Sunday October 16, 2022: Genesis 32:22-3, 2 Timothy 3:14-4:5, Luke 18:1-8
In ‘The Diary’ column of the New Statesman, a criminal defence barrister comments on going back to court after strike action. Our advocates had been advocating not for clients but for the justice system itself.
When confronted with her inbox, this barrister, like many others, finds ‘a long and brutal queue’: the people making up the 60,000 case backlog. She opens the files - the first an 18 month wait for a date, the next two years for a muder case, then three years for a theft.
Those held on remand and those waiting to give evidence might well feel like the widow in today’s parable: someone waiting for justice.
She is one of those, who along with the poor, the stranger and the orphan, is among scripture’s protected characteristics; a person who’s vulnerability and plea for justice evokes our empathy. Afterall, for the prophets, providing justice for widows was a litmus test for being faithful to God’s commandments.
We know nothing of her circumstances - her age, or means - but here she stands in the public square, courageously demanding that an injustice is put right. Day after day, she makes her appeal.
Day after the judge resists her pleas and refuses to help - he owns the description of himself as having no respect for God or people by repeating in his own inner dialogue. It seems unlikely he was concerned for his reputation by being shamed into action.
Would he give in through boredom or irritation? Maybe. But, we are told, she is bothering him and wearing him out - to the point he feels verbally, if not literally, beaten black and blue.
When he sets up this parable, Jesus says this is about the need to pray and not lose heart.
In saying that, it’s not that he suggests that prayer is a matter of grinding God down with our petitions and requests. Indeed, there is a basic contrast - unlike the mean-spirited and heartless judge, God desires to grant justice to those who cry out for it.
And yet, our experience of prayer can involve urgency and struggle; how do we experience God in those seasons of longing and waiting; as we wrestle and cry out; as we long for peace or healing, comfort of justice?
If we read this parable through the lens of the widow and the judge, we might find that the story is more about us and prayer. It allows space for God to disturb us - opening up our hearts as we seek justice, but also hearing the justice demanded of us.
First, let’s stand in the place of the widow. We know nothing of the details of her petition, but we can think of times when we risk losing heart: when we feel a bit rudderless or lacking in direction; when we’re wearied by the changes and changes of this fleeting world, as one prayer puts it; when the news real makes us cynical or despairing; or when we feel resigned to situations which don’t seem to change for the better.
This widow does not lose heart: she remains focused and determined; her courageous advocacy shapes the rhythm of her day giving her purpose. She is also precise in tackling this one thing - the thing that is most pressing and urgent. She continues. Like many who’ve campaigned - for the release of hostages, for justice of Hillsborough or Grenfille, or more local cases needing change.
Her example reminds us that prayer is hard: especially as we look for, strive for, long for significant change. Every day she risked disappointment - but remained convinced by justice and patiently pressed into that hope.
Prayer is also mysterious. Sometimes the power is basically showing up - being present before God with the cries of the world in our heart; maintaining those daily habits of repetition and determination. Praying when justice seems slow, peace fragile and healing painful - that’s part of our faithfulness. Praying through the silence or frustration until something shifts and opens up.
Second, let’s stand in the place of the judge: what if it’s God being the persistent widow pleading with us? What if part of prayer is allowing the space and time for God to knock at our door - that heart might soften; that we might respond to demands of justice; perhaps attending to the wounded world which wounds God’s heart - and opens ours.
Without being too hard on ourselves, it is ok to acknowledge that sometimes we feel indifferent or fed up; that we feel irritable or unsympathetic; that sometimes - out of fatigue or helplessness of being overwhelmed perhaps - our hearts sometimes turn away from the pain and brokenness of others.
Then we are called back to the multiple and various cries of scripture - finding there words of consolation and challenge. There we find the cries of human beings seeking justice; and of God crying out for them. Those cries prompt us to care enough to listen and act.
It is a truism to say prayer changes us, but it does in ways we might not always expect. In prayer, the Spirit cries within us - changing that inner critic or judge; removing the obstacles of our own fear, prejudice, hurt; building us up when we feel exhausted or inadequate.
Leonard Cohen wrote in ‘Anthem’ that there is a crack in everything, that’s how the light gets in. Prayer is such a crack - through which the light of God works through our imperfect loves. Cohen rarely spoke about his lyrics, but on this he said: there is a crack in everything…that’s where the light gets in, and that’s where the resurrection is and that’s where the return, that’s where the repentance is.
Cries for justice and our prayers for change confront us with the brokenness of things but also with the hope of healing. There is a crack. The light gets in. A light that shines in our hearts, that reveals the world as it is and brings a glimmer of hope and compassion and a desire to act.
This way of praying and wrestling can be bruising!
Jacob experienced that in the long, dark hours of the night; yet at dawn, light breaks in. He persisted until the blessing of a new name and a new future were granted to him.
Paul encourages Timothy to persist too - continuing in what has been learnt and believed; proclaiming the message of the gospel. That a message of hope and love, forgiveness and justice was to be shared whether the time was favourable or unfavourable.
So let us pray in a what that opens us up to wrestling with God: to do so is to hold God close, as God draws near to us; it is to refuse to walk away, give up or succumb to compassion fatigue. To wrestle with prayer is the opposite of indifference, it might let more light in.
As we wait and pray, blessings might come; our desire for justice might grow. Praying is at the heart of our action, our advocacy. So may we run the way of God’s commandments - open to truth, trusting in love, seeking justice. Amen.
© Julie Gittoes 2022
