Matthew 5:1

Berean Standard Bible

When Jesus saw the crowds, He went up on the mountain and sat down. His disciples came to Him,

King James Bible

And seeing the multitudes, he went up into a mountain: and when he was set, his disciples came unto him:

----------------------------

Matthew 5:1 marks the beginning of one of the most profound and influential sections of the New Testament: the Sermon on the Mount. This single verse serves as a deliberate and theologically rich prelude, both situating the reader within the physical setting of the narrative and foreshadowing the weighty moral and spiritual teachings that are to follow. “And seeing the multitudes, he went up into a mountain: and when he was set, his disciples came unto him.” Though brief in wording, the verse is layered with implications that are geographical, pedagogical, and symbolic.

The phrase “seeing the multitudes” immediately places Jesus within the context of his growing popularity and ministry. The crowds following him are not merely incidental; they are drawn by his healing, his teachings, and his authority, which is beginning to distinguish him from other rabbis and religious leaders of his time. His awareness of the crowds suggests a deliberate decision in what follows. Rather than addressing them directly in the open, Jesus ascends a mountain. This movement away from the masses can be seen as a symbolic action, evoking the image of Moses ascending Mount Sinai to receive the Law. In this way, Jesus is not just retreating for solitude or teaching convenience; he is positioning himself within a narrative framework that resonates deeply with Jewish identity and history. The mountain becomes a place of divine encounter, a liminal space between heaven and earth where sacred truths are revealed.

The act of Jesus sitting before he begins to speak is also deeply meaningful. In the ancient world, and particularly in Jewish tradition, sitting was the posture of a teacher assuming a formal position of instruction. This is not casual conversation—it is authoritative teaching. The rabbis of Jesus' time would sit when offering legal interpretations or exegesis of Scripture, and the disciples, in turn, would stand or sit below to listen and learn. This seated position signifies that Jesus is not simply offering moral advice; he is delivering instruction with authority, akin to a judge or lawgiver. It is a posture that asserts his role not only as a teacher but as someone who has the right to define the path of righteousness.

The reference to “his disciples” coming to him is equally important. While the crowds are present and may hear what he says, the focus of the sermon is directed primarily at the disciples. These are the ones who have already shown some commitment to following him, and the teaching that follows is meant to shape their identity and vocation. The sermon will outline what it means to live as members of the Kingdom of Heaven—a community marked not by power or status, but by humility, mercy, righteousness, and love. The call to discipleship, then, is not a call to comfort or cultural conformity; it is a radical invitation to live according to a new ethic, one that often stands in stark contrast to societal norms.

Moreover, the movement from the crowd to the mountain, from general presence to intimate instruction, suggests an important theological dynamic: the kingdom message is offered freely, but its depth is reserved for those who are willing to draw near and be taught. This anticipates the later Gospel theme that while many may be called, fewer respond with the devotion and willingness necessary to understand and embody Jesus’ message. The setting underscores a tension that continues throughout the Gospels—the difference between being part of the crowd and being a true follower.

Even geographically, the mountain carries eschatological weight. Mountains throughout Scripture are often the sites of revelation, decision, and transformation. Think of Sinai with Moses, Carmel with Elijah, or Moriah with Abraham. By situating this transformative teaching on a mountain, the Gospel writer Matthew is subtly affirming Jesus as the new Moses, the bringer of a new covenant. Just as the first covenant came from a mountain, so now the new covenant begins in a similar place—on higher ground, set apart, offered by one who speaks not from hearsay or tradition, but from direct authority and communion with God.

This first verse, then, functions as more than a narrative transition; it is an overture to a new way of being. It invites readers to consider their place—among the curious crowd, or among the committed disciples. It presents Jesus not as a distant oracle but as an accessible teacher who calls people to him. And it frames the forthcoming words not as mere instruction, but as divine revelation intended to reshape the inner life and outward behavior of those who receive it. The simple act of ascending, sitting, and speaking is filled with echoes of prophetic tradition and divine intimacy. With Matthew 5:1, we are invited to climb that mountain ourselves—to draw near, to sit with reverence, and to prepare to be changed.

---------------------------

To the beloved in Christ, scattered across cities and nations, yet gathered in spirit under one Shepherd, grace and peace to you from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.

I write to you with a heart stirred by the Holy Scriptures, having meditated deeply upon the opening of that most blessed discourse of our Lord—the Sermon on the Mount. Matthew writes, “And seeing the multitudes, he went up into a mountain: and when he was set, his disciples came unto him.” Though these words are few, they are weighty with glory and beckon us upward. I would speak now to your hearts, as a fellow servant in the Lord, urging you to hear the Spirit’s voice in this quiet moment of Scripture.

Behold the Lord Jesus, who, seeing the multitudes, did not speak to entertain them or to rally them as men do for power. He did not flatter them with empty promises, nor did He chase popularity, though it was within His reach. Rather, He went up into a mountain—a place removed from the bustle, elevated above the noise, a space sanctified for communion with God. Herein lies a pattern for us, beloved: the way of the kingdom is not downward to comfort, but upward to consecration.

Christ ascends not only in body but in purpose. He withdraws not to escape the crowds, but to draw near to the Father, and in that nearness, to teach those who would be His own. This is the way of our Lord, who always did what He saw the Father doing. And those who would learn from Him—His disciples—came unto Him. They left the crowd behind and drew near. Here, then, is the great dividing line: not between sinner and saint, for all have sinned, but between the one who lingers among the multitude and the one who draws near to sit at the feet of the Master.

You who have ears to hear, consider the posture of the disciple. He did not demand a spectacle. He came not with arms folded in skepticism, nor with a heart full of conditions. He came hungry, ready, attentive. Jesus sat, and they sat with Him. In that shared stillness, the Word made flesh began to speak the words that would turn the world upside down. The disciple is not marked by proximity alone, but by humility and readiness to be shaped by Christ.

Are we not in great need of such a posture today? O Church, have we not become easily satisfied with hearing Christ from a distance, admiring His miracles yet avoiding His mountain? Do we not prefer the crowd’s safety to the solitude of true discipleship? Yet the call remains the same: “Come unto me.” Not to the multitude. Not to the marvel. But unto Him. And where is He found? On the mountain still, calling those willing to ascend—not by might, nor by merit, but by desire.

Let us not miss the quiet might of this verse. Jesus saw the multitudes. His eye missed none. And He sat. The Teacher, the Word, the Son of God, assumes the posture of a rabbi, yet speaks not as one quoting others, but as One whose words hold the authority of heaven. Even in His seated stillness, there is dominion. From that position He delivers a law not written on tablets of stone, but inscribed upon hearts by the Spirit.

Brethren, do you see that this ascent is not geographical alone? It is spiritual. It is the climb of the soul toward God. It is costly, for it demands the death of self. Yet it is joyful, for it leads to life. To ascend the mountain is to leave behind the world’s definitions of success and enter into the realm where the poor in spirit are blessed, where the meek inherit, where mercy reigns, and where purity sees God. Is it not the very contradiction of worldly wisdom? Yet here we find Christ, not merely telling us how to live, but showing us what life truly is.

Therefore, beloved, I urge you—do not settle for standing among the crowd. Draw near. Leave the multitude’s noise and distractions. Ascend the mountain of prayer, of holiness, of quiet obedience. You may not be applauded there. You may be misunderstood. But you will be in the presence of the One who speaks life.

Let this verse be to you a daily summons. When the world clamors for your attention, remember the mountain. When your heart grows weary, remember the Teacher seated and ready. When your soul hungers for truth, do not wander among many voices. Come to Him. He is still seated. He is still speaking.

May your life be lived ever in ascent—toward the heart of God, the mind of Christ, and the fullness of the Spirit. And may your ears be tuned to hear when He speaks, even in the stillness.

The grace of the Lord Jesus Christ be with your spirit always. Amen.

----------------------------

Most merciful and eternal Father, God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, Creator of all things visible and invisible, You who dwell in unapproachable light yet condescend to walk among the lowly, we lift our hearts to You in adoration and trembling awe. You have spoken in ages past through the prophets, but in these last days You have spoken to us by Your Son, the radiance of Your glory and the exact imprint of Your nature. Through Him You have revealed the secrets of the Kingdom, not to the proud, but to the poor in spirit, not to the mighty, but to the meek, not to the full, but to those who hunger and thirst after righteousness. And now, O Lord, as we come before You in prayer, we do so under the weight and wonder of Your Word, pierced and instructed by the vision of our Lord Jesus as He ascended the mountain and opened His mouth to teach.

For when He saw the crowds, He went up on a mountain—and there, not atop a throne but seated among His disciples, He delivered to the world not a declaration of conquest but of comfort, not edicts of empire but oracles of eternity. And so we come, Lord, to that mountain now—not with sandals on our feet, but with hearts that long to listen. We come not to observe as spectators, but to sit as disciples at the feet of the Living Word. Just as the multitude once gathered, dusty and desperate, so do we come—some with questions, some with wounds, some with sins too heavy for flesh to carry. But all of us come because He spoke. All of us come because He still speaks.

Lord, we thank You that when Jesus saw the crowds, He was not moved with irritation but with compassion. When He beheld the multitude of lost and wandering souls, He did not turn away or retreat, but He went up—not to escape, but to teach. He did not flee from need but ascended that He might lift up the lowly by the words of life. O God, make us like Him. May we not shrink from the sight of human suffering, but be drawn to it with holy love. May we not see the multitudes and judge them, but see them and teach, serve, embrace. Let our eyes be like His—eyes that do not avert themselves from pain, but that carry the message of Your Kingdom to every valley, plain, and crowded place.

We confess, Father, that we often look to hills of our own making. We ascend platforms to speak, not to bless. We seek visibility, not virtue. But Your Son climbed the mountain not for applause but for proclamation. He went higher that He might lower Himself among those who would listen. Forgive us for seeking height without humility. Forgive us for loving the crowd but not the Christ, for admiring the sermon but resisting the Spirit. O Lord, may our hearts be soft ground for the words of our Savior. May we be not hearers only, but doers—those who embody the Beatitudes, not merely recite them. May we become poor in spirit, mourning over sin, meek in our strength, hungry for righteousness, merciful in our judgments, pure in our affections, peacemakers in our dealings, and unshaken in our suffering.

O God, the mountain upon which Jesus sat is now etched into the soul of the Church. It is not merely a location in Galilee, but a call to come away from the noise of the world and listen to the voice of the Shepherd. Draw us there daily, Lord. Pull us out of the crowd not to isolate us, but to instruct us. Let us sit with Him again and again. For we are prone to wander into lesser voices, to trust in fleeting promises, to be swayed by temporary kingdoms. But He—Your Son, our Lord—is the true Teacher, the true King, and the true Interpreter of the Law written not on tablets of stone, but upon the tablets of our hearts.

Father, we pray not just for ourselves but for the crowds still wandering. Multitudes still roam in darkness. Many hunger for truth but do not know where to find it. Raise up those who, like Jesus, are willing to climb the mountain not for comfort but for calling. Raise up preachers, teachers, prophets, and peacemakers. Raise up disciples who will carry the words of the Sermon not merely in their mouths but in their lives. Let the Church be the city on a hill because it has sat at the feet of the One who taught on the mountain.

O Spirit of the Living God, grant us ears to hear what the Lord is saying. Let not our familiarity with the text rob it of its wonder. Let us marvel again that God spoke, and that when He spoke, He blessed. That He did not begin with wrath, but with the announcement of a Kingdom for the humble, the hurting, the hungry. Let this reorient our lives. Let this reframe our ambitions. Let this realign our hearts with the values of heaven.

We tremble at the simplicity and profundity of that moment—Jesus sitting, seeing, speaking. We tremble because He has not stopped. The Word who sat on the mountain now reigns in glory, and still He speaks to His people. And so we bow, not before a distant memory, but before the ever-present Christ. Our lives are Yours. Our ears are Yours. Our futures are Yours. Teach us again. Shape us anew. Lead us always up the mountain, not to stand above others, but to be seated at Your feet.

In the name of the One who saw the crowd, ascended the hill, and opened His mouth to speak—Jesus Christ, Son of the Most High God, our Redeemer, our Righteousness, and our Rest—we pray. Amen.