A sermon preached at Guildford Cathedral on justice and prayer. The texts were 2 Tim 3:14-4:5 and Luke 18:1-8. Parables open up an imaginative space which can disrupt our assumptions and deepen our understanding about what it is to follow Christ. The parable that Jesus tells about an unjust judge and a persistent widow says something about prayer - but perhaps it also challenges us to think about how we enact the call to justice in our lives.
Grant me justice against my opponent.
The widow in the parable that Jesus tells, takes us to the heart
of human longing for justice.
That desire was played out in The Archers: when after
three years of increasing tension, Helen Tichener received the not guilty
verdict we'd been waiting for. Whether
you're a fan or not, the nation was gripped by a story which highlighted the
with chilling accuracy the impact of domestic abuse and coercive on control
real life Helens.
There was a feeling of sheer relief that the judge and jury
recognised Helen as a survivor of serious and sustained abuse at the hands of a
manipulative man who chipped away at her self-esteem, undermining her identity
and free agency as a human being, subjecting her to physical harm.
Grant me justice, said the widow.
That desire was played out in a powerful speech by the First Lady
of the United States. Michelle Obama is a skilled orator with a passion for justice.
In a week where a powerful man defended his attitude towards women as banter, she recounted the experience of girls facing obstacles to attend school;
knowing some had jeopardized their personal safety and freedom, that others
faced rejection by families and communities, she wanted to tell them that they
were valuable and precious.
Her words went viral. She said: 'I wanted them to understand
that the measure of any society is how it treats its women and girls. And I
told them that they deserve to be treated with dignity and respect, and I told
them that they should disregard anyone who demeans or devalues them, and that
they should make their voices heard in the world'.
Grant me justice, said the widow; grant justice for the weakest
and the most vulnerable; grant justice to those who aren't accorded human
dignity because of their age, gender, health, capacity, sexuality, ethnicity or
socio-economic status.
And will not God grant justice to his chosen ones who cry to him
day and night?
Justice is at the heart of this quirky parable framed on by our
need to persevere in prayer; and on the other, by a challenging question about
finding faith on earth.
It might seem that it is simply a call to a sort of spiritual 'pester
power' in relation to God.
We're told that the judge has no respect for people; that he has
no fear or love of God either. He has no sense of responsibility to those on
the biblical 'at risk' register if you like: the widows, orphans and others who
have a special claim to justice and protection because of they are without
security or patronage in society.
We aren't told the nature of the widow's case: her relentless
perseverance and determination perhaps belying a desperate need for a wrong to
be put right; for justice to transform her material situation and place in
society.
If a terrible judge can do what is right to rid himself of person
he sees as a nuisance and irritant a waste of his time, how much more will God
hear the pleas of those who cry out. So is this parable in part an
encouragement to persevere in prayer - for ourselves, for others, for our world
- to be relentless is our pursuit of justice? Is it a call to prayer that is
urgent, passionate and focused on those who are marginalized?
And yet, there's a niggle which might make this parable even more
challenging to us as disciples.
In our gathering for lectio divina this morning, something of the
fresh insight broke in: finding
assurance in offering the cries of our heart to God, however inarticulate or
hesitant; waiting on God and discerning
his will for us. What is Jesus saying to
us today? What is he revealing of his love and justice?
Perhaps we can go beyond seeing God as a bigger, better more just
judge. For surprisingly, Jesus puts the
word of justice on the lips of a widow. She isn't naming a specific cause - for
an inheritance to be restored to her; for a family dispute to be resolved; for
a fraud to be put right.
Her claim is to justice; she expresses something intrinsic to God's very nature. She seeks and names the ways of God - and she speaks out for it constantly and consistently.
Her claim is to justice; she expresses something intrinsic to God's very nature. She seeks and names the ways of God - and she speaks out for it constantly and consistently.
The widow addresses the judge in a prophetic way: in doing so,
she also challenges us. Is she speaking
a word of God in the face of our human tendency to be slow to act when things
don't directly effect us? Are we the ones being challenged in this parable -
that we might make decisions out of a sense of God's love and mercy; that we
might respond to others out of generosity not expediency?
The paradox of our human condition is that we are created in love
and for love; created in goodness, freedom and beauty; and yet we are also
flawed. We get drawn away from the light of God by the glittering prizes of
this world. We can be easily dazzled by power and status; by what we can
possess and control. We can be impatient to fulfill our desires; we sometimes
fail to act as an advocate for others when they are vulnerable.
But that is not the end of the story, for in all this, God doesn't stop loving us. He never forgets
us; and knows our innermost longings. God doesn't stop calling us back to
justice and compassion. God doesn't
simply call us; he comes to be with us. In Jesus, God reveals his way, his
truth and his life. In him we see
justice not as abstract principle; rather it's embodied in human flesh. In our
human weakness, God's love is made manifest. In all that Jesus did and said, in
his death and resurrection, we see the fullness of healing and reconciling
love.
And by the power of God's Spirit, God's cries for justice become
ours; our cries are his. Prayer is the most risky, dangerous, transformative
thing that we can do. In the words of
John Donne, it's in prayer that God approaches us relentlessly. He wrote:
Batter my heart, three person'd God;
for you as yet but knock, breathe, shein and seeke to mend;
that I may rise, and stand, o'erthorow mee, and bend
Your force, to breake, blowe, burn and make me new.
In prayer, God works away at us - with a patient, persistent
love. God acts on us, in us and through us with the careful force of a chisel
on stone; a waterfall carving our rock.
Our heats melt; we are shaped and made new. Last week, some of us heard
Archbishop Justin talking about prayer - praying not only thy kingdom come but
also thy will be done. He quoted something Pope Frances had said to him: that 'when we pray we make room in our
hearts for mercy and grace'.
In prayer, the Spirit breaths new life into us: our cries are
God's cries; our lives become channels of grace and mercy. Breath by breath,
and moment by moment. Often that will
entail wrestling with the responsibilities that we face. In our homes and in our work places, where
are the cries for justice, for encouragement? In what we do, can we build
others up with dignity, in a world so quick to demean based on superficial
judgements.
May our hearts be set on fire with love for Jesus. He is God with
us - answering our fears, uncertainties, hopes and desires. Like Timothy, we are urged to proclaim the
message of God's just and peaceable Kingdom: encouraging others in prayer;
convincing them of the transformative power of God's love. Today we eat the
bread and drink the wine of God's Kingdom - as people of faith on earth, in the
power of the Spirit, cry out for, pray for and embody God's loving justice,
which restores all things.
