Introduction

Friend, if your week has left you weary, your heart hungry, or your eyes wet, you are in good company. Jesus knows the language of low places. He lifts His eyes toward the faces that feel forgotten and speaks blessing. He sees the empty pantry and the tear-stained pillow. He sees the moments you wished your name didn’t come up at work, in the group text, or in the rumor mill. And He places His hand on your shoulder and whispers, "Blessed."

John Wesley once said, "The best of all is, God is with us!" That’s the steady song behind today’s text. God is with the poor and the hungry. God is with the ones who are laughed at for loving Him. God is with those who long to live in a way that looks like heaven on a Tuesday afternoon. And because God is with us, our lack is not the last line. Our tears do not write the final chapter. The King has stepped into our story, and where He walks, things change.

As we open Jesus’ words in Luke 6, think of Him raising His gaze and catching yours. He’s not scanning a crowd; He’s loving a person. He calls "blessed" the very people the world overlooks. He names "woe" where the world paints a winner’s circle. And then He ushers us into a way of living that is both breathtaking and beautifully ordinary: enemy love, generous mercy, cheek-turning courage, openhanded giving, and the Golden Rule that glows with the goodness of God.

What if your hunger is holy ground for His fullness? What if your tears are seeds for tomorrow’s laughter? What if the insults that stung you this week become incense that rises as worship? What if love—real, resilient, rugged love—can walk through a city of grudges and light the streets with grace?

Today we will listen as Jesus unveils a great reversal of blessing and woe. We will remember that saints are recognized by dependence on God rather than platform, paycheck, or applause. And we will welcome His "enemy love" and generous rule—the kind that stitches neighborhoods back together, softens old scars, and turns ordinary people into bright beacons of the kingdom.

Here is the Scripture we’re receiving together:

Luke 6:20-31 (KJV) 20 And he lifted up his eyes on his disciples, and said, Blessed be ye poor: for yours is the kingdom of God. 21 Blessed are ye that hunger now: for ye shall be filled. Blessed are ye that weep now: for ye shall laugh. 22 Blessed are ye, when men shall hate you, and when they shall separate you from their company, and shall reproach you, and cast out your name as evil, for the Son of man's sake. 23 Rejoice ye in that day, and leap for joy: for, behold, your reward is great in heaven: for in the like manner did their fathers unto the prophets. 24 But woe unto you that are rich! for ye have received your consolation. 25 Woe unto you that are full! for ye shall hunger. Woe unto you that laugh now! for ye shall mourn and weep. 26 Woe unto you, when all men shall speak well of you! for so did their fathers to the false prophets. 27 But I say unto you which hear, Love your enemies, do good to them which hate you, 28 Bless them that curse you, and pray for them which despitefully use you. 29 And unto him that smiteth thee on the one cheek offer also the other; and him that taketh away thy cloak forbid not to take thy coat also. 30 Give to every man that asketh of thee; and of him that taketh away thy goods ask them not again. 31 And as ye would that men should do to you, do ye also to them likewise.

Maybe you’ve wondered, "Does God really see me? Does He notice my empty places?" Jesus answers with blessings that don’t pass by your address. He draws a circle around the poor, the hungry, the weeping, and the hated, and He calls them blessed. That means your need is not a nuisance to God; it is an invitation for His nearness. It means you can bring your lack to the Lord and watch Him write abundance in a way that surprises everyone, including you. And when He speaks of woes, He warns with love. Like a faithful physician, He points out the hidden fevers of our hearts—self-sufficiency, self-satisfaction, self-promotion—so that we will come to Him for the true cure.

And then, like the good Shepherd He is, He walks us into the pasture of enemy love. Not a soft love, not a sentimental love, but a sturdy love. A love that blesses when cursed, prays when provoked, and gives when grabbed. A love that turns cheeks without turning cowardly. A love that practices the Golden Rule not as a slogan, but as a lifestyle—"as ye would that men should do to you, do ye also to them likewise." The world watches for this. Families crave this. Churches flourish on this. Communities heal through this.

So, take a breath. Bring your burdens. Bring your bank account that feels thin and your spirit that feels thinner. Bring your backpack of worries and your bag of what-ifs. The One who lifted His eyes then is lifting His eyes now. He is with us. And that is the best of all.

Opening Prayer: Father, thank You that in a world of hurry and noise, You see us. Lift our eyes to meet Yours. Let Your blessings soak into our bones and Your warnings steer our steps. Trade our pride for dependence, our cynicism for childlike trust, our grudges for generous grace. Teach us to love enemies, to bless those who bruise us, to pray where we would prefer to protest. Holy Spirit, soften our hearts, steady our hands, and strengthen our will to do as we would want done to us. Lord Jesus, speak clearly. We are listening. We are willing. We are Yours. In Your strong and gentle name we pray, amen.

Jesus unveils the great reversal of blessing and woe

Jesus names people the world often overlooks. He speaks to those with empty pockets and thin cupboards. He says the kingdom belongs to them. That is a present word. "Yours is the kingdom of God." This is not a wish. It is a gift given now.

He speaks to those who feel an ache in their stomach and in their soul. He promises they will be filled. The table of God is not scarce. It satisfies. There is a future feast, and they have a seat.

He speaks to those who cry. He does not rush them past tears. He promises laughter. Not forced smiles. Real joy that fits like morning after a long night.

He speaks to those who are pushed away because they love Him. He does not shrug at the pain of rejection. He calls for joy in that hard day. Why? Because heaven keeps the books. Because that path is the old path of the prophets. They walked it too. God saw them, and He sees you.

These blessings are not about mood. They are the Lord’s verdict. He says who is well off in His reign. He marks people the way a farmer marks rows he will water. He marks the poor, the hungry, the grieving, the rejected, and tells them His rain is coming.

The "woe" lines carry weight. They sound like a funeral. They are not a curse flung in anger. They are a warning said with grief. They tell the truth about comforts that feel like home but fade fast.

"Woe to you that are rich." That is not a budget note. It is a mirror. If wealth serves as a shield from God, it pays out all its wages now. There is no interest left for later. The account looks full and yet cannot buy life.

"Woe to you that are full." That speaks to a life that cannot imagine need. An appetite that never admits an empty place. Hunger will come. The stomach will growl in time. A soul without room for God will feel it most.

"Woe to you that laugh now." That is not a ban on joy. It is a word about easy laughs that float over pain. When deep things surface, grief will have its say. Tears will do honest work.

"Woe to you when all speak well of you." That applause comes with a story. The false prophets wore that crown. They told people what they wanted to hear. They gained praise and lost truth. Jesus is kind to warn us when praise grows loud and conscience grows quiet.

These warnings aim to wake us, not to shame us. They invite a trade: short comfort for lasting life. They call us to open hands. To welcome need as a doorway where God walks in. They teach us to measure good by God’s scale, not by the buzz in the room.

Then Jesus shows how this new scale works in real time. He names love that moves toward hard people. "Love your enemies." It is simple to read. It is hard to live. He means action, not just warm thoughts.

"Do good to them which hate you." Good is not vague. Good looks like help, time, and care. It looks like stopping to serve when every human rule says keep walking. It looks like meeting harm with steady hands.

"Bless them that curse you." Words carry weight, so Jesus gives us new words. When cursing lands on you, blessing leaves your mouth. Not fake talk. Words that ask God to give good to the one who wished you harm. That kind of speech breaks old cycles.

"Pray for them which despitefully use you." Prayer takes the sting and brings it to God. This is where the heart gets washed. This is where names that raise your blood pressure are carried into the throne room. You ask the Father to work in them and in you. Prayer keeps your heart from hardening.

"And unto him that smiteth thee on the one cheek offer also the other." This is not a call to stay in danger when you can leave. It is a call to refuse revenge. It is choosing a posture that says, "I will not mirror your strike." It trusts God to guard dignity and to judge well.

"And him that taketh away thy cloak forbid not to take thy coat also." Generosity looks wild here. It is hard to picture. The point is clear. Hold things with a loose grip. People matter more than stuff. Trust God to replenish what love releases.

"Give to every man that asketh of thee." That line is wide. It forces us to face our fear of running out. Wisdom still has a place. But a guarded life will never taste this grace. Jesus calls us into the freedom of open hands.

"And of him that taketh away thy goods ask them not again." The heart that knows God as provider can absorb loss. It does not keep a ledger with every slight. It looks up and says, "Father, You saw that." It keeps moving in love.

Then He lays down a simple rule that fits every street and season. "As ye would that men should do to you, do ye also to them likewise." He makes it personal. Think of how you want to be treated. Bring that same care to the next person you meet.

This rule gathers all the lines before it. It turns blessing into practice. It takes the hope of the kingdom and sets it on the sidewalk. It gives shape to love for the hard neighbor, the rival, the user, the stranger. It asks, "If I stood in their shoes, what would help?" Then it acts.

This rule guards the heart from pettiness. It loosens the grip of scorekeeping. It builds trust, one choice at a time. It shows the Father’s heart in ordinary moments. A coat shared. A cheek turned. A prayer spoken. A meal given. A word of blessing where a curse once lived.

This rule is not naive. It knows people can harm. It leaves room for wise limits and just laws. Yet it keeps mercy near. It keeps the door of goodwill open. It keeps hope alive that grace can change stories.

And with this rule, Jesus hands us a daily liturgy. In each place, ask the simple question. Then take the step that lines up with mercy, with justice, with peace. That is how a new world feels close, even on a Tuesday.

Saints are known by dependence on God not by status

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