17 October 2010

Genesis 32:22-31
Psalm 121
2 Timothy 3:14–4:5
Luke 18:1-8

Widows. Jesus, in the Gospel according to St. Luke, has quite a thing for widows. Which is . . . . a bit strange, seeing as how the majority of the culture surrounding Jesus isn’t too favorably disposed to listening to much of anything about widows. Frankly, most people regarded widows as something of a bother – at best. Oh sure, the religious tradition does command that they be respected and cared for – but the tradition commands a whole lot of other things as well – and all sorts of people, not just church people, can be quite adept as weaseling around the intent of the commandments while appearing to follow them to the letter of the law. All in all, we’d have to say it is downright odd that widows play the major part in Jesus’ words and deeds that they do.

Let’s listen to Luke’s Gospel. Early on we hear how the only son of a disconsolate widow is raised from the dead – and how, at his resurrection, the widow rejoices. A while later, Jesus tells a parable about rather daffy widow – one who goes completely obsessive over a little lost coin – who on finding it throws a big party for which she spends a whole lot more money than the dumb coin was ever worth in the first place. And then there’s the widow who gives away to the church everything she’s got – the very essence of her life. And now this morning, we hear about a widow who badgers and badgers, until he’s ready to lose his mind, a judge who has no regard for God nor for fellow humans.

Oh that funny Jesus, always teaching in parables – in odd riddles – turning upside down and inside out all our thoughts, expectations, and mundane ways of seeing and hearing the things of God and humanity. So wouldn’t you just know it – the widow in all these stories? Would you believe? She is in all of them none other than – God. The first widow – she mourns the death of her only son – God’s only son – the Son who is then raised from the dead by the power of the Holy Spirit – whereupon the widow rejoices. And the goofy widow who won’t quit until her last lost coin is found and then throws a big party? Obviously: God. And then there’s God-the-widow who gives away her very life for the church, who empties herself of her life’s blood, the epitome of sacrificial giving – while we just “donate” what we find convenient – that is, providing we get something in return. But what of this obnoxious widow who drives crazy the testy judge whom Jesus presents us in his riddle about our need to pray always?

Think about it. Who in everyday life is unjust and cares not much for either God or humanity? Obviously, that would be us. As St. Paul reminds us, “if we say we have no sin we deceive ourselves and the truth is not in.” And as we a bit ago confessed, “we are in bondage to sin and cannot free ourselves.” Or as Luther reminds us, no matter how lovely we say our motives are – when we actually stop to examine them – in everything we say and do, our primary focus is upon ourselves. And so God comes to us – not as a warrior god – not as a magic-wand god – not as a sugar-daddy god – but like a kvetching widow, penniless and pathetic but very, very pesky – and drives us crazy, wears us down until we will grant God justification – until we will say, “OK, I don’t know how to run a universe. I’ll let go and let you do it. Your will be done. I guess I can’t have it my way after all.” Nor does this happen through the rational arguments of the enlightenment, nor through the well-argued case of a lawyer, nor through the wisdom of a philosopher, nor through the proofs of science. It happens through prayer.

“Pray always,” says Jesus. And so God, the pesky widow – through the instrument of prayer – God’s gift to us (dang, we don’t even get to claim prayer as our own work) – God enters into a wrestling match with us – and God’s Holy Spirit praying through us with sighs too deep for words. God prays in us and through us – wrestles with us from night until morning – not until we are convinced that God is indeed righteous, not until God’s ways are proven, not until it all makes sense – but until we are worn out, give in, and give up all our claims and aims to be in control and to sit at the right hand of God, if not virtually to usurp the throne of God. “Pray always,” says Jesus. “But I promise you, even your prayers aren’t going to be your own. They will be the work of God – and through them, God will not exactly reform you, but God will wear you down, and get you, and have you, and keep you – both in and beyond all time.”

But back to the second part of the riddle – so – if some judgmental and unrighteous gremlin of a human judge can give in and grant justification – how much more will not God grant justification to those who cry out to God? Will God delay long in justifying humans? Indeed not. Even as the nights lengthen in this late October, and the church year nears an end, so in Luke’s Gospel, the final act draws close – the final act in which God will grant justification – in which God upon the cross deigns to be even less powerful than a widow rather than strike back at the powerful who lust after a militarily mighty, nationalistic god to use against others – the final act is upon us, the final act, in which God will pronounce God’s judgment upon the world. “Forgiven,” says God. “I will not be known as the God of the clenched fist, ready to strike back. Rather, I am like a widow without status and place. I mourn in the face of suffering and death and rejoice when my child is raised. I’m obsessed with finding every last lost one and celebrating inordinately when I finally hold the lost in my hands. I give away my very life for the church even in the face of your own lack of generosity. And I am pesky and persistent as all get out, and I will pray through you with sighs too deep for words until I have worn you down and you will let me alone be your God.”

“And yet, when the Son of Humanity comes, will that One find faith on earth?” Jesus laughs right out loud. “Oy. You have no idea,” says Jesus. I know the widow very, very well. She’s a real piece of work, she is. But listen, come to the table. Dinner’s on me . . . literally . . . and prepared especially for you – by the widow, of course, before ever time began.” And then Jesus rolls his eyes, laughs some more, as if in anticipation – and, well, actually, he seems to be getting the giggles – so much so that I’m getting the feeling that we ain’t seen nothing yet.