I have been reflecting recently on a teaching in the gospels, and it brought me to an important insight about the Course. The teaching is the original beatitudes, as recorded in a hypothetical gospel called “Q,” which scholars believe was a source used by both Matthew and Luke. Many of Jesus’ most famous, influential, and deep teachings come from Q.
In Matthew, there are beatitudes for those who are “poor in spirit,” and who “hunger and thirst for righteousness.” But the “spirit” and “righteousness” part was added by Matthew. In Q, it was simply “poor” and “hungry.” Indeed, “poor” is better translated as “destitute.” So Jesus was congratulating the destitute and the hungry. Why congratulate them? Not because there was anything wonderful, virtuous or holy about poverty and hunger. They are just hard, tragic conditions to be survived. No, he was congratulating them because God’s kingdom was for them (“Blessed are you poor, for God’s reign is for you”), and in this kingdom, they will have a feast (“Blessed are you who hunger, for you will eat your fill”). They were blessed, in other words, not because of some hidden goodness in their condition, but because God has answered their condition (even if they haven’t yet taken hold of that answer).
Getting back to the Course, we all know that the Course is about changing our perceptions. But how do we change them? So often we do so by telling a clever spiritual story about the earthly conditions that are causing us pain. “It’s all perfect.” “Hitler was performing his perfect function.” “He was doing his best.” “It’s all for the highest good.” “There are no mistakes.” “That’s my truth.” Whatever. We look at the difficult circumstance and tell a different story about it, a story in which it really is wonderful.
This is a constant turn-off for me, to be honest. It feels like plain old rationalization and denial, which are now wearing spiritual robes. Whatever else I am, I do try to be a realist. I try to look honestly at what is front of me. It’s no use trying to tell myself a clever spiritual story about it, since that story will be revealed to be a crock with the passage of time. And then where will my good feelings be?
The problem, though, with being a realist is that it drags you down. Greg has written about recent psychological studies showing that we keep ourselves emotionally afloat through constant lying to ourselves about what’s really going on. However, these studies show, there are those who don’t engage in this constant self-deception. They see things unvarnished, just as they are. They are called the clinically depressed.
So how do we escape these twin horns of flaky self-deception and clinical depression? The answer, I believe, lies in a different way of changing our perception. This other way starts with realism, with the refusal to tell yourself the clever spiritual story about how wonderful it all is. As Jesus said in praise of Freud, he “knew a bad thing when he perceived it.” That knowing is actually a good thing. But it can’t stop there.
Then, having acknowledged this circumstance as it really is, we place it in a larger context. This larger context is one that does not follow the rules of the “bad thing.” It is not constrained by its limits, not accountable to its harshness, not confined to its smallness. This larger context, in other words, is all the love and power and joy of God, which surrounds our “bad thing” with itself, completely unfettered by it. Set in this larger context, the bad thing dwindles to nothing. It becomes a mere speck in a much larger and completely wonderful picture.
In this light, no matter how bad things appear, Jesus can say, “Blessed are you who seem stuck in that bad thing, for God has given you everything.” I have really enjoyed applying this off and on for the last couple of weeks. In doing so, I notice how my emotional state seems constantly limited by something not right in the situation or not right in me (or both): It’s too hot. I wasn’t responsible a few minutes ago. I judged. Someone else misbehaved. I’m faced with a burdensome task. I am irresponsibly avoiding that burdensome task. A constant list of reasons to limit my happiness. But God doesn’t regard those reasons. Regardless of my reasons, His happiness surrounds me, absolutely unhindered by my reasons. It’s such a freeing idea and one that feels really good. It’s a little bit of what the poor and hungry must have felt in hearing Jesus speak to them those beatitudes.
The moral of the story is: Don’t feel blessed because you have told yourself a cool spiritual story about how some bad thing is really all “perfect.” Face the real nature of the bad thing, head-on, and then feel richly blessed anyway, because you’ve placed it in a vastly larger context, a context filled with happiness and hope. Feel blessed because, no matter how bad the situation, that larger context gives you permission to feel that way, because enfolded in that context you really are blessed.
