Page 8 of Preacher Man
A few heads tilted.They weren’t expecting this.
“Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.”
I paused, letting the silence settle over the room like a hush of wind.
“Blessed are the meek...”
I let the words wash over me.These weren’t just scripture, they were my mantra.A map.My anchor when everything else had cracked and broken.
The Beatitudes had saved me.Not from damnation, but from myself.From the version of Christianity I was taught.One built on fear, guilt, and control.
This was my Gospel.Mercy and grace.The trampled would be lifted up.The broken would be healed, and the quiet would be heard.
I glanced up from my notes, and my gaze flicked to the back pew.Jake remained motionless, his intense eyes fixed on me.
I took a breath and let the weight of the room settle around me.The ceiling fans whirred above us in slow, sleepy circles.A bead of sweat trailed down my spine beneath the collar of my shirt.Not from the heat, but from nerves.From saying what needed to be said in a place that didn’t want to hear it.
“The Beatitudes,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt, “aren’t just some soft-hearted poetry tacked onto the front of the Sermon on the Mount.They’re the cornerstone.They’re the very heart of Christ’s message.And it wasn’t about fear, or control, or casting people out.”
I looked around.A few people shifted in their seats.One woman gave a polite smile, but her eyes were suspicious.A man in the second pew adjusted his tie like it was suddenly too tight.
“It’s about compassion,” I went on.“Real gut-level compassion for your fellow man.For the stranger.For the broken, and for the people we’re told don’t belong.”
Whispers tickled at the back of the room.Soft but unmistakable.I wasn’t naïve.I’d heard them before.
“That preacher’s got a bleeding heart.”“He’s one of those Christians.”“All love, no backbone.”
I glanced up again and found Jake.
Still in the back pew.Still watching me.His elbow now rested on the bench, his knuckles pressed against his mouth like he was hiding a grin, or maybe just biting his tongue.Either way, he looked more alive than anyone else in the room.
“Love your neighbor as yourself,” I said.“That commandment doesn’t come with exceptions.It doesn’t say, ‘unless they’re different from you.’Or, ‘unless they make you uncomfortable.’”
A few murmurs now.And one audible throat was cleared somewhere to my left.
I pushed on.
“And ask yourself, always, what would Jesus do?Would Jesus hate someone or throw stones?Would he cross the street to avoid someone struggling, or someone lost?No.Jesus would sit beside them.Eat with them.He touched lepers when no one else would.Jesus protected adulterers when the crowd had already picked up their rocks.”
My fingers curled around the edge of the pulpit.
“Even in Deuteronomy, we’re told to welcome the foreigner into our land.To treat them with the same compassion we’d want for ourselves.Because we, too, were once strangers.Because grace doesn’t stop at city limits.”
Another throat cleared, this time from Brother Fred.I didn’t look at him.
Jake tilted his head slightly.I could almost feel the smirk tugging at his lips.Not mocking.More like...impressed?Curious?Proud?It rattled me.
I looked back at the congregation.
Some faces were blank.Others, uneasy.One or two looked downright annoyed.But I saw a glimmer in a few sets of eyes.Young eyes, mostly.Maybe they weren’t used to hearing this kind of Gospel.
I stepped back from the pulpit, heart pounding harder than it should’ve been.
“Let us pray,” I said, folding my hands.“Our Father, who art in heaven…”
Voices joined mine.Some were confident, some were flat, and some were barely above a whisper.
“…Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven…”
