To hear God is both an inspiration of birth and an emblem of death. Matthew speaks to his disciples in proficiency for the king—the man that we all serve—some call God. The poor, the mournful, and the meek may inherit the earth, but there is no kingdom for a man but what lies in his mind. Matthew’s words, an infectious disease that rewards salvation in the real for those that listen to his propositions. So cruel are the words of hope and purpose that places a man in line for prosecution for his master. Only those above god could cast shame on the reality that is man’s suffering for holiness, his search for sanctuary through pain, his battle with life for the desire of eternity, his quest for righteousness in a cursed world. We are all children of a god. Might I be a child of Matthew’s God, I pray for the belief that I am secular. I am a man. Does man mean nothing without the prospect of paradise for him by his father? I am nothing more than a product to aspire toward peace after death. The inconceivable yet sole salvation that gives any ounce of my being meaning greater than the earth I walk. Only malevolence could inspire a god to the machinations of a man’s life in service of rewards postmortem. The glory and prosperity of an earth filled with inherent meaning might be unattainable, even for a god, yet here, somehow man has discovered this. As a consequence, I believe that no man can survive a joyless life. A joyless man would not be more than the dirt from which he is conceived. Human spirit and pleasure must be intertwined, or else why seek reward even after death? Must the human soul be given purpose beyond itself? Like a speck of dust floating through ambiguous space, we have landed on the flower that is our material existence. The value of the air that carries us and the flower that supports our three-dimensional being must maintain significance to the creator. If we are the light to illuminate the divine wind that has granted us our floral domicile, I might become blind to the beauty of the flower and the comfort of a momentary escape from the eternal wind. The light and the wind dangers us to forget the material. The material festers imperfection, so this might be best. I cannot know. The material might be invisible to the magnificence of the light, but light gives rise to blindness, and blindness inflicts suffering—I would no doubt rather have eyes and lose them, however. I can close my eyes, but I cannot control the wind, so the question is, “What is given by the flower?” To Matthew, the wonder of life and all to which he has been presently given are eclipsed by God. To demand that the inherent foolishness of this ideology be so, I must pay recompense in hell. Dutiful to God, I may never be, for a hell lies in the acquisition of holy transcendence. Man is given trial with his body and mind to test his soul for righteousness. Instead, I will neither neglect the soul, the wind, the body, the material, nor the light, but I will encompass them all, to the best of my fortune, to empower more. This is not the duty of man that Matthew aspires for; exceeding our creator’s design might be a sinful act of hubris. This is the role of a god, which I do not pretend to assume, but this is the inherent power of humans that I must lie down and submit to life before I can become ignorant. I ask no other man to follow my lead because the ramification might be hot; however damned is life if life is no more than the wind, fire, and the sacrifice of present reality for divinity.
The salt of the earth must never be limited to any minority group unless the intention is catastrophe—again, an infection of Matthews. Many Mathews exist with their own special savor. There can be no way that there’s only one taste of salt. Exclusivity produces value indeed, but the salt of the earth is intrinsic to every body—invaluable regardless of taste.
Shallow is the righteousness of one man defined by the comparison of another. Righteousness must be independent of another if it is to ever have meaning on earth.
Anger, murder, and adversary can be abolished—I must agree with Matthew here. Agreeing in opposition to belief might be the harshest communication between two men. Respect and nobility shine brightly when the situation is appropriate, but only after some genuine investment. Is agreeing with another self-sacrifice of pride and ideology or selfish concealment of what others might learn to appreciate?
Murder and adversaries remain transparent in their sins. Divorce is a harsh reality in the modern world, yet adultery is pervasive and undeniable. But lust is an affliction that foremost diseases the mind, not the physical. He who has never lusted is not yet a man, for biology requires desires for propagation. Plucking out an eye might be the only solution, but I ask God to make amputation a last resort. Righteous or distraught is he who can perform self-surgery on that which is innately putride of himself. I respect this man for his commitment and sacrifice, but I fear becoming him for the loss of humanity in service of the divine, which still does not settle well in my heart.
Finally, can a perfect being, such as Matthew characterizes our Father to be, not see the fallacy of perfect expectations of man? I can love my enemy up to the extreme where the exhaustion kills me. I can give more than the pagans and strive for the prophetic of the God who asks for the sacrifice of the flower. Why can it not be that pleasure be righteous? Why must sacrifice be salvation? Personally, this is one of two realities: the existence of life, which is the consciousness of man, requires pain to exist, or the creator—Matthew’s God or any being that might contrive a universe such that is our own—is a magnificent artist and a sadistic force to which “Perfection” might be the title, but the antithesis writes the pages. What does perfection mean to you?