The Sermon on the Mount in St Matthew’s Gospel has acquired special status, with its opening section, the Beatitudes, ringing out like a bell, tolling: “Blessed are the poor in spirit, Blessed are those who mourn, Blessed are the meek.” Some people even see it as Christianity in a nutshell. But nothing is so simple.

When we turn to St Luke’s Gospel, we find a similar, but much starker message. There are the blessings, but also warnings of disaster. While “the poor in spirit” are simply “the poor”, the rich are warned that they are having their consolation now. Those who are hungry at present are praised as blessed and promised food in the future, while those who have food are warned that hunger is on its way. Those who at the moment are weeping will find their tears turned to laughter, but those who are now rejoicing will mourn. And those held in contempt will be rewarded later, while those who are esteemed will come to be despised.

What can that mean? How can poverty, hunger, grief and contempt be blessings? And how can wealth, comfort, pleasure and a good name be suspect? Destitution, famine, tragedy and contempt are evils we need to eradicate, not extol, while prosperity, security, joy and respect are benefits that we ought to safeguard. I have sharpened the contrasts deliberately to sharpen the focus, but I have not falsified them. The gospel message here seems to be taking a perverse delight in being particularly contrary.

Can we make any sense of it? One approach may be to recognise that it is less a matter of eulogising poverty, hunger, grief and contempt or condemning prosperity, security, joy and respect for others, and more a way of alerting us to the fact that, when we experience these things, they are not always what they seem. Misery and hardship are not good in themselves, yet still may inspire noble self-sacrifice; and wealth, comfort, pleasure and celebrity, however excellent, if pursued as goals at any price, may well deceive us. We have to be able to assess our circumstances and way of life. And how might we make that assessment?

Analogies are never to be pressed too far, but I have been wondering recently about Kim Peek, who died in December. He was a remarkable man, a savant, the inspiration for the film Rain Man. A page that others might read in three minutes, he read in eight seconds. More than that, when reading an open book, one eye read the left-hand page, while the other read the right-hand. And even more, what he read, he remembered. He is thought to have read and remembered 12,000 books in his life. When questioned, he would answer correctly almost without hesitation.

At first, such a wealth of information may seem a wonderful gift and advantage. But in a way he was also smothered by information.

This capability he had was made possible because apparently he lacked a corpus callosum between the two hemispheres of his brain. The corpus callosum filters the information we receive. Kim Peek could absorb information quite remarkably, but could not filter it.

I repeat, analogies are never perfect. But it occurs to me that for our spiritual and moral lives to be healthy, we too need a filter. There is more to spirituality and morality than action, what we do or fail to do. We need a perspective. When we act, we need a filter that purifies and guides our motives and keeps us sensitive to our circumstances as a whole.

When we behave badly, when we sin, we may do so because the filter has been damaged or destroyed. From one point of view, the Lenten season that begins next Wednesday is a time for renewing it.

How? In Luke’s Gospel, after the blessings and warnings, Jesus immediately makes other contrasts. He commands us to love our enemies, do good to those who hate us, bless those who curse us, pray for those who abuse us. This kind of behaviour, this disposition, is not instinctive for us, but it would act like a filter.

The prayer, penance and generosity of the Lenten season help us to make sure that this blessed filter is properly in place.

Monsignor Roderick Strange is the Rector of the Pontifical Beda College, Rome