Sermon Recording:

“Then Jesus told them a parable about their need to pray always and not to lose heart.”

By now you know me well enough to know that I believe in reading around the lectionary text when preparing a sermon, and today is no exception. The verses prior to today’s passage are really important for establishing the context of Luke’s story, otherwise its impact is diluted.

So, let’s set the scene. Imagine spending a day with Jesus, walking along a dusty road as he teaches his disciples: He says, “The kingdom of God is not coming with things that can be observed, nor will they say, ‘Look, here it is!’ or ‘There it is!’ For, in fact, the kingdom of God is among you.” He continues, talking about final judgment and the coming of the Son of Man, who must endure suffering and rejection. When the Son of Man is revealed, Jesus says, on that day, “…anyone on the housetop who has belongings in the house must not come down to take them away, and likewise anyone in the field must not turn back… I tell you, on that night there will be two in one bed; one will be taken and the other left. There will be two women grinding meal together; one will be taken and the other left.” Then they asked him, “Where, Lord?” He said to them, “Where the corpse is, there the eagles will gather.”

Great, Jesus. Glad we had this little talk.

And this—at the point where this challenging teaching has shaken the disciples—this is where Jesus offers something to help strengthen their resolve and sense of hope. It is where today’s Gospel passage begins: 

“Then Jesus told them a parable about their need to pray always and not to lose heart.”

This isn’t the only place in the Gospels that Jesus talks about prayer. In Matthew and Luke he teaches what has come to be known as The Lord’s Prayer. He teaches us to pray for our enemies. In Matthew, he teaches to pray in secret, “so that the God who sees in secret will reward you.” But this instruction, to pray always and not lose heart, is different; the parable that follows is a lesson that connects prayer deeply and inextricably with justice and the work that is ours to do in the unfolding of the Dream of God.

“In a certain city there was a judge…”

In Hebrew scriptures and Jewish tradition there is an expectation of the role of a judge as one who rules impartially, always and only on the side of justice. There is no room for a judge who neither fears God nor respects the people; for whom personal self-interest is the chief motivation. Yet here he is, in his position of civic responsibility, holding the fate of a widow in his hands. 

Again we look at Hebrew scripture and Jewish tradition that tell us that widows were included in the list of the marginalized, alongside orphans and strangers; those who are vulnerable, voiceless, and invisible. Luke doesn’t tell us the nature of the widow’s complaint. Has she been falsely accused of a crime? Scammed out of her savings? Evicted from her home? Regardless, she seeks relief. Justice.

And the judge–the system, the powers and principalities–doesn’t care.

But here’s the thing. Say what you want about widows being vulnerable, voiceless, and invisible, Jesus shows us something we don’t expect:

No one told her she was powerless.

She just got busy. She presented herself to the judge, again, and again, and again. Whether it was her turn or not. She may have shown up at his house. She may have approached him on the street in full view of the community, making him deny her claim in the full presence of all of his neighbors. Again, and again, and again. 

No one told her she had no power.

So she used it. Through her feet, her voice, her constant showing up. Her persistence, her perseverance, her stubbornness.

Until the judge could take it no more.

“…because this widow keeps bothering me, I will grant her justice, so that she may not wear me out by continually coming.”

(A closer translation than “so that she may not wear me out” is “so that she may not give me a black eye.” He was more nervous about–literally—saving face than he was about justice.)

It should go without saying–but Jesus says it anyway—that God is not like the judge; that God is not one who simply caves after constant haranguing, that God does hear the cries of the oppressed, and that God will grant justice for God’s children. Though we will continue to wrestle with the difference between how we and God define “quickly”; that must be for another day. The most important question here is, what does this parable teach us about prayer, especially in these days? Certainly it tells us to pray always and not to lose heart, as Luke says at the beginning. But there is more to it. 

This parable isn’t just about prayer as something we do in itself. It’s about prayer and justice in relationship with one another. So we’re not just talking about praying to God for something we want. We are praying with God for something God yearns for as part of God’s Dream for Creation. Public theologian Francisco Garcia writes that this relational kind of prayer seeks communion with God; not a vision of God, but as a way of “borrowing the eyes of God”, which, as he says, “…allows us to pray with our eyes wide open as opposed to our eyes closed, being fully present to the many injustices that people face daily, much like the widow…It allows us to engage in prayers of solidarity…like when Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel said, ‘I felt my legs were praying’… in the historic 1965 civil rights march from Selma to Montgomery. Prayer itself can literally embody action.”

Pray always, and do not lose heart.

It’s hard not to lose heart. The writer to Timothy was prescient when he wrote, “For the time is coming when people will not put up with sound doctrine, but having itching ears, they will accumulate for themselves teachers to suit their own desires, and will turn away from listening to the truth and wander away to myths.” Divisions are deep. Cruelty, callousness, and greed, once shamed as societal vices, are characteristic of the system and the powers-that be, while Gospel virtues of compassion, fairness, and justice for all of God’s children are dismissed, demeaned, and censored. We are in a hard time; there’s no whitewashing it with platitudes. There is only the example of a woman who wouldn’t take no for an answer. She just kept going. Praying with her feet. Again, and again, and again. 

No one told her she was powerless.

She is a triptych of images for us. She is an image of persistence and perseverance for those who are on the verge of despair, much like Luke’s first-century audience, oppressed by empire and persecuted for their faith. She is an icon of all who suffer injustice, so that those with eyes to see, borrowing the eyes of God, may persevere, persist, and resist in solidarity with them. And she is, in her doggedness and her determination, an icon of God’ self, who calls us into renewed relationship with God, each other, and Creation, and who will continue to do so again, and again, and again. 

No one told the widow how long it would take. 

Our prayers and our actions don’t always yield results that we will see. That’s where hope comes in; planting seeds and trusting in the harvest that future generations will reap. That is what is ours to do. As the Letter to Timothy says, “… I solemnly urge you: proclaim the message; be persistent whether the time is favorable or unfavorable…” The prayer that God calls out of us is an embodied relational prayer of mercy, justice, and companionship with the One who equips us, walks beside us, and works through us. So let us proclaim the message, one step at a time, one act of mercy—one act of resistance– at a time

And don’t let anyone tell you that you’re powerless.