The Blessed Ones

A Ghana story concerning Matthew 5:3-12. I was traveling to Burkina Faso with two other Peace Corps volunteers. I think it was my second time making the pilgrimage to the well-stocked markets of Ouagadougou, mostly to keep from starving to death on the limited provisions available at my site.  We left on a Monday morning and arrived late that afternoon at the village of Paga, right on the border. To our disappointment, the border was closed and wouldn’t open until the next morning.

There were no accommodations for rent.  It was a rural village with no electricity except for the border guards’ station, which ran on its own generator. Surrounding it was a mud-hut village that looked like a photograph from National Geographic magazine. Beautiful in its way, but not exactly set up for overnight guests.

It was starting to get dark and there was no way we’d make it back to Tamale. So we decided we’d spend the night under a baobab tree. There was a small market in town, empty except for a covered kiosk where pito, fermented drink made from millet, was made and sold. So we sat down and started to drink and talk about home. Eventually, we started to complain a little about how we were going to suffer that night out under the tree with the mosquitoes and whatever else might find us.

Then a man in ragged but clean clothes came up to us. He asked if we had a place to stay. “Yep”, I said, as I pointed to the baobab tree. He smiled and shook his head and he invited us into his home.  

He and his family had very little.  Many Ghanaian living rooms had a cabinet with glass doors.  In it they placed things the family considered valuable, on display for visitors to see.  Wealthier families filled it with cans of condensed milk, sugar, coffee, whiskey and cigarettes, all things that were very expensive at the time.  Theirs was empty.

Despite this, his wife and daughters fed us a meal of hot porridge and okra. They prepared beds for us, which were straw mats laid on the hardened dung floor. Then they entertained us with songs and dancing. It was like walking into someone’s living room and being treated like family you’d never met. These people took in three perfect strangers, fed them, entertained them, and never asked for anything in return. When I offered to pay or give them some money, they refused. The next morning we went on our way and finished our odyssey to Ouagadougou.

I wasn’t a Christian at the time. That came later. But now, when I read the Beatitudes and think about that night in Paga, I find myself asking a hard question. Would I ever do that?

If a stranger wandered into our subdivision and had nowhere to sleep, would I have mercy on them? Would I invite them into my home, feed them, and sit with them for the evening? And expect nothing in return?  Would any of us?

Most of us would say no. And we’d have our reasons. The world’s too dangerous. They might rob us in our sleep. They might hurt us or our families. If they’re homeless, we’d say we’re just enabling their behavior. We’d find some rationalization that makes us feel responsible instead of cold. And to be fair, those concerns have merit. The world can be dangerous.

But that family in Paga lived in a world that was dangerous too. They had far less than we have. They had no security system, no locks on the door, no insurance policy, no 911 to call. They had a mud hut and a generous heart. And that was enough for them to act.

Their generosity wasn’t reckless. It was like a reflex, the kind of thing you do because it’s simply who you are. They saw people in need and responded. They showed us great hospitality.  They show us great mercy.

The Beatitudes aren’t commands. Jesus didn’t stand on that hillside and give us a to-do list. He described the kinds of people God blesses. And the people he described weren’t the ones you’d expect. They weren’t the rich and powerful, or the popular. They were the ones who cared deeply about what was wrong in the world, who treated others with kindness even when it cost them something.

Jesus was saying that the world has it backwards. The people everyone overlooks, the ones who seem like they’re falling behind, they’re the very ones God is building his Kingdom with.

That man and his family in Paga didn’t know they were living out the Beatitudes. They’d probably never heard of them. But as I read through the list now, I see them in it. They were poor in spirit, not puffed up with self-importance. They were merciful and pure in heart, acting without any hidden motive. They created a safe place for strangers in the dark.

Here’s what I believe. The Beatitudes aren’t a checklist. They’re a mirror. When you read through them, you either see yourself somewhere in the list or you don’t. And if you don’t, that’s worth praying about.

Reflection Questions

• When was the last time you helped a stranger without expecting anything in return? What motivated you, and what held you back?

• The man in Paga had very little but gave generously. Do you find that having more makes you more generous or less? Why do you think that is?

• Jesus described the blessed as people who know they need help. Is it hard for you to admit when you need help, from others or from God? What makes that difficult?

• Read through the eight Beatitudes in Matthew 5:3–12. Which one do you most identify with right now in your life? Which one feels the most distant from where you are?

• We often rationalize why we can’t help others. What are the rationalizations you find yourself reaching for most often? Do they hold up when you’re honest with yourself?

• The Beatitudes describe people who have let go of self-sufficiency. What would it look like for you to let go of one area where you’re trying to handle everything on your own?

• If the Beatitudes are a mirror, what do you see when you look into it? What is one thing you could do this week that would bring your reflection a little closer to the picture Jesus painted?

Prayer

Lord, we confess that we don’t always look like the people you described on that hillside. We hold on too tightly to what we have. We protect ourselves when you’re asking us to be open. We talk ourselves out of kindness because the risk feels too great.

Teach us to be poor in spirit, to come to you without pretending we have it all together. Make us merciful, not because it’s easy, but because you’ve been merciful to us. Give us the courage to hunger for what’s right even when the world tells us to settle for what’s comfortable.

Help us see the man in Paga not as an exception but as an example. Remind us that generosity doesn’t require wealth, that kindness doesn’t require safety, and that your Kingdom is built by people who’ve simply made room for you.

We ask this in the name of Jesus, who saw the overlooked and called them blessed.

In Jesus' name, Amen.