St. John’s Episcopal Church
Tallahassee, FL
Luke 6:17-26
Chances are you have at least heard of
the Sermon on the Mount.
It’s one of the most famous passages in all of scripture,
found toward the beginning
of the Gospel according to Matthew.
In it, Jesus sits high above the people—
literally up on a mountainside—
and speaking with great authority
he delivers the words we know so well:
“Blessed are the poor in spirit,
for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.”
That is Matthew’s version.
But today, we hear Luke’s version,
and in Luke’s gospel,
Jesus is not on a mountain.
In the opening line of today’s gospel, Luke tells us:
“Jesus [did what?] came down with the twelve apostles
and [stood where?] on a level place,
with a great crowd of his disciples
and a great multitude of people.”
The way Luke tells it,
this is not the Sermon on the Mount.
This is the Sermon on the Plain.
And you might think that’s just an insignificant detail,
but it’s actually the whole point.
Because, you see, in Luke’s telling,
Jesus is not above the people.
Instead, he has
come down low . . .
among them . . .
on level ground.
In Luke’s version,
Jesus stands with the poor,
Jesus stands with the hungry,
Jesus stands with the grieving and the rejected . . .
And what does he do?
He calls them blessed.
“But woe to you who are rich,” he says,
“for you have already received your consolation.”
This, my friends, is what we call
“the great reversal,”
the inverted Kingdom of God.
This is Jesus standing among the lowest and the least
and telling us that the kingdom of God
does not work the way the world works.
In God’s kingdom,
what we call success is empty.
What we call loss is blessed.
What we call weakness is strength.
And if we are listening closely,
we will hear that this is not just a comfort to the poor.
It is also a warning to the comfortable.
* * *
In the larger culture these days,
we seem to be living in a time
when empathy itself is under attack.
Some call it weakness.
Some say it is a trap.
Some argue that love should be rationed—
reserved for our own first, if at all.
And so, when the poor cry out, they are met with silence.
When the hungry reach out, they are turned away.
When the stranger arrives, the gates close.
All under the justification that
“We have to take care of our own first.”
But that, my friends, that is not the gospel,
or at least not the fullness of it.
That is a scarcity mindset masquerading as faith.
That is fear dressed as wisdom.
That is a distortion of love . . .
not the way of Jesus.
And it would be one thing
if that were simply a secular idea—
simply a distortion of the wider culture—
but it’s not.
Even Christians have allowed
this idea to creep into our faith:
The idea that love should be rationed . . .
that we should care only for our own . . .
that concern for others is misplaced . . .
that the circle of love must be drawn small, tight, and firm.
But here’s the thing:
Christian love is not merely a hierarchy of priorities.
It is not simply a concentric set of rings.
While the Church has long taught that, yes,
there is an order of responsibility
in the manner in which we love,
loving those closest to us first
cannot be mistaken
for loving those closest to us only.
No, if Jesus tells us anything today,
he tells us that
love is expansive.
Love is abundant.
Love does not shrink when it is shared—it multiplies.
Jesus does not say,
“Care for your own, and if you have time, think of others.”
Jesus says,
“What you do for the least of these, you do for me.”
Jesus says,
“Welcome the stranger.”
Jesus says,
“Love your neighbor.”
And when someone asked him,
“Okay, but Lord, who is my neighbor?
he told a story about a Samaritan . . .
a foreigner . . .
a man outside the family,
outside the circle,
outside the tribe.
Because love does not stop at borders,
and compassion does not wait
until everything at home is fully sorted.
* * *
Depending on where you stand,
all of this may sound like a threat,
but the truth is that Jesus isn’t threatening you;
he is extending an invitation.
An invitation to step out of the way things are
and into the way things were always meant to be.
An invitation to step out of the kingdom we’ve built
and into the kingdom God is building for us.
To stop hoarding, fearing, retreating.
To stop measuring our faith by how much we protect ourselves.
To stop looking for security in power, comfort, and control.
And instead,
to ask where God is at work.
To ask who the world is overlooking.
To ask how we can stand—
eye to eye,
shoulder to shoulder,
hand in hand—
with the ones whom Jesus calls blessed.
Because the measure of our faith
was never how much we accumulate,
or safe we feel,
or powerful we become…
but how much we love.
* * *
Imagine Jesus standing before you.
Imagine him looking you in the eye, saying:
“Blessed are the poor.
Blessed are the hungry.
Blessed are the grieving.”
How do you respond?
Do you argue with him?
Do you explain why the poor should have worked harder?
Do you tell him the hungry should have made better choices?
Do you say, “We have to take care of our own first”?
Or do you fall silent—
realizing that Jesus Christ does not need you
to explain economics or politics to him.
He needs you
to follow him.
* * *
So what is the grace for us today?
The grace for us today is this:
The kingdom of God is not about scarcity.
It is about abundance.
It is not about who we have to love.
It is about how much love we get to give.
We do not need to fight for power.
We do not need to build higher walls.
We do not need to hoard what we have.
Because there is enough.
Enough mercy.
Enough justice.
Enough love.
The world tells us
that power is security,
that scarcity is truth,
that love should be hoarded.”
But Jesus tells us that love multiplies,
that mercy is abundance,
that the kingdom belongs to those
the world casts aside.
God is already at work, turning the world right-side up.
And so, as Jesus comes down the mountain
and takes his place on the plain
hand in hand with the hungry,
shoulder to shoulder with the poor,
eye to eye with the lost and the least . . .
Where will he find us, O Christians?
Where will he find you?
Amen.