Beatitudes of Hope - Hunger and Thirst for Righteousness

“Blessed are they who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they shall be satisfied.” (Matthew 5:6) Jesus isn’t talking about me needing a sip or a snack here. Challenging me, along with those he has spoken to through the ages, Jesus blesses those who long for righteousness, who desire to be drawn to justice with every part of our being.

Long before I knew what righteousness was, I felt a hunger for justice in my core since childhood. Even then, I was aware of people on the edges, those who sat alone or were made fun of. I was consciously aware of the “not cool” kids, the ones who struggled to learn or play, and the ones quickly judged to be not good enough.

I’m an introvert, always seeming to stand a little apart from others, taking in the scene. It is easier for me to see the field when I am on the edges. Blessed with this wider view, I have always noticed patterns, interactions of all sorts and outliers. I tend to see injustice and danger before others do. Noticing loneliness, fear, confusion, sadness in their physical manifestations is a difficult gift, so is the hunger to make it right. When you are hungry and thirsty for righteousness, you must take action to relieve it. I’ve come to understand that hunger and thirst as the Spirit prompting me to help others. Sticking my neck out for righteousness is something I would rather avoid, yet it is often where I have found myself. What is a shy person to do?

Hunger and thirst for righteousness, Mare, and you will be satisfied. He promised. It was a lesson I learned young.

There was a shy boy in my kindergarten class who I came to know on the playground swings. You can be alone and together on swings. We would chat a bit and then just swing. Bruce and I became friends. Over that year, I grew confused and concerned as I noticed that he was having trouble holding things. Sometimes his leg didn’t work right , he lost his balance, and then had trouble getting up. He never said anything. He just did his best. Somehow I knew that was important to him. He knew I was there, eye contact held us close. Our classmates watched, sometimes laughing. I had trouble naming the strong emotions I felt inside, until I spoke to my mother. She listened and said that sometimes people’s bodies don’t work as well as they want them to. My heart hurt for my friend.

I intuitively knew that I couldn’t “fix” him and had an unspoken worry that no one could. I was determined to help him, quietly, as introverts do. I remember asking my teacher if I could change my seat to be next to him, and she gave me that softened, knowing look with her eyes as she said yes.

Bruce and I were on the swings one day toward the end of that school year and three “big” boys came over - were they 1st or maybe 2nd grade? I felt an instant stab of fear as we slowly kept swinging. Bruce seemed happy to say hi to them. He liked people and always greeted them in his open yet shy way. It was clear they didn’t want to play and instead began making fun of him. One of them roughly pushed Bruce on the swing. Their voices grew loud and mean. I remember yelling, “Stop it!” Bruce looked frightened and all my senses were heightened. I yelled again. He pushed Bruce higher than he could manage, and he fell off the swing into the dirt. The boys began to laugh while Bruce began to cry. They looked like they were going to start kicking him.

My life changed forever in that moment. I remember calling for help and realizing there was no help coming. It was all up to me. Still yelling, I pushed the big boys away to distract them from my friend. I remember them running away, crying. I saw that my dress was ripped and bloody as I helped Bruce up. The next thing I remember was my teacher consoling me back in the classroom. She had talked to my mother and said it would be ok for me to go home. She washed the blood from my face and arm, and I told her I was going to get in a lot of trouble. My dress was ripped.

The walk home was endless. I was frightened about getting in trouble, sore from punches I didn’t remember receiving. I was so tired and sad.

My mother was waiting at the door. She held the door open and gently smiled. We sat and talked about what happened over a dish of vanilla ice cream. She told me that I had beaten up three 3rd grade boys. She spoke about bullies and what they do and why people are afraid of them and freeze. “Mare, you protected Bruce from them. It was the right thing to do. Bullies only have as much power as we give them.”

The Jubilee Year of Hope opened with these inspiring words from Pope Francis: “Christian hope is not a cinematic ‘happy ending’ for which we passively wait, but rather, a promise, the Lord’s promise, to be welcomed here and now in our world of suffering and sighs. It is a summons not to tarry, to be kept back by our old habits, or to wallow in mediocrity or laziness. Hope calls us - as St. Augustine would say - to be upset with things that are wrong and to find the courage to change them. Hope calls us to become pilgrims in search of truth, dreamers who never tire, women and men open to being challenged by God’s dream, which is of a new world where peace and justice reign.”

I am often tired as I live out this Beatitude, feeling powerless and afraid. There are bullies on the playground of life, even as adults, in each of our lives today. I didn’t know about praying for help back then, but I’ve grown to trust that strength and courage come when I need them. Jesus promised and he keeps his promises. This gives me hope.

Pope Francis inspires me. As I write, he has been in the hospital for days with pneumonia and his condition is critical. I imagine that every breath is a struggle and yet, he still wants to work.

Pope Francis has told us that all of us have received the gift and task of bringing hope. This Lent, please join me to notice where hope has been lost, where lives are broken. Where have promises been unkept, dreams shattered or hearts overwhelmed by adversity? Our call is “to bring hope to the weary who have no strength to carry on, to the lonely oppressed by the bitterness of failure, and to all those who are brokenhearted.” We often have no ability to fix anything. Our presence, our willingness to be with others in their pain holds space for a nest of compassion and hope to grow with God’s grace. Jesus promised and he keeps his promises.

Going Deeper:

• Please pray for Pope Francis.

• If this is the call that you are hearing, can you remember when you first heard it? What moved you to act? How did it affect you then…now? How do you live this call to hunger and thirst for righteousness?

• Jesus promises that we will be satisfied. What does that grace feel like, look like for you? It is the fruit of our hope. How does it sustain you?

Photo by: Aaron Burden on Unsplash

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Mary Ann Gessner

Mary Ann Gessner has worked with all generations as an art teacher, in Nursing Homes as Recreation Director, Social Services and Admissions Director and Administrator. She was the Director of Admission with a focus on international student recruitment for St. Johnsbury Academy and holds a BA in Studio Art and Art Education from the University of Bridgeport, CT and a M.S.A. from St. Michael’s College in VT. Since retiring in 2015, Mary Ann enjoyed the gift of time to nest, quilt, and cook. This gift of time became more intentional and led to Ignatian Spirituality via the Inner Chapel and Becky’s Overwhelmed No More retreat and the 19th Annotation of the Spiritual Exercises. Mary Ann is an Ignatian trained spiritual director in private practice, a CPE trained Interfaith Chaplain and is applying her love of storytelling as a writer. Her two sons have moved gracefully into their adult lives with their families. Mary Ann and her husband still live in the log home they built almost 50 years ago in the woods of Sheffield, Vermont.