The Annoyed Judge

Luke 18:1-8
October 16, 2022
William G. Carter

Then Jesus told them a parable about their need to pray always and not to lose heart. He said, “In a certain city there was a judge who neither feared God nor had respect for people. In that city there was a widow who kept coming to him and saying, ‘Grant me justice against my opponent.’ For a while he refused; but later he said to himself, ‘Though I have no fear of God and no respect for anyone, yet because this widow keeps bothering me, I will grant her justice, so that she may not wear me out by continually coming.’” And the Lord said, “Listen to what the unjust judge says. And will not God grant justice to his chosen ones who cry to him day and night? Will he delay long in helping them? I tell you, he will quickly grant justice to them. And yet, when the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on earth?”


Some years ago, an artist looked at me and drew a portrait. It is a caricature. The head looks rounder, the nose is significantly more pointed, the smile is goofy. This is what caricatures are: overdrawn pictures that highlight some prominent features. Anybody who looks at my portrait will turn to me and say, “Yes, that’s you!” It’s not – but it is. The artist has made his point.

I’m making the case this fall that the parables of Luke function the same way. We hear him tell a story from Jesus. He draws our imaginations to the exaggerated features. Like the Jewish boy who hit bottom so low he was forced to slop the pigs, and the father who forgives him before he is asked. Or the neighbor who pays for a stranger’s recovery from a beating, and the so-called religious folk that refuse to get involved. Or the accountant who discounts the accounts receivable after cheating his boss, and the boss who blesses him for it. These are tall tales that make their point.

Today we have a judge who has no time for God and neighbor, and a woman who nags him until he gives her what she wants. Neither is a good example. I wonder if that’s why Jesus uses them.

By virtue of his position, the judge is responsible for justice. Clearly, he doesn’t care for that. It’s his job to listen to accounts of unfairness and then decide to do something about them. He’s remarkably indifferent about the woman’s case, whatever it is. She asks for justice, and he refuses. Not once, not twice, but repeatedly. I picture him in his black robe, enduring her complaints as he works on a crossword puzzle. He doesn’t give a rip about her, and not about anybody else either.

And the woman? She won’t back down, back off, or back away. She’s got her teeth in the matter like a pit bull and won’t stop barking. We have no idea what has set her off. It’s an undisclosed matter and Jesus doesn’t want us to be distracted by it. We can’t question the validity of her case nor evaluate the crime against her. All we hear is her pounding the fist on the judge’s desk. Bang, bang, bang – “Give me what I want!” The judge finally says, “If I don’t do this, she’s going to smash me in the eye.”

It would be a comical scene if it weren’t so dramatic. The judge who won’t adjudicate. The woman who won’t back down. The little bit I’ve heard about first-century justice in a Palestinian town, it’s thoroughly believable.

And the story makes a good point: the squeaky wheel gets the grease. Whoever complains the most will get the attention. Whoever honks the horn loudest will get the right of way. Or as a Chinese student declared in an ESL class, “The baby that cries loudest will get the milk.” This is how the woman handles her complaint: “Give me what I want because I’m not going anywhere.”

I think of my friend Debbie. She teaches classes for women on how to be assertive. Stand up for yourself. Say what you need. Don’t sugar coat it. Don’t be intimidated. Don’t let anybody dismiss you. Speak up. Say it again. Plant your feet right there until you are heard. Debbie lives in Alabama; if it weren’t for her accent, you’d think she was from Brooklyn.

Now, Luke tells us this is a parable about prayer. I don’t think he means to emphasize the obnoxiousness, but the persistence. Keep at it. Don’t stop praying. Never give in. Don’t lose heart. This is what Luke says, not Jesus. Jesus tells the story, but Luke tells us what he wants us to hear. Keep praying – that’s a good lesson; it stands on its own.

Yet that sounds like he is merely skipping a rock across the pond. There’s more to the parable than that.

For one thing, this woman is a widow. That’s code language for someone who has not only lost her husband, but one who has no income, has no legal standing, has no community voice. The Jewish commandments taught, “Pay attention to the needs of the widows, because the rest of the society is prone to overlook them.” Over and over the scriptures declared we are to care for the ones that nobody is paying attention to – like the widows, the orphans, and those without permanent residence status. They are passed over all too frequently. They are prone to be neglected and exploited.

So the book of Deuteronomy thunders, “Cursed is the one who prevents the justice due to the sojourner, the fatherless, and the widow (27:19).” So if this judge does withhold her plea, he truly has no regard for people or for God. That is a serious matter.

But listen to what the widow wants. In English, the request is, “Grant me justice!” In the original language, it says, “Grant me revenge.” Not merely a correction or a redress of her grievance. She wants her unidentified enemy to be punished. She wants him to suffer as she has suffered.

This little semantic detail, along with the judge’s literal concern that “if I don’t give her what she wants, she’s going to give me a black eye,” suggests her persistence is on the verge of retaliation. If she can’t get revenge on her opponent, she will extract it on the judge. This gives the parable a different nuance, even a violent shade. It’s no longer a story only about persistence; it’s also about retribution and punishment that could go awry.

So even though the judge has little regard for people or the law of God, he is remarkably patient. He doesn’t mete out punishment at the first sound of her complaint. He waits. He handles some other cases. He gives the case some time to air out, allowing for further discovery and analysis of the facts.

It’s a good reminder that there’s a downside to the squeaky wheel, the noisy gong, and the clanging cymbal. And true justice must be true, not tainted or reactive.

We had a classmate by the name of Jim. He went to seminary as a second career student and was quite sure he never wanted to be a preacher. He wondered, “What am I doing taking Bible classes?” Well, like everybody else, he was required to do a student ministry for a couple of years, so he took a hitch as a chaplain at Trenton State Penitentiary. The boss said, “You’re there to listen and to pray, but don’t get entangled with any of the cases.”

Turns out, he broke the rules. As he listened and prayed, he grew convinced that one of the guys on death row was falsely accused. He hadn’t done the crime, and DNA evidence could prove it. He begged for years for somebody to take the case but couldn’t afford a good attorney. So Jim dug in, did a little investigating, and got in trouble with the chaplaincy supervisor. In time, Jim got the charges dropped and the prisoner released. And in the course of things, he found his calling.

I mention that, and lay it down beside the parable, because there’s an unusual phrase at the end that hasn’t been translated very well. Jesus speaks up to say, “Listen to this unjust judge,” who gave in finally. And he adds, “Won’t God give in, too, for his chosen ones who cry out day and night?” And then it says, as best I can translate, “for God is longsuffering with them.” Longsuffering, patient, or resilient - it’s a term used specifically for God. That, too, adds another wrinkle to understanding the parable.

God is with us in the struggle. God is not reactive, anxious, or impulsive, not when it comes to addressing our serious problems. Our world is a mess. It’s always been a mess. It’s not getting worse. It’s always been bad. The good news is God is with us in the mess. The wheels of true justice are really grinding. Slowly, always slowly, but from the standpoint of eternity, we’re moving ahead. And there is no problem that you and I face now that a hundred more years will not fix.

The question – and it’s the last question that Jesus adds to the parable – is whether we trust God is going to make good on all his promises. It’s a good question. It’s an honest question. From the standpoint of faith, it is already an answered question. It was answered well over a hundred years ago by a Presbyterian minister by the name of Maltie Babcock. You might not know his name (that happens to people who died over a hundred years ago), but you may remember the third verse of a hymn that he wrote. Goes like this:

This is my Father’s world; O let me ne’er forget
That thought the wrong seems oft so strong, God is the Ruler yet.
This is my Father’s world; Why should my heart be sad?
The Lord is king, let the heavens ring! God reigns; let earth be glad.

And that leads us back to the matter of prayer, about praying always, and not losing heart. Prayer is more than mouthing off or bothering the Heavenly Judge. Prayer is sinking deeply into the confidence that we are not responsible for fixing everything. That is God’s mission, and we are blessed to take part.

We pray for peace, so we work for peace.
We pray for justice, so we engage in creating justice.
We pray for the hungry to be fed, so we feed them.
We pray for the homeless, so we find them warm shelter.
We pray for children to be safe, so we ensure their safety.
We pray for fools to become wise, so we do what we can to instruct them.
We pray for our enemies to cease being our enemies, so we love them.

The point is, we must never pray for something that we are unwilling to work for. Our prayers must have more than wings; they must have hands, feet, and hearts. And that’s why the life of faith is so interesting. It is truly a journey, a long-distance journey, as we wait for the justice of God to pour down like mighty waters.

The other day, my wife and I took a little trip. She is a knitter, and there’s a favorite yarn shop about seventy-five miles away. It’s not far from a favorite Italian restaurant. Since Friday was a brilliant autumn day, and for me a day off, we hit the road. And we went the long way, winding through back roads in the Poconos to enjoy the colorful leaves.

Somewhere along the way, we were talking about some of the troubles of our times and wondering if they will ever be fixed. She was quiet for a few minutes, and then she said, “You know, that’s why I like to watch cop shows on TV. There are crimes, and they are real. People get hurt, and the pain is real too. But eventually, when you get to the end, there is a fundamental justice. Everything secret is revealed. There is the possibility of healing and redemption.”

We drove on quietly for a while longer, surrounded by brilliant trees in red, yellow, and orange flames. Then I realized she just told me a parable.

(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.