Life Under Authority

Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth. The disciples would have heard the tune to the psalm Becky read this morning as soon as Jesus said the words. “In a little while, the wicked will be no more, you may look all around his place, but he will not be there. And the meek shall possess the land, and delight themselves in abundant property…Just you wait, keep to the way of righteousness, and you shall be exalted.” They and their parents and their grandparents, generation after generation, had sung this song when they were discouraged by the injustices that seemed to dominate the world.

And now Jesus, having traveled and seen, reiterates the promise, “Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.”

What comes to mind when you think of someone who is meek? Someone easily run-over? Who is not too bright, a doormat of a person who never has an opinion or a dignity? Someone who is wimpy, mousy, submissive, spineless, frumpy, little, pitiful?

Meek is none of those things. Meek is the English translation of the Greek word “praus” (prah-oos). The Greek word “praus” (prah-oos) was used to define a horse trained for battle. Not every horse was a meek horse. Wild stallions were brought down from the mountains and broken for riding; the best were trained for warfare. They retained their fierce spirit, their courage and power, but they were disciplined to respond to the slightest nudge or pressure of the rider’s leg. They would gallop into battle at 35 miles per hour. They didn’t spook or turn back or get out of control in battle. And they would come to a sliding stop at a word from their rider. Power under control, life under authority – that is meek.

I watched a video this week titled “Breaking a Horse in Three Days” that has been for me like a parable. There is a 10 year old pony, clearly wild – he bucks and refuses to be caught. He strains against the lead and refuses to follow. The owner is fed up saying things like, “We don’t have time for him. We can’t even catch him. He won’t let us near him. You may as well take him, but good luck getting him on a trailer. I’m really worried about you. He’s not safe. I don’t want you to get seriously injured. He’s not worth it.”

But she sees the power in him. She sees the will beyond his muscles and stature. “You just had to learn to trust me,” she says, “I took you home anyway. And every horse is worth it.” Slowly, gently, he learns to trust her through repetition and relationship. Over and over again, pulling the lead and guiding him with her arm, then she introduces an exercise ball, bouncing it in front of him, beside him, rolling it and following it with him, finally, she rolls it onto his back. Each step of meeking, slowly, methodically, built on a relationship of trust. In the end, he is saddled and she is riding. The previous owner comments, “I seriously never thought you’d be able to do it. You actually did it…I still can’t believe it! He’s so quiet now, like he actually trusts you. He’s such a different horse. It’s amazing.” Her response? “I never changed you. This is who you have always been. I’ve just been able to teach you how to show everybody the real you.”

Blessed are the meek. Blessed are those who come into relationship with God. Blessed are those who are trained by repetition, over and over again, studying God’s Word, spending time with God. Blessed are those who trust enough to allow God to guide them, who feel the weight of God’s authority on them and do not rebel.

Nikolai Kozak realized that his father was not the man he thought he was. His father, Roberto Kozak was born in Argentinia to Ukrainian parents. The couple and their 12 children lived on the outskirts of Buenos Aires, where his father could only find odd jobs and money was tight. But Roberto got a job in a bookshop, where the owner encouraged his avid reading, and made his way through school to become a civil engineer. Then one day in 1968, he spotted a newspaper advertisement for a vacancy at the Argentinian office of the Intergovernmental Committee for European Migration (ICEM). The ICEM was set up in 1951 to help people displaced by the second world war. When he was hired, its scope was limited, but today, the International Organization for Migration, as the body is now known, has 165 nation-members and operates under the umbrella of the United Nations.

Roberto spent 2 years working for the ICEM in Argentina, then trained for an international role and spent 2 years in Geneva working on migration programs for Latin America, and in 1972 he accepted a transfer to Chile. A year later, in September 1973, in a military coup, Chile’s government became a dictatorship under General Augusto Pinochet. Immediately, the military and secret police began commandeering farmhouses, private homes and even the national football stadium for use as detention centers. Death squads made up of heavily armed combat troops travelled throughout northern Chile, rounding up villagers. Over the next 5 years, about 80,000 people were detained, of whom an estimated 30,000 were tortured and approximately 3,500 killed.

Roberto Kozak began living a double life. He had worked his way into the inner circles of the Pinochet regime, courting senior military figures, politicians, officials and members of the secret police. Deploying a combination of diplomatic charm, patience and crates of imported whisky, he set about painstakingly negotiating the release of detainees. Roberto brokered his deals in batches, sometimes scores or hundreds of prisoners at a time, sometimes just one or two.

Once a detainee had been released, he then had to organize their travel to safe havens abroad by persuading foreign embassies to grant them a visa. The first stage in this process sometimes involved him picking up the released prisoner from outside the detention center, to prevent them from being instantly recaptured or “disappeared”. Then he would shelter them in his office or home while he tried to secure their escape from Chile. Throughout the dictatorship, which lasted until 1990, Kozak led a double life. One of his staff said, “While Roberto was having a party for the military officials in his house, there would be refugees and political prisoners hiding in the attic. He was always playing with fire.” Over the years, Roberto helped between 25-35 thousand Chilean political prisoners escape from captivity and find safe haven abroad.

In 2010, his son, Nikolai, realized his father was not the man he thought he was. They were at the open of Chile’s human rights museum in Santiago, Chile.

As the ceremony unfolded in a packed plaza, Nikolai noticed his dad staring back at a figure who was looking at him from across the square. It was a shared look of astonishment. The two men slid through the crowd and, without a word, embraced. Both began to cry. For Nikolai, it was startling to see his father so emotional. Even more surprising was what the man said: “Your father saved my life.”

The last conversation Roberto and his wife had was in September 2015 in a taxi on their way to the cancer treatment center in Argentina. As they listened to radio news of the refugee crisis in the Mediterranean, which had been building that summer, he told her: “If I was young, I would be there.” Fifteen minutes later, he was dead.

Blessed are the meek. Blessed are those who live under the authority of God, who trust enough to allow God to guide them, who feel the weight of God’s authority on them and do not rebel. Blessed are those about whom God says, “This is who you have always been. I’ve just been able to teach you how to show everybody the real you.” Amen. (http://www.irishtimes.com/news/world/latin-america-s-schindler-a-forgotten-hero-of-the-20th-century-1.2910283)

Benediction
The crying needs of the world are much too big for us. When we are honest, we know that the crying needs of our nation are much too big for us. But they are not too big for God, and we are invited to reach out and allow God to take our hand and to teach us to show everybody who we have always been – meek creatures living under the authority of a loving God.