19th Sunday after Pentecost Sermon

Throughout the gospels, the principle way Jesus teaches is with parables – these totally relatable stories that aren’t real; they’re just stories – but stories that point the way towards truth. And one of things that makes them so enduring and so effective is that stories, like art, can be personalized and interpreted in so many ways.

But sometimes these parables come down to us with a little more context, and a little more interpretation from the writer. And that’s the case with today’s. It says quite plainly, “Jesus told his disciples a parable about their need to pray always and not to lose heart.” And then, at the end, Jesus adds a few rhetorical questions to emphasize his point – namely, that God will grant justice to those who pray persistently.

So with this, I think we need to talk about prayer this morning, and what we mean by that.

But to start, let’s look at the parable itself.

The larger context of this teaching was established in the previous chapter where Jesus was warning his disciples to maintain faith in the days to come – that there will be suffering and hardship and confusion, and their need to keep focused on what the Kingdom of God is all about.

And from that, he goes on to tell the story about this widow. Now, of course, in Jewish culture, widows have no power, whatsoever. And this widow is enduring some kind of injustice (the story doesn’t say what). And in her town, there’s this judge – whose whole responsibility is to render justice, especially for the widows and the orphans. Jewish law is totally explicit on this point. But this judge couldn’t care less. He doesn’t care about God or anyone.

And this widow is a marvel. She’s absolutely formidable and won’t take “no” for an answer. And, basically, she just wears him down. In fact, in the literal translation, the judge says, “I will give her justice so that she doesn’t give ma black eye.” Basically, she’s a boxer in the ring, taking on “the man,” and she gets what she wants. No. It’s more than that. She gets what she deserves. Which is justice.

And this is a crucial element of the story. Jesus isn’t exhorting us to wear God out with our day dreams or our vengeances or whatever else. It’s not to say God doesn’t care about those other things. But the kind of prayer he’s directing us towards, here, is prayer for justice. Other ways to translate that are, prayer to “accomplish vindication,” or “draw forth what is right.”

Jesus is urging his disciples to stay focused on what is elementally true and right and just in this world. And to do so with the confidence, that these are the things God cares about! God is for justice. God is for truth. God is for vindication. (Which isn’t revenge. “Vindication” is when a slandered person is publicly revealed for who they truly are.)

And not only should we stay focused on the things God cares about, making them manifest in this world, we’re told to pray for them, day and night.

Which brings up the whole, underlying question, “What is prayer?” After all, if God is the god of everything, and God has all power, and God wants these things to happen in the first place, why do we need to pray? What difference does it make? to God or to this world or anyone else?

And so far as I can tell, at least through my own experiments with prayer and faith, prayer is the joining of our heart and our will and our attentiveness with the heart and the will and the attentiveness of God.

Prayer makes us participants in what God is doing.

There’s something extraordinarily dignifying about this.

My participation matters. There’s something about who we are as God’s creation that makes our involvement in what God is doing matter. We are neither separate nor powerless in the affairs of this world. We are a part of this world. We are a part of one another. We are a part of God. And we are a part of how justice is being drawn forth into existence.

And of course, if we’re praying for justice, we should we working for justice. The two go hand-in-hand.

But, whereas in this life there are any number of barriers between us and one another, between slander and vindication, between intent and reality, in prayer we can always and instantly enter into the purity of God and the Kingdom of God, in whom justice forever dwells. Prayer is a living sanctuary for us now of that eternal shalom we seek. For in prayer, the longings of our hearts for wholeness are forever greeted in the one from whom these longings were birthed.

But this may all sound like so much blather if actually praying remains allusive to you, if you don’t perceive any capability in the craft at all.

So let me first assure you that almost everyone I know feels like they’re lousy at praying. Everyone assumes everyone else is better at it. Difficulty with prayer is reasonable, considering prayer is communion with a god we’ve never seen or heard or experienced by any of the five senses. Of course, it’s going to seem difficult. And God knows that.

And, prayer is especially difficult in our culture where we crave constant entertainment and stimulation. I marvel how quickly I now turn to my cell phone when its quiet or I need a break. I’d rather fill the silence by playing Wordle than dwelling with The Word made flesh. It’s increasingly difficult to still our spirits and to sit quietly with God.

Nevertheless, we need prayer.

And, sadly, I can’t tell you exactly how to do it. When I started visiting my spiritual director years ago. I just wanted her to tell me how to pray, so I could do it, and report back to her my obedience. But, “Eric,” she told me, “you’re not a monk. Stop beating yourself up for not praying like a monk. You need to learn what it means for Eric to pray.”

I was talking recently with someone who was reckoning, for the first time, a kind of disengagement with God and the spiritual life. And he wanted it to be otherwise, but had no idea what to do about it. And my advice was rather simple: Every day for the next month, just say a simple prayer to the effect, “God, I desire more of you in my life.” And every day, as you say that prayer, drop a small stone into a jar. And watch that jar fill up.

And this was my rationale:

First: seeing the jar can simply function as a reminder: “Right! I’ve got to say my prayer today!” (After all, if you’re not in the habit of praying at all, it’s easily overlooked.)

Second, it gets you in the habit, on a daily basis, of recalling – not just your little self-imposed duty – but your fundamental desire to know more of God in your life, drawing it more fully into your consciousness.

And related to that, it is a prayer of simple honesty, “God, this is my desire,” but letting go of any sense of telling God how to do God’s job. It’s simply trusting that the yearnings of your heart are safe in God’s hands, to do with as God will.

And finally, I believe it will spiritual efficacy. It is a prayer, after all. And we have every reason to hope that God answers prayer.

There’s something to be said for these kinds of simple, repetitive prayer, especially when it comes to praying for justice, “day and night” as Jesus exhorts us in this parable. At various times in my life, I’ve used different methods of fostering a more steady spirit of intercession.

Years ago, I lived in a basement apartment and in my bedroom, there was a foundation wall that created a kind of shelf around the perimeter of my room. And I decorated that shelf with all manner of little found objects: a pine cone, a greeting card, a tin cup – things like that. Now, on one hand, it was just decoration. But I also assigned each item a deeper meaning. They all represented something I cared about – and believed God cared about. Many had to do with various themes of justice. So when I would pray, I’d sit in my room, and slowly scan each item on the shelf. As I held it in my sight, I’d hold it in my heart, with the trust that, in so doing, I was entering into the eternity of God who was perpetually loving and caring for those same things. Sometimes I used words. But more often, I simply beheld them, loving in the moment whatever they represented. And it was prayer.

Years ago, on an overnight flight, I somehow devised a little prayer that I began praying over and over in a kind of constant loop. It was a prayer of deep longings, both for the pilgrimage I was heading to join, and for the pilgrimage of my life. And I set it to a simple tune:

Guide me in wisdom. Guide me in truth. Guide me love.

And, you know, it’s stayed with me all these years, a kind of mantra of what I’m seeking in this life. Just this year, I’ve adjusted it a little. The second petition is now, “Guide me in hope.”

This last summer I bought a cheap bracelet made out of string that has a series knots tied on it. I use it in the same way people use prayer beads or rosary beads. I slowly make my way around the bracelet, praying with each knot

Guide me in wisdom. Guide me in hope. Guide me love.

We are living in difficult times. Things we once took for granted are no longer so stable or reliable. It is very easy, day after day, to give way to a spirit of cynicism or despair or outrage.

But prayer is God’s gift to us to remain centered in the hope of who God is and the significance of our participation in bringing forth God’s eternal values.

“And will not God grant justice to his chosen ones who cry to him day and night? Will he delay long in helping them? I tell you, he will quickly grant justice to them. And yet, when the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on earth?” (Luke 18:7-8)