Luke 11:1-13 · Jesus’ Teaching on Prayer
The Trajectory of God’s Grace
Luke 11:1-13
Sermon
by Robert C. Cochran
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When I was in junior high, I “inherited” a winter coat from my Uncle George (who is only three years older than I am). It was a very expensive coat and looked practically new, so I knew George hadn’t worn it. The reason was obvious: it was an extremely thick, long ski jacket that made the wearer look like a pregnant, black polar bear. The fur that covered the whole coat had to be four or five inches long. The really sad thing was that the satin lining had a terrific embroidered snow eagle. I would have loved wearing the coat if I could have turned it inside-out. But, alas, this was impossible. As it was, my mom made me wear this monstrosity every day at a time in my life when standing out in a crowd was painful if not dangerous.

On a Friday night in December, I was invited to stay with Danny, the son of friends of my parents. Danny was all right, but he and I were moving in different directions in junior high. While I had never gotten into trouble in school, Danny knew the principal, the vice-principal, and the guidance counselor by their first names.

On this particular night, several of Danny’s friends came over. I’d never seen them before, but I could sense that we weren’t going to be playing catch or watching TV. As soon as Danny’s parents moved into the back room to watch television, we hit the streets. I wasn’t comfortable sneaking out, so I poked my head into the room and told them we were leaving. I was hoping they’d stop us, but instead, they just said, “Well, as long as you’re along, Bob, I’m sure you boys’ll stay out of trouble.” Ouch.

On this night, the activity of choice was throwing snowballs at passing cars. It seemed really stupid (and dangerous) to me, but they were so bad at it that nothing was coming of all their efforts. I was just glad that this was keeping them occupied. I kept out of sight and kept a watch on the time, trying to calculate when I could convince them we’d been out long enough.

And then, just when it looked like we were going to get through the night without incident, they decided that I should join them in their crime. I guess they figured I couldn’t tell on them if I participated. Not that I had any intention of telling anyone what had happened: my parents would hold me responsible whether or not I threw a single ball, and apparently, so would Danny’s. Well, they kept the pressure up until I had no choice. But I did have a plan.

I figured that if I threw behind the car, they would know I was intentionally missing, so I resolved to throw in front of the car. It would look good, and I would be off the hook. I picked up some snow and began to form it. I held onto it a long time, under the pretense of making the perfect snowball. And it was. In fact, by the time I finished with it, it was more of an ice ball, perfectly round and smooth.

Everyone insisted I join in on the next salvo and, soon, an old, beat-up tank of a car sped by. We all threw. To this day I remember the trajectory of the flight of my snowball. Time slowed down, and I watched it sail as silently and gracefully as a perfectly cast fishing fly on a hot, hushed August afternoon. The car was going too fast; every ball fell short... except the one that had been aimed to overreach. My vision shifted from the arching snowball to the speeding hulk of a car, back to the ball, ahead to the car, until it finally settled on the ball as it made a perfect arch and scored a direct hit on the passenger door!

For a moment, I was frozen in astonishment and caught up in the sheer beauty of the throw. I had led the car perfectly. Nothing I had ever done in sports could match the achievement of that toss. After all, I’d only thrown once all night, and I had done what my cohorts had not been able to do all night. Then the car screeched to a halt, turned around, and headed our way. I ran and barely reached a large tree to hide behind. I heard the doors open, and then, nothing. I figured I’d gotten away with it. I was wrong.

Before I had a chance to move, Steve, the scariest bully in our school, was standing in front of me. I had no chance to register the irony or unfairness of my hitting the class bully’s father’s car with the only throw I’d made in a town of 40,000 people, of which almost 700 were in my class, before he’d hit me in the stomach. I doubled over instinctively. And this is where my wonderful coat comes in.

With four or five inches of fur and an embroidered silk lining, I didn’t feel a thing. I’d never been in a fight before and had no idea what it would be like to be in one, but somehow I’d gotten the idea that it would be more painful than this. Of course, wearing a stupid-looking coat doesn’t make one stupid. I went down in a heap. Steve glared over me, made some mumbled threat and took off before he could get into trouble for assault. I wore that coat proudly all year.

“If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will the heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him!”

In the spring following the snowball incident, my parents bought me a new baseball glove. This was a big deal because I had never had a new mitt before. As with many things (including a certain large black winter coat), all previous gloves had been hand-me-downs from my Uncle George. The last thing my parents said to me as I set off to play in the field behind our house for the first time was to be sure and take good care of my new glove because it was very expensive.

After playing ball for several hours, my friends and I left our gloves on the field as we always did and went off to pursue other recreational ventures. On this day, however, I forgot to get my mitt before going home. Later, when I realized what I’d done, I ran back to the field. But it was too late: the mitt was gone.

Crushed and terrified of my parents’ response, I ran up to bed saying that I was too sick to eat supper. I wasn’t making that part up: all night I stayed in my room panic-stricken and nauseated. I was sorry for what I’d done but also angry with my folks. To a guilt-ridden child, parents look like awful tyrants! It was one of the worst nights of my mostly happy childhood.

When I came down the next morning, mom asked me why my mitt wasn’t hanging on its hook. Where was my new glove? I said I didn’t know and broke down crying. I told her the whole story, and apologized over and over. She smiled and pulled the mitt from behind her back! It seems she’d seen it lying on the field after I’d returned and had retrieved it. She was waiting for me to tell her what had happened.

All I had to do was come down, admit what I’d have done and apologize, and I’d have gotten back the glove and not had to spend the night in my room. Instead, I spent the evening alone and miserable. My mom taught me a valuable lesson that night about responsibility and grace — someday I may forgive her for that!

In the first sermon of this series, I told you that the Holy Spirit defends, teaches, motivates, uplifts, and unites us. I experienced the first two of these roles in the two incidences I’ve just related. A black, furry coat may not look like a suit of armor, but it served just as well when I needed it. And the Spirit taught me a lot about grace through that baseball glove. There have been a lot of times in my life when I have felt distanced from God because of my stubborn refusal to leave my room and stand before God and admit my mistakes. In these times, I try to remember that God is grace-filled and ready to forgive: God has my back and has the glove!

Today’s gospel speaks of prayer and the need to be persistent in our asking for God’s good gifts. I turned sixty last summer, and this summer, for the first time, I’ve broken down and hired a young man to mow my lawn. Had I held on for a few more years, I could have celebrated my fiftieth anniversary of the first time I pushed a lawnmower for my father.

In those nearly fifty years, I mowed lawns in exactly the same way. I always used a push mower, and when I cut grass, I was very much an ARM. “ARM” stands for Anal-Retentive Mower, and you who are my fellow ARMs know who you are. On the first run, I would finish off all the oddly shaped corners of the yard. Then I could do the rest of the lawn in a perfect square. Basically, I took out the imperfections and the idiosyncrasies of the yard, allowing me to mow the middle part without exerting any brain power at all! You have a lot of time to think while mowing a yard, but you don’t want to have to think about anything as mundane as where you should mow next.

Whenever I have told the following story about repairing the deck on my Kalamazoo house, people have assumed it was a story about a deck. Actually, it is a story about lawn mowing. My wife and I wanted to have our deck rebuilt. So, we tore up all the old boards and then had a man come and hammer down new ones. I came home on Friday and saw that he had all the boards down. There wasn’t any railing yet, but who needs a railing?

I got something to eat, and then went out to mow the front lawn. I filled up one bag with grass and took it to the back to dump it in the woods behind our house. I walked to the end of the deck to dump the bag and then realized that though the boards were down, not all of them were nailed! The one I was standing on flew up in the air behind me, and I plunged headfirst down a fourteen-foot drop! I remember seeing the rocks coming right for me, but somehow I carried beyond them, hit the ground and tumbled head-over-heels down the slope: avoiding trees, sharp sticks, and a lead pipe sticking out of the ground right beside where I ended up.

Not wanting to know how badly I was hurt, I decided to lay there until my wife got back from San Antonio on Sunday. Eventually, however, I got tired of lying there. I got up and found out I was fine.

I crawled back up the hill, got a flashlight, stumbled back down and found the bag, crawled back up and finished mowing the yard with the help of the front porch light. Why did I do this? Because I was afraid that if I had to go to the hospital, I might not get a chance to finish the yard for a very long time! Pam called a neighbor to come down and check on me because she was sure I had hit my head harder than I thought, but most of my ARM brothers (and sisters) probably understand.

If we are to receive all of the good things that God has in mind for us, we need to be this persistent in our prayers. Through the workings of the Holy Spirit, God will protect us, guide us, encourage us, bolster us, and unite us. These Spirit works will provide us with all we need, but we have to ask for it to be given, seek if we want to find it, and knock if we want the door to be opened.

CSS Publishing Co., Inc., Spirit works: Cycle C sermons for Pentecost Sunday through proper 12, by Robert C. Cochran