Sermon: "Pray Always," October 20, 2019
The Rev. Ryan Slifka
19th Sunday After Pentecost
“He also told this parable to some who trusted in themselves that they were righteous and regarded others with contempt: ‘Two men went up to the temple to pray, one a Pharisee and the other a tax-collector. The Pharisee, standing by himself, was praying thus, “God, I thank you that I am not like other people: thieves, rogues, adulterers, or even like this tax-collector. I fast twice a week; I give a tenth of all my income.” But the tax-collector, standing far off, would not even look up to heaven, but was beating his breast and saying, “God, be merciful to me, a sinner!” I tell you, this man went down to his home justified rather than the other; for all who exalt themselves will be humbled, but all who humble themselves will be exalted.’”
“Then,” begins today’s passage. “Then Jesus told them a parable about their need to pray always. And not to lose heart.” Today’s passage begins with two assumptions: the first being the need to pray. And the second, not to give in or give up. Here—both prayer and perseverance—here they’re both held together. According to Jesus, the practice of prayer is crucial to spiritual resilience. To keep on keepin’ on, when you can’t keep on no more.
And it makes sense that Jesus would be giving this teaching at this point in the story.
First, Jesus’ betrayal, arrest, torture and crucifixion is only a few chapters away. Jesus himself will be afraid, will ask God in prayer for another option, another way around. But will ultimately have the courage to give himself over entirely for the sake of his divine mission.
And second, Luke’s gospel was written around the year 75 or 80. It was written in a time of persecution. The Romans were not big fans of Christians. And made sure they knew it. Many Christians at this time were socially outcast, discriminated against. And at the worst met the same end as Jesus.
But that last part didn’t make a lot of sense to the early Christians. Jesus had promised the coming of God’s kingdom. That the world would finally be set right by God. Sin and death and evil would finally be thrown down for good, all tears would be wiped away. God would reign and heaven and earth would come together in an everlasting embrace. This promise initially made his early followers able to withstand whatever the world threw at them—at first. But then one decade passed. Then another and another, and you have good and faithful people wondering if all the suffering and persecution was worth it. These are the people who would have comprised Luke’s audience. Time passes and they wondered if the restored world they believed was coming soon. Or at all. They wondered if the world would get better. When in fact it seemed to be getting worse.
Now, few of us have experienced the kind of suffering and persecution that the early church underwent in following Jesus. There are Christians in the world right now, of course that do—Kurds come to mind. I mean, we might have to suffer through being made fun of or thought of as closed-minded, weird, or moralistic. But it’s hard to imagine the courage and willingness to take on long-term suffering and possible death for the sake of conviction in safe, religiously pluralistic North America.
But it does sound familiar anyway. Because persecution isn’t the only kind of suffering that can cause us to lose heart, is it?
On the small scale there’s chronic pain. There’s terminal illness. Addiction. Poverty, cruelty, injustice. All of these can suck us into a whirlpool of anguish. Of fear for the future.
On the larger scale, though, it can be the state of the world that causes us to lose heart.
This past week I read what must have been the tenth article I’ve read in the last year about what they’re calling “Climate Change Anxiety.” The article cites a report that Climate Change and natural disasters are taking a huge toll on mental health. This article was specifically about climate anxiety in children.[i] Symptoms include depression, anxiety, and that this can be particularly hard on children. The article quotes a psychologist who counsels parents to discuss these fears with their children, to quote “avoid hopelessness.” No doubt because the problem seems so large and impossible and the predictions so bleak that few of us have any idea how to actually deal with it. Some are already losing heart. Already giving in.
Now, even climate change aside, the state of the world at any time can weigh heavy on us. In fact, the state of the world, now and throughout history is one of the chief reasons why people reject faith. Christianity or any kind.
It’s not so different between us and the early church in that way. They heard Jesus’ promises of a world made new, and then the world around them seemed to get worse. It’s hard to look at the state of humanity, and the state of our world and see some beautiful outcome. Some bright and shiny future. It’s hard to see the hands of a loving God in times where the world seems to be spinning out of control. It can be easier just to give in. And give up. Resigning ourselves to the present moment.
According to Jesus, though, it’s times like this that call for faith. Faith is exactly what’s needed to make our way in the world we know. And the way to cultivate faith is through prayer. “Pray always,” he says. “Pray always, and do not lose heart.”
Of course in the church we think prayer’s a good thing. A thing we should do. But we rarely actually talk about why we should do it. To ask for help, to discern the right course of action. An empty parking spot at the mall. But here Jesus points us to a rarely considered purpose of prayer. Prayer as persistence. Prayer as the gateway to hope.
“In a certain city,” Jesus says. “In a certain city, there was a judge who neither feared God nor had respect for people.” In ancient Israel, judges are supposed to do both things. Fear God in the sense of putting God’s demands before their own. And being a just and impartial executor of justice. This guy’s neither. He’s a bad judge. It doesn’t say it directly, but this guy’s verdicts could probably be bought by the highest bidder. Because this is a constant problem in ancient Israel, that the powerful could use their influence and sway to win court cases over the weak. He doesn’t care about justice. He’s in it for himself. And probably in it for the cash, too.
And one day it says, this unjust judge, this corrupt judge had to hear a case involving a widow from his city.
And the thing about widows is that they’re the weakest of the weak. No husband, so no work, so no money, and no food to feed themselves. Or their children. And what’s worse is that they can’t inherit property, even. So this widow here has to fight to scrape a living, to get what’s owed to her. Somebody owes her cash or property—we don’t know who. But we know that without some kind of settlement, she’s done for. But, of course, this is the wrong judge to go asking for justice. He’s in the pocket of her opponent, and doesn’t care about right or wrong. She shows up in that jury box and is denied.
She’s denied. She’s out on the street. This corrupt judge is the only judge in the city, so she might as well give in, give up and die. Talk about giving up hope. Talk about losing heart.
But she doesn’t give in. She files another case. That one’s denied. So she puts in papers for another one. Same thing, denied. But then another. And another, and another. And she just keeps on going. It says she just keeps on coming at him saying “gimme justice!” Over and over and over and over. Again and again.
And you know, it works. Day after day, the bailiff says “please rise,” and she’s there. And one day, the judge goes in to exhausted parent mode. He thinks to himself, “ugh… this lady again? You know,” he says. “I may not give a damn about what God thinks. And I may care even less about flesh and blood human beings. But man, I’m getting sick of seeing her face. I’m just gonna give her what she wants cuz honestly—this is wearing me out.” In the original Greek it uses boxing language, that he’s worried she’s going to wear him out and then be able to take a cheap shot at him in the eye. He gives in to the widow because she wears him down. Persistence, it seems, pays.
It’s a funny scene. It’s meant to be. When we were going over worship this week, Kelly our pianist said it well when she said that the point of this parable seems to be that “the squeaky wheel gets the grease.” It’s certainly what happens in the parable. At first it sounds like Jesus is saying that if we pray hard enough, for long enough, then we’ll wear God down with our prayers. That God will eventually decide to grant what we want by sheer annoyance.
But not, it’s deeper than that.
Following the parable, Jesus offers his interpretation. “Listen,” he says. “Listen to what the unjust judge says. Will not God grant justice to his chosen ones who cry out day and night? Will he delay long in helping them? I tell you, he will quickly grant justice to them.” Basically Jesus says that if this garbage bag of a judge’ll eventually grant justice to this widow, imagine how the God who is perfect Good, perfect Love, perfect Mercy, and perfect Justice. Imagine how that God is itching to deliver those who cry out. He says he will grant justice “quickly.”
Jesus counsels prayer because prayer is an act of faith. When the path is dark, faith is what helps us venture out in uncharted territory. It helps us endure trials and terror. Because we know that with God, there is always a future beyond the present moment.
I mean, in this parable really, Jesus teaches persistence in prayer only on account of God’s persistence. That God is the one who will never give up on us, will never ultimately give in to the suffering of God’s children or God’s creation. So to pray for deliverance. To pray for justice. To pray for healing, mercy, for grace. To pray “thy kingdom come” as we do every week in the Lord’s Prayer, is to put our faith in God’s future.
My favourite theologian, Karl Barth, was fond of telling his students that “to clasp the hands in prayer is the beginning of an uprising against the disorder of the world.” To cry out for justice and mercy means we believe that they will come, otherwise we wouldn’t pray them.
So if you don’t have a prayer life, there’s no time like the present to begin. Of course, prayer isn’t a magic wand that’ll fix everything. It’s something more. To pray, to put our hearts to God in trust. To cry out for mercy means that we believe that those prayers will someday, somehow be answered. Whether soon in small glimpses of mercy, or at the end of the age. And in doing so, we find we’re given the strength, the courage, the perseverance to hold on. And to do what’s right when the odds are stacked against us. Even when tomorrow seems bleak. For ourselves, or for our world. Which means we can endure. We can persist. We can keep on keepin’ on in the work of living fully and loving without qualification. Because it’s work that God has given us. Work that God already has underway. Work that we may never see complete. But we can trust that it’s never in vain.
May each of us pray always, and never lose heart. May we never give up, never give in. Because the good news of the gospel is that God will never give up on us. Or the world she loves. Now or forever.
Amen.
[i] Jillian Mock and Clair O’Neill, “One Thing You Can Do: Talk to Your Children About Climate Change,” The New York Times, Oct. 9, 2019. https://www.nytimes.com/2019/10/09/climate/children-anxiety-climate-newsletter-nyt.html?searchResultPosition=1