Neill Morgan
Sermon Delivered October 21, 2007
18Then Jesus told them a parable about their need to pray always and not to lose heart. 2He said, “In a certain city there was a judge who neither feared God nor had respect for people. 3In that city there was a widow who kept coming to him and saying, ‘Grant me justice against my opponent.’ 4For a while he refused; but later he said to himself, ‘Though I have no fear of God and no respect for anyone, 5yet because this widow keeps bothering me, I will grant her justice, so that she may not wear me out by continually coming.’” 6And the Lord said, “Listen to what the unjust judge says. 7And will not God grant justice to his chosen ones who cry to him day and night? Will he delay long in helping them? 8I tell you, he will quickly grant justice to them. And yet, when the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on earth?”
Bugging God
I had the privilege of serving with an elder named Don Middleton whose prayer life was as rich and full as anyone I have ever known. Nancy once remarked that you could tell his prayer life was so passionate because when he prayed before a committee meeting or a family night supper, we heard the tip of the iceberg. We listened in on a small bit of this ongoing conversation with God that was genuine and sincere, sometimes funny and beautiful; and because he was leading us in prayer, we got to enter into it. For instance, one time, this time of year, the first snow had fallen and covered everything in a fresh white blanket. He opened the Christian Education meeting with prayer, saying, “We thank you Lord for the beauty of the snow. May it remind us of your purity and our need for cleansing.” It was one of those images that has stuck with me over the years. I think of it every time it snows, and it speaks so eloquently to the humility by which my friend Don Middleton lived.
From the outside, a rich prayer life can look like a life of calm, ongoing conversation in the beautiful language of a poet.
But Jesus told us that praying is dangerous business. I’m not talking about saying our prayers, you know, over meals (thanks for the food,) at night before sleep (thank you for the day and give good rest,) in the morning when we get up (thanks for another day above the ground and not under it.) All those regular prayer times are important, but the gospel tells us of something more. It tells us of general prayers for peace and justice, for God’s will to be done on earth as it is in heaven; but, it also tells us of those more dangerous prayers – specific prayers for peace and justice for ourselves and for specific people we know.
The most dangerous prayers are those prayers that get us into the groove of praying the way Jesus and the psalmist prayed; praying without ceasing; praying not just for the world to be a more just place, but praying for justice for someone we have seen who is being taken advantage of by a person or company more powerful than she, or being ignored by a soulless bureaucracy; praying for the vision to see what God is doing in the world; praying for peace – in the world and in the conflicted families of people we know; praying for faith – our own and others’; praying for healing for ourselves or someone else; praying for hope when we’re hopeless; praying for the hungry, for the poor, for those who are trapped in poverty and can’t get out; for those children whose parents neglect or abuse them; for the parents who are raising children the same way they were raised; that is, neglected and abused. And, I don’t mean just praying for those categories of people, I mean praying for them by name, for the ones we know.
It is a dangerous enterprise to pray as Jesus calls us to pray, like this widow who wanted justice from the judge who didn’t care about her, didn’t want to even acknowledge her presence. She won’t let it go. “Give me justice,” she calls out to him, interrupting him when he’s in his courtroom listening to cases he cares about; “give me justice,” she cries when she’s walking down the street and sees that he’s having a pleasant lunch with his friends, laughing and chatting at a sidewalk café; “give me justice,” she cries out to him when he’s on the ninth hole tee box that happens to be near a public road – she waits by the fence behind the shrubs until he’s in the middle of his back swing and she cries out, “Hey! You! Judge who neither fears God nor respects people! Give me justice!”
Why is it so dangerous to pray with such energy and persistence?
It is dangerous because it may put our fragile faith to the test.
All the Bible commentaries caution us in reading this parable – this is a parable, not an allegory. “Jesus is not saying that God is an unjust judge, not wanting to hear what we have to say, not wanting to pay attention to us.”
And, of course, they’re right, it’s not an allegory, that’s not Jesus’ characterization of God; but, Jesus is acknowledging that it feels that way sometimes. When we pray and pray and pray for our loved one to whip her cancer and then she dies; when we pray and pray and pray for a solution for our loved ones’ conflicted marriage and they proceed into a nasty divorce, dragging their children with them; when we pray for peace with justice and instead the world descends into deeper and deeper conflict and violence, power plays and division; in those times, though we may not say that God does not care, we can say that it feels that way. We can say that we feel as helpless as a widow whose case has been assigned to a judge who doesn’t give her the time of day. We can say that it is easy to lose heart.
It is dangerous business to pray with energy, passion, and hope. It is dangerous because our fragile faith may crumble. All our fears may be confirmed by the silence of God, by the disappointment of our hopes gone awry, by the horror of tragedy proceeding unchecked by our fervent prayers.
But, praying with energy, passion, and persistence is dangerous for another reason as well. It’s dangerous because God might just break silence, say something and do something. And when that happens, we may or may not be ready to hear it or see it.
Mother Teresa went to visit Edward Bennett Williams, a legendary Washington criminal lawyer. He was a powerful lawyer. He at one time owned the Washington Redskins and the Baltimore Orioles and he was the lawyer for Frank Sinatra and Richard Nixon, among others. Evan Thomas's biography of Williams tells the story about when Mother Teresa visited Edward Bennett Williams because she was raising money for an AIDS hospice. Williams was in charge of a small charitable foundation that she hoped would help. Before she arrived for the appointment, Williams said to his partner, Paul Dietrich, “You know, Paul, AIDS is not my favorite disease. I don't really want to make a contribution, but I've got this Catholic saint coming to see me, and I don't know what to do.” Well, they agreed that they would be polite, hear her out, but then say no.
Well, Mother Teresa arrived. She was a little sparrow sitting on the other side of the big mahogany lawyer's desk. She made her appeal for the hospice, and Williams said, “We're touched by your appeal, but no.” Mother Teresa said simply, “Let us pray.” Williams looked at Dietrich; they bowed their heads and after the prayer, Mother Teresa made the same pitch, word for word, for the hospice. Again Williams politely said no. Mother Teresa said, “Let us pray.” Williams, exasperated, looked up at the ceiling, “All right, all right, get me my checkbook!” [1]
Prayer is dangerous because when we get engaged in it, we will not be the same. When our fragile faith crumbles in the face of God’s apparent silence or capriciousness, something else arises from the pieces. What arises is a faith that is more than belief, more than vain hope, more than a decision not to consider our doubts.
The faith that arises from the pieces of a faith shattered by the energy and passion of persistent prayer is ferocious. It is unstoppable and life-changing. Prayer becomes the fuel of a life that will not accept the world as it is, will not be satisfied to ride along the river in the direction it flows, but gets caught by the vision of the possibility of using our specific gifts in this specific time and place to be part of God’s work to answer prayer, “Thy Kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.”
So, that’s the challenge of the parable on persistent prayer: “Will you risk it?” Will you risk having your life turned upside down and inside out? Will you risk being changed?
There’s a promise in this parable as well. The promise is that God is not like this unjust judge. God’s nature is more like the judges you and I know as our friends, those who listen carefully and compassionately, discern what is true, what is good and just and challenge the jury to do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly in the presence of God.
That elder, Don Middleton, who prayed so beautifully also lived in a way that revealed his passionate prayer life. He was one of those people who took delight in serving God through the church, but also just helping a neighbor, a friend, or a stranger whenever the opportunity arose.
The last time I saw him, he was less than a day from his death, at home in the care of hospice, an organization for which he had spent a lot of time working himself. I asked him what he would like for me to pray, and he said, “Healing.” He smiled and whispered, “I’m about to receive the perfect healing.”
The promise of a persistent prayer life is not that we will pass from this life without pain or struggle as my friend Don did in the care of expert hospice nurses. The promise is that we will face every pain and struggle and loss, even death, with the peace and confidence that God holds us in the palm of his hand, in this life and the next.
Thanks be to God. Amen.