in a specific culture, in a specific place. That’s not to say that Jesus’ words don’t carry weight today…but I do have to be reminded often that my perspective is a perspective, not the only perspective.
A few weeks ago, I sat down to read one morning. I had started reading through the New Testament book of Matthew. Matthew’s work is familiar–it is here that we find the story of the Magi, the Sermon on the Mount, and the “end-of-the-world” chapters I have tried so hard to avoid. (earthquakes? famines? The “abomination that causes desolation”?!?!?!) It is a familiar Gospel for many people. But this particular morning, with the war in Ukraine heavy on my soul, I decided to read from a different vantage point: an incredibly specific one. I decided to try my best to put myself in the shoes of a Ukrainian mother who had fled to Poland with her three children, leaving her husband behind to fight.
Let me tell you: I heard the words of Jesus differently that day. As I read chapters nineteen and twenty, a few things stood out to me that I had never noticed before:
-The crowds. Oh, how I would understand crowds. Needy, hurting, hungry, desperate. Jesus was continually followed by them–and he continually showed them grace and compassion.
-Jesus blesses the children. All these children. My children, who’ve left their home, their father, their land, their school and friends, any sense of security….Jesus calls them to himself and blesses them. Oh what sweet peace that might bring to my broken heart.
-Jesus’ story about the rich young ruler. As Jesus asks the ruler to give away everything to the poor, my heart would cry out along with Peter, Lord, we’ve left everything. And perhaps Jesus’ words of “the last being first” would land differently for me.
-This Ukrainian mother would understand something I don’t about political unrest, upheaval, and the politics of living in an occupied territory, much like Jesus’ disciples did. No wonder James and John’s mother pleaded with Jesus that they might have positions of honor in his kingdom. Their sacrifice, the risks they took in following Jesus, their inconvenient lifestyle–was it all for nothing?
-Jesus’ words to his disciples (after getting into a fight about who will get the highest honors when Jesus finally comes to power)...
“You’ve observed how godless rulers throw their weight around, how quickly a little power goes to their heads. It’s not going to be that way with you. Whoever wants to be great must become a servant. Whoever wants to be first among you must be your slave. That is what the Son of Man has done: He came to serve, not be served–and then to give away his life in exchange for the many who are held hostage.” (Matt. 20: 24-28, MSG)
No longer would godless rulers and power be a sterile idea on a page. I would have first hand knowledge of the chaos and destruction that unchecked power can bring.
Perhaps my strongest impression after reading these chapters was this: Jesus’ ultimate posture towards me, as a mother fleeing for the safety of my children, would have been empathy. Jesus identifies with me. Jesus’ own mother fled to another country because of an insane ruler who was hungry for power. Jesus’ own mother raised her children during a time when the fight to survive was a daily task. Jesus’ own mother watched her son die an innocent death.
In this world, there is no guarantee of safety and protection. There is no assurance that this will all turn out alright. Instead, there is the comfort that Jesus, Immanuel, has walked in my footsteps and continues to walk beside me. There remains the promise that there is more to this life than simply dwelling in safety. And perhaps for this Ukrainian mother who fears for her own life, for her husband, for her homeland, and for the lives of her children, she may have a unique understanding of Jesus words in Matthew 5 when he said,
“Blessed are the poor in spirit,
for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Blessed are those who mourn,
for they will be comforted.
Blessed are the meek,
for they will inherit the earth.
Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness,
for they will be filled.
Blessed are the merciful,
for they will be shown mercy.
Blessed are the pure in heart,
for they will see God.
Blessed are the peacemakers,
for they will be called children of God.
Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness,
for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.”
I have a hand-made Ukrainian doily hanging in my home, along with a heart, as a reminder to pray for the people of Ukraine. There is much we can be praying for. But one thing rises to the surface more than anything else: the Ukraine people are deeply loved and perhaps more keenly aware of God’s Presence and Provision than I am. And I think that is why I keep coming back to the Beatitudes. They are more than beautiful poetry or an ideal to aspire to. Instead, they are the deepest comfort for those who find themselves in the most horrific realities. Trying on the shoes of those who suffer lifts us out of our own perspectives and allows us to know God in a way that we might not otherwise. Whose shoes could you try on this week?