We all do it. The door of heaven’s House of Bread, the ultimate pastry palace, is standing open. But we keep trying to break in the back door of the local bakery.
A parable by a well-known rabbi tells the story of a moth and a fly. One day a moth and a fly were together near a window. The moth sat comfortably on the side peering out, watching as the fly relentlessly flew up and around and straight into the window. The stunned fly would fall, then get up and try again. On and on the fly tried to find a way through the window, and each time failed.
Finally, the moth said, "Fly, why are you doing that? Can't you see by now that it's not working? Right over there is another window that's open. Why don't you just go over and fly to freedom through the open window?" "No," said the fly. “If I just try hard enough, I'll find the way out here.” So on and on the fly persisted, circling the closed window and slamming its body into it.
The moth became more and more certain the fly was out of its mind when the solution was so simple. Soon nighttime came. The fly lay exhausted on the window sill, while the moth just shook its head. Just then, a light came on near the ceiling of the room, illuminating an open door at the other side of the room. Without thinking, the moth flew up straight toward the light, fizzled in the heat and fell dead to the floor.
Why do we try so hard to do the things that thwart us and harm us, when God opens doors and windows for us if only we had the faith to enter?
“Persistence in prayer” is not, I repeat, NOT the message of Jesus’ parable in this week’s missive. Rather, faith in God’s mercy and justice, a trust in God, not a reliance on the whims and wisps of human jurisprudence, is the focus of today’s parable.
Jesus’ parable is not about persistent prayer eventually bringing about justice. Jesus’ parable is not about a justification through “works” — even if those “works” are prayers and actions for justice. Jesus’ parable is about a call for unflagging faith and unceasing prayer in a world that often does not and will not respond.
A Just God whose "justice" is cloaked in mercy and love, a Merciful God who grants mercy upon all who call upon Him in a spirit of trust and truth, is contrasted with an Unjust Human Judge whose justice is always arbitrary, much like the Greek gods who are selfish and mood-driven. The Unjust Judge’s judicial rulings are not out of respect for the law but a reflex of his mercurial temper.
We live in a world that preys upon weakness, that jury-rigs justice. The persistence of the wronged widow in Jesus’ parable was exceptional. But it was not her attitude, but rather the Unjust Judge’s own concern for his reputation and not getting a public “black eye,” that finally moved him to deal with her favorably. The Unjust Judge’s mercy, the Unjust Judge’s justice, is based on saving his own skin. God’s mercy, God’s justice, is based upon saving the world to the point of putting skin in.
It is not the persistent pestering of the “noisy wheel” widow that makes her the protagonist in this parable. It is rather her faithfulness, despite being continually rejected and always powerless and potentially vulnerable, that makes her a hero in this story. She is not just a jurisprudence gadfly. She is a living demonstration of faithfulness in the face of a faithless world. This widow is not just some judicial pain-in-the-neck. This widow is a person of immense faith. She believes, always, continually, despite all odds, despite the indifference and capriciousness of the local judge, that her faith itself is the way for her to be brought into a closer relationship with God.
The passage is NOT saying we should all relentlessly pester God in order to manipulate God into giving us what we want. It is simply showing two portraits of ways to live our lives, and then confronting us with the question: how can you have so much relentless drive to pursue human means of persuasion, how can you have so much faith in your own power of manipulating human justice, and have so little faith in a God who loves you and is never arbitrary but grants mercy lovingly nurturing His children?
The question before us this morning is this:
*Where is your faith?
*Where is your patience in prayer?
*Why don't you put your efforts where they should be . . . in the eternal and not in the earthly?
*Why don’t you spend as much time in prayer that would save your life as you do in these frivolous, unfruitful pursuits and past-times that demean your life?
*Rather than making a noisy clang, why not make a joyful noise?
*Why not sing prayers and praises unto the Lord, who loves you and is waiting to grant you your heart’s desire?
*Why do you have more faith in your own manipulation and in the ways of the world than faith in God's mercy and God's means?
*Why do we want to "assure" an outcome we can see and manipulate rather than live in "assurance" of God's love and mercy for us?
Pestering may change circumstances, but praying changes us.
There is an old nineteenth century hymn, the music written by the same person responsible for “Abide With me, Fast Falls the Eventide” (William Henry Monk), that is entitled “Stir Me, O Lord.” You never hear it sung anymore, but the words are rousing:
Stir me, oh, stir me, Lord, till prayer is pain,
Till prayer is joy, till prayer turns into praise;
Stir me, till heart and will and mind, yea, all
Is wholly Thine to use through all the days.
Stir, till I learn to pray exceedingly;
Stir, till I learn to wait expectantly.
Stir me, oh, stir me, Lord, I care not how,
But stir my heart in passion for the world,
Stir me to give, to go, but most to pray;
Stir till the blood‑red banner be unfurled
O’er lands that still in darkness lie,
O’er deserts where no cross is lifted high.
Stir me, oh, stir me, Lord, Thy heart was stirred
By love’s intensest fire, till Thou didst give
Thine only Son, Thy best beloved One,
E’en to the dreadful cross, that I might live.
Stir me to give myself so back to Thee,
That Thou canst give Thyself again through me.
A boy was supposed to be doing his homework, but when he got to a part he didn't understand, he tried the Google short-cut. When he couldn’t google the answer, he closed his books, put them away and waiting until the next day, when he pested and pested a friend to copy his homework. After many pleadings, the other boy conceded, partly just to get his buddy to stop pesting him.
It ended up that the friend’s homework was wrong, and so both boys got poor marks. When the first boy got home, his mother asked him, after seeing his grade, why he hadn't asked her to come and help him with it. He replied, "I didn't want to bother you."
Honestly: Did the boy really not want to bother his mother? Of course, that wasn't even a consideration. He was taking the easy way out: no having to slog through each answer and slug it out with his mother. No relationality or accountability. No big time investment. No admitting he didn't know how to think it through very well. No risk that his mother might want him to do even more . . . or take even more time with him.
The bottom line? He didn't want to ask his mother. Would she have helped him? Absolutely. Would she have done better than her son’s friend? Absolutely, and with love from the bottom of her heart.
Why would he put his faith in another boy's homework...and not in his mother's guiding and loving hands? This wasn't a matter of faith, but of convenience. We humans nearly always take the hard way through anything. Why? Perhaps we don't want God to see us in our weakness. Perhaps we don't want to admit we can't do something ourselves. Perhaps we think we don't deserve God's help. Or perhaps we don't want to take the time it takes to be in relationship with God. We look for help and love and respect and good results in all the wrong places.
Almost every local television station dedicates one reporter to “investigating” gross miscarriages of justice and “trouble-shooting” those incidents. The news story showcasing the successful outcome of their confrontations makes for a feel good story. The underdog is vindicated. The big, bad bully is publicly shamed, punished and banished.
We love stories like that. And they tell of one form of “justice” the kind of justice that is truly good for a few individuals, but doesn’t really change anything long term. The basic brokenness of human relationships insures that injustices will continue. That is the reality of this world.
But that is not the reality of the world to come. That is not the eternal vision of hope that the “kingdom of God” offers. No quick fixes. No band-aids on bad things. When Jesus spoke about the kingdom he was not offering a piecemeal, fix-it-up remedy for the wrongs suffered in this world. The Kingdom of God is something new. Something different. Something that replaced one reality — that of a sinful, broken world — with a new reality, a world made whole and living in covenant with God’s design for shalom and love.
Will you be found among those of faith, living in that kingdom, this coming week?
COMMENTARY
One of the classic descriptions of insanity is when someone continues to practice the same behavior, over and over, but expects to get different results. If you turn on the cold-water tap you cannot keep waiting for it to turn warm. If you kick the neighbor’s dog you cannot expect the pooch to suddenly wag its tail when it sees you instead of biting. If you cut classes and do not turn in your assignments, then you cannot expect to pass the course. Persistent, repeated behavior does not guarantee that some change will someday miraculously appear.
In this week’s gospel text Jesus offers a parable that appears to be deceptively straightforward. Found only in Luke’s gospel, this story of the pesky, persistent widow seeking “justice” is introduced by the gospel writer as “a parable about their need to pray always and not lose heart” (v.1). But the context into which this example is dropped, and the final, open-ended question posed in verse 8 “will he find faith?” reveals that this tale of the widow and the judge points beyond any human judicial relationships.
In fact this parable is not about issues of justice at all. It is instead part of Luke’s continuing section on the need for disciples to exhibit steadfast faithfulness in divine promises, even as they suffer while awaiting the coming of the kingdom.
Beginning in 17:20 Jesus’ discourse focuses on the Pharisees’ question about the coming of the kingdom of God. Instead of offering any definitive timetable, Jesus promises the reality of two certainties: first, the kingdom of God is coming; second, until it arrives the faithful will endure suffering. The divine promise of the approaching eschaton, God’s assurance of the kingdom, is to be the focus of fervent disciples, not the momentary actions of any human reactions or results.
The parable of the widow and the unjust judge is classic in its portrayal of two stock characters. The “judge” is not personalized in any way. He is simple “a judge” (an average local magistrate) from an “certain city,” a wholly generic reference.
Although such an individual would have welded judicial powers and commanded local respect, this particular individual is one who neither “feared God” nor “respected people.” This is not a commentary on the unbiased nature of this judge. Rather it is clearly a condemnation of this man’s desultory character. For all persons, but especially for those in positions of power, to be “God fearing” was a sign of reverence and respect for the power of the Lord (see King Jehoshaphat’s directives in 2 Chronicles 19:7). Even those who were born Gentiles but who later confessed faith in the one God and followed Jewish law were referred to as “God-fearers.”
That this judge has no “fear,” no respect for God words or God’s laws, is further evidenced by his treatment of the second actor in this parable. In the Jewish tradition there were explicit Torah mandates for the special care of orphans, widows, and resident aliens — that is, all those who were particularly vulnerable and powerless within the culture (see Leviticus 19:2-10; 23:22; Deuteronomy 14:28-29; 24:19-22). That this judge continually disregards the legal petitions of a widow clearly identifies him as one who is unconcerned with either Torah demands or human compassion.
The widow in question here is exceptionally unusual. It would have been odd for a woman, a widow, to represent herself in court, appealing directly to a judge. That she confronts this judge suggests that she truly has no other family, no male relatives, who could present her case for her. But not only does this woman represent herself in court. She continues to return, again and again, pestering this judge, persisting in her appeal. And it is her doggedness that finally gets her some action.
But the action taken by the judge is not motivated by any grudging acknowledgment of the validity of her claims or of the Torah-mandated demand for the care of widows. The judge, as always, acts only according to his own self-interest. In his own words, he continues to “have no fear of God and no respect for anyone” (v.4). What ultimately does motivate this judge to act is self-interest. He is afraid that the widow might “wear him out” with her continual clamor for justice.
Shamefully, the NRSV translation sanitizes and squelches the colloquialism of the text here. Literally what this judge is worried about is that this woman might give him “hypopiazo” — which means a “black eye.” That reference itself could in turn be taken physically: the widow might actually assault him (very unlikely). Or more figuratively, a “black eye” means her persistent presence and noisy claims might give a “black eye” to his judicial reputation. In either case, it is purely self-preservation that motivates this judge.
As Jesus offers his commentary on this situation, Luke’s text refers to him as “the Lord,” emphasizing his eschatological role and divine right to judge. Jesus’ summation is a classic “lesser to greater” argument. If this amoral, unjust judge will finally reward the persistent widow with the judgment she deserves, “will not God grant justice to his chosen ones who cry to him day and night?” (v.7). Obviously, God’s faithfulness to those who continually turn to the Lord is infinitely greater than the self-centered actions of the unjust judge. God’s justice, unlike human justice, is extended to the faithful. Those who pray and call to God “day and night” in a continual, ongoing manner, will quickly receive the promise of justice.
Jesus’ final comment redirects the focus of this parable from God’s judgment to human faithfulness. The concluding query “when the son of Man comes, will he find faith on earth?” asks listeners to consider whether they are maintaining an attitude of trust and faith in God’s presence and promises despite all the suffering, despite all the injustices, despite all the all-to-human behaviors they encounter every day.
It is faith in God, not faith in any form of human legal sense of justice, which is required of disciples. The persistent widow’s plight demonstrates the perniciousness of human justice. The unjust judge’s final acquiescence in her pleas was based upon a momentary whim. The faith that disciples have in God’s promises is based upon the unswerving commitment of the Lord. It is the promise that the kingdom of God is coming and that all those who cry out to the Lord will be comforted.