There's
not much question as to the meaning of this parable of
the widow and the unjust judge. There's not much question because
Luke tells us why the parable is
important before he tells it and then remembers Jesus-- offering
his own interpretation-- after he finishes telling it. This is a
story about persistence in prayer and God's
compassion and
responsiveness. It is...isn't it?
There
is this judge, says Jesus.
We know about judges in Israel. We know their role was to maintain a
reasonable harmony in the community and to adjudicate disputes
fairly, impartially. It is particularly worth remembering that Jewish
law, the Torah,
described a particular responsibility for such judges when it came to
protecting the rights of the poor - of widows and orphans and
sojourners in the land.
Then Jesus says:
there is this widow. And therein lies the plot. There is this widow.
The choice of character automatically raises the stakes for the
judge, because any God-fearing
jurist would feel obliged by theTorah to
take especially good care of her.
The
problem is that this jurist is not God-fearing
and not especially interested in justice at
all. And so he tries to ignore the widow's pleading. But the widow is
not going to take "no" for an answer. She keeps coming back
to him day after day, resolutely pressing her case, until finally the
judge has a conversation with himself.
Luke
describes other such internal conversations elsewhere - the rich
fool, the prodigal son, the dishonest steward - all of them talk to
themselves. But this judge figures that if he doesn't grant the
widow's petition, she will wear him out and may even give him a black
eye - either figuratively or literally. So, eventually, despite his
callousness and his lack of integrity, he gives the woman what she
wants.
The
progress of this parable is
known as an argument from the lesser to the greater - if a wicked
judge will finally relent and hear the woman's case, how much more
will God.
The point is that God is
full of compassion,
willing and ready to hear the prayers of the poor and oppressed. And
the counsel is thus to be persistent in prayer, knowing that God will
answer the prayers of God's
children. It's an unclouded parable
and
a neat conclusion. And it is unbridled good news for those who pray
day and night for justice,
for it promises that their prayers do not go unanswered—some day.
and by the way to spiritual disciplines—such as meditation,
fasting, journaling, devotions and study of Scripture—which are all
forms of prayer.
Of
course, if that's the point - and it seems to be - then we have a
dilemma, if we are honest with God and
ourselves. The dilemma is that nearly two millennia later the poor
and oppressed are still calling out for relief and, for the most
part, don't seem to be appreciably closer to a world
of justice and compassion than
they were when Jesus first
told the parable.
If
we read this parable as
it has always been read, it is a counsel to relentless prayer. But
there's a problem with prayer. When we pray, we are putting our
belief on the line.
“Is
there really Someone listening?” “Does that Someone really listen
and care and respond?” “What about my unanswered prayers?”
There will be some element of doubt, at least sometimes. There will
always seem to be some lack of evidence that our prayer really makes
a difference. Remember the old preacher's cliche' “God always
answers our prayers, but sometimes the answer is no”? That does
make God sound like an unjust judge—or worse a capricious one..
But
wait! There's more! Maybe Jesus is
talking about deferred compensation - the kind of "pie in the
sky by and by" vindication that many Christians resist - then,
frankly, the claim for persistence isn't very convincing...or at
least not always.
Don't
get me wrong. I believe persistent prayer is very important, even
when such prayers are not answered in the ways we think best. It is
important to be unrelenting in our prayers...and the truth is most of
us are a long way from that standard. Every Sunday worship, Grace at
every meal, and “now I lay me down to sleep” every night is still
a long way from Jesus' call “
to
pray consistently and never quit”.
No, the purpose of persistent prayer is not to nag enough that we
change God's
mind—God already has our best interest at heart. God is not
the unjust judge. Our persistent, prayers and spiritual disciplines
do change God or God's mind. We
are the ones who are changed. The purpose of of disciplined
persistence in prayer is for the changes such prayers can work in you
and in me. It can put us in the right frame of mind or give us a new
determination. More than that, it can open our hearts to the touch of
the Holy Spirit. It can open our our ears to Jesus' call to follow.
It can open our spirits to growth in faithfulness and deep
compassion. And when we truly pray for others, it motivates us to
reach out to them.
As
Frederick Buechner said years ago, persistence is a key,
"not
because you have to beat a path to God's
door before [God will]
open it, but because until you beat the path, maybe there's no way of
getting to your door.”
Hmm.
Maybe there's more to this parable than
we have usually seen. What if Jesus offered
this parable not
only as a call to prayerful persistence but also as a reminder to the
church of the importance of persistently seeking justice for
the poor and the oppressed in our midst? Alan
Culpepper says,
"To
those who have it in their power to relieve the distress of the
widow, the orphan and the stranger but do not [do so], the call to
pray day and night is a command to let the priorities of God's
compassion
reorder the priorities of their lives."
What
if we stand this parable on
its head and hear it as a testimony to the persistence of God--
who wants us to work and pray in order to bring about peace
and justice
and abundance to God's
chosen ones. You know—the chosen ones--the broken and oppressed who
cry out day and night? The homeless, the emotionally and physically
challenged, the enslaved and oppressed. The little ones Jesus called
“the least of my bothers and my sisters?”
Might
this parable speak
to the resolute, persistent, unrelenting, determined One who keeps
knocking on our door, challenging us to respond, pressing us to
accept God's
claims, urging us to work for the good of neighbors in need?
All
through the Scriptures we can trace God's
unwavering claim on God's
people - the covenant with Abraham, the giving of Torah
to set forth a way of faithfulness and integrity and righteousness.
Then, when God's
children rebelled and fell into selfish ways, the sending of prophets
to press God's
claims and to call for justice and
fairness. And finally when the people ignored the prophets, in the
fullness of time,God sending
the Christ into the world to demonstrate once and for all the
character of God's
grace and love toward all of God's
children—most especially the poor and the outcast.
"Behold,"
said Jesus,
"I stand at the door and knock."
That persistent knock is the sound a conscience makes in the life of
the faithful.
A
few years ago there was a film called, Hotel
Rwanda,
the difficult story of what happened in Rwanda in 1994, when that
African nation descended into madness, with the powerful Hutu
majority beginning a systematic slaughter of the Tutsi minority. One
writer would later call that massacre "the
fastest and most efficient killing spree of the 20th century;"
in one hundred days, the Hutus killed 800,000 Tutsis. The film tells
the story of that horror through the person of Paul
Rusesabagina,
a hotel manager in the Rwandan capital, a Hutu who made a promise to
protect his Tutsi wife and the family he loved and ended up finding
the courage to shelter and save over 1,200 people by hiding them in
the luxury hotel he managed.
As
the horror built, Paul the hotel manager initially protested that
there was nothing he could do, but his reticence was challenged by
the steady beating of truth upon his door. What was it Alan
Culpepper said?
"To
those who have it in their power to relieve ... distress ... but do
not, the call to pray day and night is a command to let the
priorities of God's compassion reorder the priorities of their
lives." Paul
began to see the horror and experience the shame. It was a truth he
didn't want to admit; but in the end, his conscience prevailed and he
acted to save as many lives as he could.
But
Paul was not the only one to hear the beating on the door and to
experience the need to reorder his priorities; it happened also to
many viewers of the film. About midway through the story, as the
slaughter of the Tutsi people escalated, Western reporters began to
capture scenes of the genocide on tape. Paul the hotel manager was
heartened a bit, because he assumed the broadcast of such images
would prompt immediate Western intervention.
When
a skeptical Western reporter expressed doubt, Paul was dumbfounded.
"How
can they see that and not intervene?"
he asked. But the reporter had seen it all before.
"More
likely,"
he responded, "people
will see the footage, say 'Isn't that horrible?' and then go right on
with their dinners."
It was a particularly disturbing moment in a deeply disturbing film.
And you and I know he was right. Who could see and hear that exchange
and not feel shame?
And
yet shame could be our full-time preoccupation. Across the span of
our lifetimes we have experienced a steady drumbeat of news reports
of injustice after injustice, perpetrated by one group or another.
And what has been done? In this country, of course, some civil rights
laws were established. And they have brought some progress, though
such progress more often seems to follow the path of a pendulum than
of an arrow.
We
have seen some of the worst offenders elsewhere being brought before
international tribunals and tried for crimes against humanity. We've
watched celebrities who have staged worldwide concerts to raise
awareness and to try to end poverty in our time. But many of us,
seeing such things, have spoken our laments and then have gone right
back to our dinners or whatever else it was we had been doing.
So,
I wonder: if this parable offers
a mirror for our lives, then maybe the face many of us will see when
we peer into that mirror is the face of the judge who, as Jesus said,
"neither
feared God nor
had respect for people." Isn't
that who we
are in this story?
It's
not very flattering to read the parable that
way, to be sure. Who wants to be an unjust judge? But, then, in
the parable the
judge does eventually reach the tipping point. Then even if not for
the best of motives and more from self-interest, the judge does grant
the widow what she wants.
All she's been asking for, is justice--a
fair shake. The very same thing that the outcasts and oppressed of
this world want. And you and I know very well-- from reading
the Torah, and
from the prophets, and from listening to Jesus--
that's what God wants
for them as well.
And
when oppressed peoples and nations do not receive that faiir shake,
what is their alternative? We see the answer in the world around us.
They turn to fanaticism, militarism, terrorism, even. genocide
Maybe
the good news in this story for the non-outcasts - for the rest of us
- is that God is
like the widow - unrelenting, persistent, assertive. God hasn't
given up on us, even when we have acted as though we "neither
feared God nor
had respect for people."
So
maybe there's hope, not only for the widows and orphans and
sojourners of this world, but for us. Maybe there is hope that we
will open our hearts to the shame we feel, and allow it to break
through our resistance. Maybe we'll allow it to press us to open
doors to those who knock persistently. Maybe there is hope that we
will hear their pleas at last and use our voices, and the gifts God
has given us, along with our persistent prayers, to help shape relief
and reconciliation and fairness in this world.
Maybe
you and I can form groups that will gather together to support one
another, and pray for one another and for others. Maybe we can
petition, and write letters, and lobby, in order to push our leaders
and legislators to programs that truly can relieve hunger and want—or
even bring justice to oppressed nations and people. Maybe we can
inform ourselves and vote our consciences instead of staying home, or
reluctantly voting for the least of two evils. Maybe we can give
financial support to charities and relief efforts that reflect our
values. Maybe we can volunteer, tutor, foster, clothe and shelter
those we keep praying for. Maybe we can contact visit shut-ins and
invalids we know of.
Maybe
there is hope for us. I pray there is. I believe there is. More
importantly, I believe God believes
there is.
"Behold,"
says the Christ,
"I stand at the door and knock."
Maybe one day we'll press our governments, and open our livess and
pocketbooks, and open our hearts, and open the door. Maybe even
today. Maybe. And what a good day that would be...for everyone!
O
Lord, let that day come. Let it come. Amen.
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