Introduction

Every year, I challenge myself to learn something completely new. Not a casual hobby, but an intentional, reflective, deep dive—the kind that changes how you see things.

Early on, these adventures were physical. I trained for and ran my first marathon, learned to scuba dive, picked up windsurfing, skied five countries in Europe. Later, they became more complex: a complete house remodel (which also taught me about patience), a deep dive into Buddhism that took me to Bhutan, writing and publishing a book, even learning to grow cannabis legally and well.

In 2015, my project was exploring the history of the Bible itself—not as devotional study, but as historical inquiry. The politics surrounding which texts would be included in the canon turned out to be stories of power and intrigue that would make for an excellent Netflix series. The compounding translation issues across languages and centuries revealed how much interpretation shapes what we think we're reading. It was fascinating and humbling to discover how much human decision-making went into what many consider divine revelation.

This year's project combines two interests: the Beatitudes from Matthew 5, and artificial intelligence as a research tool. It's been fascinating to see how AI can augment human curiosity without replacing the essential work of thinking and meaning-making.

Questions That Won't Go Away

As I settle into early retirement, I keep returning to the same questions: What does it mean to live well when you're no longer climbing career ladders? How do you maintain integrity and purpose outside organizational structures? What kind of person do I want to become when nobody's watching my performance metrics?

These questions led me back to a passage I've always found very compelling but never deeply explored: the Beatitudes. Eight short statements Jesus made at the beginning of his most famous sermon. Simple words that have somehow shaped Western civilization's understanding of virtue.

Blessed are the poor in spirit...
Blessed are those who mourn...
Blessed are the meek...

I'm curious: What if these aren't just religious platitudes but practical wisdom about human flourishing? What if they offer insights not just for personal meaning but for how we lead and live together?

Why This Matters Now

Though I was raised in and remain predominantly within the Christian faith—something deeply influential in my daily life though I generally keep it very private—I've become increasingly troubled by how Christian principles (and those of many other religious traditions) are being coopted for power, political and otherwise. In today's chaotic world, the very teachings that should call us toward humility, mercy, and justice are often twisted to justify their opposites.

For me, the Beatitudes have always represented the foundation of what living as a Christian really means. Not the culture war version or the prosperity gospel distortion, but the radical, challenging, transformative vision of human flourishing that Jesus outlined on that hillside. But I wondered: Are these insights uniquely Christian, or do they point toward something universal about how humans thrive together?

For this exploration, I've deliberately strived to be tradition-neutral, approaching these teachings not as religious doctrine but as wisdom that might belong to all of us, even as they find particular expression in Christian scripture.

What I'm Really Wondering About

My career has revolved around leadership, specifically servant leadership, and the more I've studied and practiced it over the years, the more I notice how its core principles echo these ancient teachings. Leaders who listen more than they speak. Who build others up rather than themselves. Who find strength in acknowledging their limitations. Who lead through influence rather than authority.

But I'm also curious about something broader: How do these insights appear in other wisdom traditions? Buddhism certainly talks about ego and compassion. Islam emphasizes mercy and humility. Hinduism teaches about surrendering false pride. Indigenous traditions honor community over individual achievement.

Are the Beatitudes uniquely Christian, or do they articulate something universal about how humans flourish together? And if there are parallels across traditions, what might that tell us about our shared humanity?

An Unexpected Discovery

What I didn't expect was how often these core teachings feel forgotten—not just within Christianity, but across religious traditions. We seem drawn to the prescriptive rules that can be easily politicized or conveniently ignored when they conflict with power or personal advantage. Meanwhile, the deeper teachings about compassion, humility, and service—the ones that actually transform how we treat each other—get pushed aside.

Christians quote the Ten Commandments more than the Beatitudes. Muslims debate law more than mercy. Buddhists can get caught up in doctrine while missing compassion. It's as if every tradition risks losing its own heart in favor of easier, more controllable external markers.

Meanwhile, our culture seems hungry for exactly what these teachings offer: authentic leadership, genuine community, ways of engaging conflict that don't destroy relationships, models of strength that don't require dominating others.

What I've Learned (And Am Sharing)

This BeatitudesPath website is the collection of what I've discovered—one Beatitude at a time. There's no commercial intent here, just a desire to share what I've learned and perhaps learn even more through dialogue with others. I'll continue researching and exploring these themes, so I encourage you to subscribe if you'd like to receive updates when I add something new.

Each exploration includes:

• What the original languages actually convey (the English translations sometimes miss important nuances)
• The Jewish wisdom tradition that shaped these teachings
• How similar insights appear across world traditions—with honest attention to both parallels and differences
• What this might mean for leadership, relationships, and simply getting through our days with integrity

This isn't devotional writing, though you might find it meaningful. It's not academic theology, though it draws on serious scholarship. Think of it as one person's honest exploration of wisdom that might belong to all of us.

A Different Kind of Learning

I'm approaching this the same way I've tackled previous projects: read widely, find good teachers, try things out, share what seems useful. But I'm also aware that these aren't just intellectual puzzles to solve. They're invitations to a way of being that challenges pretty much everything our culture teaches about success and influence.

The Beatitudes suggest that strength comes through acknowledging weakness, that leadership emerges from service, that security grows from letting go of control. They point toward a kind of radical humility that looks like weakness but might actually be wisdom.

While my focus is primarily on personal transformation and moral living, my background in servant leadership does surface occasionally in brief reflections on how these teachings might inform how we lead and influence others. But the heart of this exploration is about becoming more fully human—individually and in community.

An Invitation to Wonder

Whether you're wrestling with retirement transitions, leadership questions, or simply wondering if there might be better ways to be human together, I think you'll find something worthwhile in this exploration.

This isn't about converting anyone to anything. It's about wondering together: What if these ancient observations are true? What if there really are patterns to human flourishing that transcend religious boundaries? What if the wisdom we need for our fractured world has been hiding in plain sight, waiting for us to rediscover it beneath the layers of institutional interpretation and political manipulation?

Come along if you're curious. Come along if you're skeptical. The Beatitudes have been quietly shaping lives for two thousand years. Maybe there's something here worth rediscovering.

Kevin Meyer - Morro Bay, California USA