Beatitudes without attitude

Blessed are the unassuming: for theirs is the kingdom of gratitude. 
Blessed are the rivers: for they shall carry away the burning boats of sorrow.
Blessed are the still waters: beside which we shall be led.
Blessed are the apostates of money and power: for theirs is the domain of freedom.
Blessed are the intake workers at homeless shelters: for theirs is the kingdom
          of mercy.
Blessed are they who profoundly ignore the fascination of the herd:
         for they shall escape hook, line and sinker.
Blessed are the wrens that dart about in blackberry bushes:
         theirs is the provenance of happiness.
Blessed are the eyes of sculptors and painters: for theirs is the realm of sight.
Blessed are the hands of potters: for they shall be called stewards
         of the second chance.
Blessed are those who topple the idols of mass culture: for they shall be called
         curators of light.
Blessed are the Great Grey owls: given to glide through parallel kingdoms.
Blessed are the gardeners: for they are the tilth of the earth.
   Blessed are they that hunger and thirst after righteousness: for they shall be filled.
      Blessed are they that linger, astonished at hibiscus: for they shall be refueled.
Blessed are the cigar rollers, brew masters and vintners: period.
Blessed are the prairie sloughs: where kingdoms of cattails await
         red-winged romances.
Blessed are the cardboard boxes: for they shall inherit mountains of memories.
Blessed are they who resist the K-Mart Caesar and all the little Neros: they shall
          sleep well at night.
Blessed are the power outages: for theirs is the reign of lit-candles
          with family and friends at kitchen tables.
Blessed are the bakers: that is obvious.
Blessed are the spiralling, hovering gulls: for theirs is the wisdom of wind.
Blessed is the waggle dance of bees: world of intelligence, truth and understanding.
Blessed is the eternal heretic: whose love yet reclines within us.
Blessed is the rising sun, the enduring earth, the forgiving seas:
         hear their groans of longsuffering grace.


  1. Oh lovely…I shall be saying them under my breath at church on Sunday (where we chant them in ever-changing Ukrainian , our hierarch struggling, I think, to get ever closer to the Greek).

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