Blessed are the Zeros

I know a man.  Let’s call him George.  When I first encountered him I would have said he was irritable, rough, racist, angry, bitter, and lonely.   His hands were blackened from cigarette butts, his clothes stained with the remnants from beer cans he picked religiously, his back hunched from carrying around his few belongings, and his steel-toed boots were worn to the soles. When asked a question, George’s face would grimace in guarded expectation for some ill intent.  His foul language was used as a defense mechanism, protecting his already raw soul.  Regardless what the question was, George would regurgitate the countless times he was hurt, how he would love to get his revenge, and why he never lets anyone in. 

Though George appeared like a weathered, old stone, inside was an raging sea teeming with raw emotion.  His anger would often reach a boiling point to which tears would precipitate from his blackened eyes.  How much shame he felt for the things he had done; for the wasted years drowning his sorrows; how he wished he could go back and tell his mother he loves her, regretting the violent words he spoke just before she died. 

In the damp darkness of his previous make-shift apartment, surrounded by his few possessions, He would lie awake, re-imagining every moment he was found “on the other side of the tracks”, all the times he was told he had failed and was worthless, all the distorted faces that glared at him as walked through places he didn’t belong. Like a recurring nightmare, George’s past constantly flooded his mind, seeking to drown out any hope that remained buoyant within his soul.    But worse than all the wrongs he committed, all the ways he was unfit for society, all the words spoken against his character, worse than all of that, George felt unloved.

“Blessed are the Poor in Spirit, the zeros, those without a wisp of religion, the pathetic, those who haven’t kept the covenant, those who don’t believe all the right things, those who have really really really screwed it up in an endless litany of ways – to all those, God is on your side. To all of those who don’t deserve the blessing of God, the blessing of God is here and – it – is – on – your – side” (Rob Bell’s Commentary on The Sermon on the Mount)

I have contemplated what Jesus meant by “Blessed are the Poor in Spirit for theirs is the kingdom of heaven” for some time.  My time spent with George has offered further insight into what Jesus was saying.
George is keenly aware of his brokenness; he knows all the ways he falls short; he remembers every law he’s broken and every heart he’s wounded.  George feels his shame as one might feel the enveloping nature of their skin.  Such acceptance of one’s shame and brokenness produces a vulnerability that has unmatched strength and potential.  What do I mean by strength? Well, society tells us that vulnerability is weakness and progress has no room for the weak.  Jesus’ message speaks directly to this way of thinking.

After almost a year of walking alongside George, there is one word I would now use to describe him: courageous.  Day after day, George wakes up and looks at his reflection; he’s quickly reminded of all the ways he is “not”, all the ways he has failed and made poor decisions, he knows that the world he’s trying to re-enter is against him. Any less of a person would be crippled by the despair and shame, but George throws on his backpack, ties up his boots, and moves on.  Vulnerability is the source of his courage.  With nothing to cover up his brokenness, nothing to give the illusion of being put-together, nothing to give a sense of entitlement, George enters the world just as he is.  Vulnerable.  Real.  Resilient.

Today, George’s edginess is fading and I catch him smiling as he gazes over his new bachelor suite. He sits at the end of his new bed, sipping a cup of coffee he brewed in his own coffee-maker, and listens to his favorite Country radio station.    As I watch George’s hard visage begin to soften, I can’t help but think he is blessed.  Not because he has a new apartment to call home, or that he has more things to bring him comfort; George knows something I don’t.

George knows his true-self; he knows himself apart from possessions, affirmation, and achievements.  George knows how to receive a gift; he actually embraces each day as a true gift and takes nothing for granted.  He knows he is broken, yet knows he still has value and a purpose.  George is not foolish enough to think his value comes from what he does, what people say about him, or how he compares to his neighbor.  He wears his heart of his sleeve, open and vulnerable for all to see, and as much as his rawness hurts at times, he knows no other way worth living.

The kingdom of heaven is incredibly tangible whenever I am with George.  He may not use the religious words to describe it, but he knows God is on his side.

- Josh
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