King of Losers

Luke 23:33-43

Christ the King Sunday

November 24, 2013

William G. Carter

Two others also, who were criminals, were led away to be put to death with him... One of the criminals who were hanged there kept deriding him and saying, “Are you not the Messiah? Save yourself and us!” But the other rebuked him, saying, “Do you not fear God, since you are under the same sentence of condemnation? And we indeed have been condemned justly, for we are getting what we deserve for our deeds, but this man has done nothing wrong.” Then he said, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” He replied, “Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise.”

Today is a difficult day to hold together. We celebrate the sign above Jesus’ head (“This is the King…”) and we note his location (on the cross). The King of the Jews is condemned as a Jewish prophet. The Ruler over all wears a crown of thorns. The Sovereign who is enthroned on the praises of heaven is subject to the insults and jeers of earth. The One who rules over heaven and earth is lifted a few feet off the earth to survey his dominion with wounds in his hands and feet.

We try to hold all of this together. At very least, it is a curiosity.

Our hymns sing of this unusual sight. “Lift High the Cross, the love of Christ proclaim till all the world adore his sacred name.” “Alleluia, Sing to Jesus . .  here on earth both priest and victim.” It is an odd affirmation: the central figure of our faith is crucified and exalted.”

And if that weren’t difficult enough, today the church gives a story from the cross. Jesus is put between two criminals, one on his right, one on his left. They have committed significant enough crimes as to be condemned to death. None of these three men will get out of this Friday alive. So they began to talk among themselves.

One of them takes a cue from the crowd and mocks Jesus. The other one says, “Are you clueless? Don’t you notice where we are?”

The first one says, “Why can’t he who raised the dead do something to help us out? He has the power. He should help us out.” The other one says, “Have you no shame? We are getting what we deserve, but he has done nothing wrong.” It is a strange conversation and I am surprised that somebody wrote it down. Why would the church want to hang on to these words for centuries?

Then the second criminal calls the man in the middle by name: “Jesus.” That doesn’t happen much in the Gospel of Luke. Only the very sick or those possessed by evil call Jesus by name; others call him “Master” or “Lord.” He says “Jesus, remember me when you enter your kingdom.” Jesus says directly, “Today you will be with me in Paradise.” Of course, they are not in the Garden of Eden, but subject to pain, wretchedness, and cruelty. What kind of king gives access to a thief who is dying beside him?

It is a curious conversation, none other like it in all the Gospels. In a season when we have heard a lot from the Gospel of Luke, we have one final story where the Gospel writer pushes the grace of God as far as it can go. A condemned criminal, judged and executed, is remembered – and presumably received – by Christ. He cannot save himself; and Jesus, who refuses to save himself, offers him access into paradise. It is a free gift for a man who is losing everything, given by a Savor who is giving himself away.

A lot of people find this confusing. Can you blame them? They want a religion that makes sense. They want a step-by-step plan for improving their lives. They want guidance for helping their children to turn out well. They want assurance that they are doing it right, that they are approved by a higher power. They want the promise that they will be forgiven for the little things that they do, and they promise in return to avoid the really big mistakes that could ruin their lives and the lives of others.

And then we get a story of a man on a cross, talking to another man on a cross, and offering him free paradise. How does this happen? Well, take note of three things.

First, the criminal defends Jesus and tells the greater truth that Luke has insisted upon since page one: Jesus has done nothing wrong; ergo, he has done everything right. He has done the will of God.

Second, whether the criminal knows it or not, he himself is on the side of God’s kingdom. Back in the desert, Jesus was tempted to save himself, to think of himself first, to turn stones into bread, to impress the crowds and win them over with self-serving miracles. Jesus seems to chase away the devil, but then Luke says, “The devil departed until an opportune time” (4:13).

Listen, here is the opportune time: when everybody turns against you, when people laugh at you, when the officials condemn you, where religious leaders spit on you, when another condemned man says in the tempter’s voice, “If you are the Messiah of God, save yourself . . .” And the second criminal interrupts, “Wait, don’t you fear God? He is getting worse than he deserves.”

But third, and listen to this: Jesus refuses to save himself. He has come to save the world. And how does he save the world? By dying. In the words of the first Christ followers, “Through him, God was pleased to reconciled to himself all things . . . by making peace through the blood of his cross” (Colossians 1:20). Jesus prays for the Father to forgive the foolishness of the human race, and the prayer is granted. Jesus is urged by his peers to save himself, but he refuses.

This is the mystery of the Gospel. Jesus rescues us by dying. He dies and he invites us to die with him. That is the only way we will ever live with him . . . by dying to ourselves and dying to him. He said as much on the way to the cross. “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will save it.” (Luke 9:23-24)  Only in the kingdom of God do we get ahead by losing, by losing ourselves and dying with Christ. The king in the kingdom is Jesus, regarded by almost everybody in Jerusalem as the king of losers.

So how does this play in the suburbs? Probably about the same as it played in the time of Jesus. Where we live, there are some criminals who get caught. They get condemned, sentenced, and sent away. Back patio wisdom is that they get what they deserve.  Nobody wants them forgiven, turned loose, or let off the hook. Please notice if you will that the second criminal is paying for his crimes. Nobody lets him off the cross after his little chat with Jesus, because nobody is letting Jesus off the cross either, least of all Jesus himself.

So many people seem to believe that life is about building, and increasing, and multiplying, and having everything turn out well. They dream that life starts down here, moves increasingly higher, and gets better and better. Isn’t that what everybody would like? But then something happens.

She sat in a wheelchair and told me about her circles of friends. “We played croquet at the club, ate cucumber sandwiches, and had our share of mimosas,” she said. “Every month we went shopping in New York, sometimes hiring a driver. Then I had a stroke at 42 and the pretty women disappeared. They dropped me. At first, a couple of them sent me flowers with the note, ‘Wishing for a full recovery.’ The full recovery didn’t happen and all those so-called friends disappeared. They didn’t like the reminder that they were mere mortals.”

There are hundreds of variations on that story. The medical emergency, the crumbled marriage, the sudden termination, the kids in trouble, the horrible phone call, the unexpected betrayal, the rotten business partner – at any moment, we may reminded that all of us are mere mortals. The pretty women and the golden men will evaporate quicker than you can say “The Great Gatsby.” If honest, we confess how much we have lost.

But the mystery of the Gospel is that this can be the beginning of wisdom, the beginning of holy wisdom.

Look at Jesus. When God sends Jesus on the mission to our world, he does not show up like a super hero or a rock star. He doesn’t have flowing blond hair or rippled muscles or perfect teeth. No, he grows up as a small town carpenter, gets splinters in his hands, and stays home until he is thirty. Jesus blends in, until it is time to teach, to heal, to feed, to confront, to be condemned, and as far as the powerful were concerned, to be removed. And when he is revealed, all the Gospels say, there is revelation on the cross.

I remember when I was a kid. My favorite baseball team was the New York Mets. In 1962, their very first year, they were the worst team in baseball – won 40 games out of 160. They were horrible, worst record of any modern major league team ever. Why did I like them, probably for the same reason I didn’t like the slick and successful Yankees: I could understand losers. I was a clumsy kid, last to get chosen for a team in gym class, never ran very fast. When I threw a baseball, it didn’t go where I wanted it to go. I loved the New York Mets.

And then we went to church, and my teachers had us memorize a Bible passage called “The Beatitudes.” The very first one says, “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” (Matt. 5:3). Can you believe it? The kingdom belongs to them. Really? For the people who have lost their hope, lost their energy, lost their way. The kingdom is for them? What kind of kingdom is that? My teacher said, “That is God’s kingdom.”

Every one of Christ’s beatitudes is addressed to the world’s losers: the poor, the mourners, the meek, the hungry, the kind-hearted, the simple, the downtrodden. What kind of kingdom is this? It is God’s kingdom.

Throughout the centuries, outsiders have looked upon the people of the church and considered them losers. A lot of people are looking upon us that way now. Nothing new about that! The apostle Paul looked at the congregation in the Greek city of Corinth, some fifty or sixty souls we think.

He writes to them and says, “Consider who you are. Look at your membership roster. You’re not much to look at. There isn’t much to commend you. Not much in terms of worldly stature or wealth or celebrity significance. Corinthian church, if we were to size up those who are the winners of the world, you’re not even on the list.”

But that seems to be the plan, he says. “God chose those who are foolish to shame the wise. God chose those who are weak to shame the strong. God chose all the nobodies to bring honest judgment to the somebodies. If anybody boasts, let them boast about God.” (1 Corinthians 1:26-31)

It is so hard for so many people to understand this, especially if they are concerned about power and riches, and increase and popularity, stature and good looks, and all the world’s markers of success. They don’t know what to do with Jesus, the real Jesus, the Jesus who refuses to save himself so that he can save those who die with him. Until people receive this truth in their hearts, it will confuse and confound them.

Sometimes it is people in the church who don’t understand.  They are doing just fine. Go to church to worship the king. Dress up and look good. But when trouble comes their way, they drop out or stop going. Wait, don’t do that: the king and the kingdom are precisely for you, when you’re in trouble, when you risk losing everything. We will recognize him if we were paying attention. Gathered on a hill, he speaks to the broken ones, to the poor in spirit. Crucified on a hill, he still gathers those who need him more than anything else. This is the truth of Christ the King.

So we return to the conversation between thieves on their crosses. Two of them are there, one on either side of Jesus. As far as we know, one of them is bitter to the end, the other open to the possibility that the man in the middle has the authority over every death sentence. “Remember me, Lord,” he says. “Remember me when you come into your kingdom.”

   Remember me because I am not going anywhere right now.

   Remember me because I need you more than anything or anybody else.

   Remember me because I am a criminal, and the society wants me out of sight.        

   Remember me because everybody else is going to forget my name.

   Remember me when you come into your kingdom.

His prayer is answered by Jesus Christ, the King of Losers, the King of All.

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

What Friends Will Do For One Another

John 15:12-17

National Organ Donor Sabbath

November 17, 2013

This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you. No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends. You are my friends if you do what I command you. I do not call you servants any longer, because the servant does not know what the master is doing; but I have called you friends, because I have made known to you everything that I have heard from my Father.

I am reluctant to tell you about Jim Oakes. Not because of what he did, but because I do not wish to cheapen it. Jim Oakes was a hero.

A tall, strapping veteran of the armed forces, and still a young man, Jim landed a job with a natural gas company in northwestern Pennsylvania. He learned the business quickly, rose through the ranks, and was promoted into management. Jim was a quick thinker, a decisive man. Everybody liked him at the office. His wife and two little kids adored him.

The story goes, Jim’s company had some labor disputes, and the line workers went on strike. He and the other managers weren’t union members. When there were some difficulties in the gas lines in Buffalo, Jim’s boss sent him and another worker up to handle service calls. It was a definite change of pace for both of them. They rode around in a big orange truck and took emergency calls on the radio.

A call came in one day. There was a leak downtown somewhere, and the company needed to get it plugged. Jim and his buddy drove over there, and the buddy went down into the manhole cover. “I think I see the problem,” he yelled. Jim said, “Great!”

Just then, Jim saw his co-worker collapse. Without any regard for his own safety, he plunged into the hole to rescue him. He put him over his shoulders in a fireman’s carry, and began to climb the ladder back up to the street with the other man on his back. Just a few steps from the top, he too was overcome by the gas, and the two of them fell back down, passed out, and died. I believe he was twenty-eight years old, married with two little kids at home.

But that was Jim Oakes. He was my Uncle Jim, my mother’s brother in law.

The story has always had a profound effect on me. Here was somebody I knew, my uncle, who was willing to risk his life to rescue another. Although the story did not turn out as anybody would have hoped, it was clear to me that Jim Oakes was a hero. He did not count the cost. He did not calculate the risk. Jim plunged in.

“No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.” The first time I ever heard Jesus say that, I already had a family story to make it real. It wasn’t a hypothetical virtue, it was something that somebody really did. Somebody I knew. My cousins lost their dad that day, my aunt lost her husband. But our family gained a hero.

This is what friends will do for one another: they lay down their lives for one another.

Jesus is preparing to depart his disciples when he says this. It is an extraordinary passage, for Jesus suggests that as he departs, there is a shift from power to equality. No longer is he the “Master” (capital “M”) with servants (small “s”). Now the Lord of life declares we are his friends, and that he is our friend. There is mutuality. Everybody stands on the same level ground. Nobody is better than anybody else. All are loved equally.

If you remember the plot of the Gospel of John, this relationship is possible because Jesus steps down from heaven. The mission of God is to send Jesus into the world. The One through whom all things were made takes his place among those he has made. He lays down his divine life out of self-giving love, to the end that all people might be full of his life. This move from “on high” to “side by side” is the essence of friendship. You stand side by side with your friends.

More than that, you will lay down your life for them. It doesn’t matter if you know them really well, or if you don’t. It doesn’t matter if they can appreciate the sacrifice or gain all the benefits, you give them your life as a gift. This is what Jesus Christ for us: he gives his life. But then he extends the self-giving love as a model for all his friends. “Lay down your life,” he says. He doesn’t spell out how to do it. He simply makes the invitation.

Is this something I can do? Something that you can do? I wonder if we will recognize the moment, or have the courage to go through with it.

And I think about this on a day when we join other congregations across the land in observing National Organ Donor Sabbath. Are you registered as an organ donor? A lot of people will affirm that it is can be a gift of life to donate the organs of our bodies when we no longer need them and others need what we can provide.

A recent Gallup poll says 85 percent of Americans believe persons should donate their organs upon their death. However, the report is that as few as 32 percent of potential donors actually follow through. It’s a generous act of stewardship, to share what we can with those who need it, to share no longer need – but will we have the courage to do this for the people that Christ calls “friends”?

A few years ago, I came across Peggy and Jim on Facebook, two friends from high school who married and live near Pittsburgh. I knew they were strong people of faith, Presbyterians, in fact. So I sent a note: what’s new?  

It seems a young couple were coming to their church, Jessica and Aaron. They met at a medical clinic in Pittsburgh, where 33-year-old Aaron was a dialysis patient with a failing kidney and Jessica was his nurse. Aaron was there three nights a week, receiving dialysis. Jessica kept looking on him. Over time it grew into something romantic, and Jessica started taking him to her church where Peggy and Jim were also members.

Peggy is soft-spoken but pretty insistent. She started pushing Jessica to have Aaron join her on a church mission trip to Nicaragua. “We’d really like him to come with us,” she said. Jessica said, “I don’t know; Aaron needs a kidney from a living donor if he’s going to make it at all.”

Peggy said, “What do you have to do to become a living donor?” Have matching blood types, Jessica said. “I’m O-negative,” Peggy blurted out. So was Aaron.

She took a blood test. She mentioned it to her husband, who prayed with her about it. There were additional tests, all positive. Both the signs on earth and heaven seemed to confirm that Peggy was a perfect match. She had never had a major operation in her life, but she felt this was a direct invitation from God. So she underwent the procedure at the University of Pittsburgh Medical Center and Aaron got one of her two healthy kidneys.

Seven months later, she and husband Jim danced at Aaron and Jessica’s wedding. Everybody is doing fine.

Silly me: I asked, “What’s new?” and discovered my old friend is a hero. She laid down her life for a friend.

We must not be afraid to do this. Jesus did it for us, and he is the author of life, the giver of life, the source and destination of life. He holds us secure, now and in the future. And he shows us what the spiritual life really is: a life of self-giving. This is a life of stewardship in the most comprehensive sense.

SPECIAL NOTE: You have the power to save lives. Consider registering online to be an organ donor. It's easy: go to www.donors1.org.

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

Disposable Husbands?

Luke 20:27-38

November 10, 2013

William G. Carter

Jesus said to them, “Those who belong to this age marry and are given in marriage; but those who are considered worthy of a place in that age and in the resurrection from the dead neither marry nor are given in marriage. Indeed they cannot die anymore, because they are like angels and are children of God, being children of the resurrection. And the fact that the dead are raised Moses himself showed, in the story about the bush, where he speaks of the Lord as the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob. Now he is God not of the dead, but of the living; for to him all of them are alive.”

Whose wife will she be?  Multiple marriages and the life to come: whose wife will she be?

There once was a woman who outlived seven husbands. She was strong, apparently they were faint of heart. She outlasted every one of them, and at the end, which one was hers?

It’s an odd little scenario, proposed by Jewish religious leaders. They hurl it at Jesus, trying to make him stumble so they can pounce. They draw on an old law from Moses, tucked away in a dark corner of the Old Testament. Moses taught, “If a married man dies but had no son, his brother shall marry the widow and get her pregnant so the family name shall continue” (Deuteronomy 25:5-6).

It was called “Levirate marriage” and we don’t know how many times the rule was invoked. The brother was obligated to do this duty, regardless of how appealing his sister-in-law was, and she was required to go through with it, regardless of how she felt about the brother-in-law who became her husband.

And it wasn’t simply a redneck wedding. There was an element of justice here. Widows had no rights in ancient Jewish society. Somebody needed to protect and provide for them. Not only that; if there were male children, they could inherit the family property someday. The line could continue . . . although it continued in a most unusual way.

Now, the brother didn’t have to do this. He could refuse. If he did, the widow could go to the village elders to complain. If the brother still refused, the widow would spit in his general direction, take one of his shoes, and he would forever be known as “The Man Without a Shoe” (Deuteronomy 25:7-10).

So they go to Jesus, assuming there is no resurrection, no life to come, and these unromantic fundamentalists say, “There once was a widow who wore out seven brothers. Whose wife is she going to be in heaven?” Some have said that’s like asking, “Whose farm animal will she be?” As for me, I wonder about those seven disposable husbands.

It is an odd scenario, to say the least. It comes from the Sadducees, a sect of leaders in the Jerusalem Temple. They were wealthy and supported by the rich, as opposed to the Pharisees who had broad support from the common people. The Sadducees would have been very concerned about the transfer of wealth from one generation to the next. They were also united in declaring there is no such thing as a resurrection. You only get one time around the block. This is it. When it’s over, it’s over.

After entering Jerusalem in humility, this is their test for Jesus: in your so-called life to come, whose wife will she be?

I don’t know about you, but I am inclined to dismiss that as a silly question. Like the high school science teacher who asked on a test, “Name three things on the earth that do not exist on the moon.” One student wrote, “Bagels, minivans, and the Dallas Cowboys.” The teacher had to mark him correct.

Whose wife will she be in the afterlife? We could dismiss that as a small question, just as Jesus does. Heaven is so much grander, so much greater than anything we can imagine. But then, I recall a couple of vignettes.

Sixteen years ago, when I was going through a divorce, I was talking to a young woman at a wedding reception. We were admiring the bride and the groom and enjoying the party. Somebody at the table asked how I was surviving the divorce. I began to talk, and this woman grew very quiet. So quiet, in fact, that I asked if I was making her uncomfortable. "No," she said, "it's just that I'm a Mormon."

I wasn't sure how that fit. So I asked her. She said, "Well, for us Mormons, marriage is forever." There was an embarrassed silence at the table. Finally I decided to break it; "Listen," I said, "whenever two people get married, they always hope it will last forever." The young woman said, "We Mormons believe that marriage does last forever, regardless of how it works out during your earthly life. If you marry somebody on earth, you are bound to them in eternity. You can't ever break it off."

All of us turned and looked at her. Somebody said, "How do you know you're not marrying the wrong person?" And she said, "I guess you need to be very careful."

It took me a while to shake that off. She and her ilk didn’t believe that marriages come to an end. I happen to believe that they do. The marital promise is conditioned by the words "til death do us part."

Remember what we say at a wedding? Our marriage service declares that "husband and wife belong to one another, and, with affection and tenderness, freely give themselves to one another."  This, of course, is the hope and aim of Christian marriage. Marriage is a covenant partnership that gets people through the dark. Those who have been married know that marriage is a school for forgiveness; every day can offer a practice exam. At its best, marriage gives a soul mate who nurtures your faith, calls forth your gifts, and challenges you to grow into full maturity. Marriage is a gift from God, and like every other gift from God, it is to be cherished and enjoyed.

           

But every marriage ends, just as every life ends. Some marriages end with death. Other marriages end with another kind of death. Either way, all of us know about death. The big question is whether there will be a resurrection.

The Sadducees believed, “Nope. This is all you get. One trip around the track and you are done. This is it.”

A few days before his death, Jesus disagrees with them. His disagreement is rooted in the nature of God. God is eternal. God is the giver of life. Wherever God is, there is life. Jesus looked at the Sadducees and said, “As long as you’re throwing around the words of Moses, take a moment to remember how God came to Moses in the burning bush. The Eternal One said, ‘I am the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, the God of Jacob,’ each of whom had died long ago, and each of whom are now alive with God. God is the God of the living.’”

Wherever God is, there is life. Not death, but life. "In this age," said Jesus, "people marry, are given in marriage, and die." In this age people suffer, and starve, and shiver through the night. In this age some are deprived of dignity, or perish from loneliness. In this age, people have to make answers for their questions out of the materials at hand.

"But in that age," Jesus goes on to say, and he points ahead to a future age not governed by the captivities of the present. For God is the God of the living, God is at work in the world, and God will ultimately redeem and renew this beloved creation. God will gather everybody who belongs to him and fill them with life. Before a group of Sadducees talks callously about a hypothetical woman with multiple husbands, perhaps they could reflect on what God is doing through the death and resurrection of Jesus. It's better news than any other news in the world.

The second vignette comes from a few days after my Aunt Mary died. We loved her so much. She was a grade school teacher. She loved bookstores and whales and little children. She made great apple pie and stayed up late with construction paper and scissors. Her first husband, my Uncle Bill, died of a heart attack in his forties while deer hunting. She was alone for years, and then she met Chuck, who became Uncle Chuck when she married again. He had been widowed when his first wife died of cancer. When he and my aunt met, both of them became very happy very quickly.

Now Aunt Mary had died. Leukemia. For Uncle Chuck, another wife lost to cancer. She lay in a coffin in the same funeral home, in the very same room where his first wife had been. Small town.

Between the viewing hours and the funeral, Chuck and I went downstairs for a Coke. We were both alone with our thoughts. I didn't have much to say. Suddenly Uncle Chuck spoke in the void. "Bill, I loved your aunt. She brought a lot of joy into my life. I always thought I would go first. But now that is she's gone, do you think she's with her first husband up in heaven?"

I learned a long time ago that it's good practice to keep your mouth shut in the basement of a funeral home. It was not a moment for idle speculation. We were both heavy with grief. Chuck asked again, “Do you think she’s with her first husband?”

And all I could blurt out is, “Chuck, she’s with God. Now she is with everybody who belongs to God.” I looked at him through scorched eyes to see him nodding his head with a slow smile. Wherever God is, there is life.

We stood there silent for another minute, and hugged. Then we went upstairs. It was time to celebrate Easter.

© William G. Carter. All rights reserved.

Close to the Ground

Luke 18:9-14

30th Sunday in Ordinary Time (C)

October 27, 2013

William G. Carter

He also told this parable to some who trusted in themselves that they were righteous and regarded others with contempt: "Two men went up to the temple to pray, one a Pharisee and the other a tax collector. The Pharisee, standing by himself, was praying thus, 'God, I thank you that I am not like other people: thieves, rogues, adulterers, or even like this tax collector. I fast twice a week; I give a tenth of all my income.' But the tax collector, standing far off, would not even look up to heaven, but was beating his breast and saying, 'God, be merciful to me, a sinner!' I tell you, this man went down to his home justified rather than the other; for all who exalt themselves will be humbled, but all who humble themselves will be exalted."

I need to warn you that this story comes only from the Gospel of Luke. Luke is fond of saying, "Everything is going to be turned upside down."

Today’s story sounds kind of like this:

"Two people went up to the temple to pray. One was a good person.  The other was bad. The good person came away bad.  The bad person came away good."

Everything gets turned upside down. You can't turn the pages of the Gospel of Luke without hearing a story like this one. Sometimes it shows up when Jesus gives a one-liner: "The first shall be last; the last shall be first." Sometimes it shows up in two one-liners, back-to-back: "Blessed are you who weep, for you will laugh."  (6:21b) "Woe to you who laugh, for you will weep and mourn."  (6:25b)

Can you hear the flip-flop pattern?

Sometimes it happens in a story, like the one we heard a few weeks ago. Jesus said,   "Once there were two people -- one was rich, the other was poor. The rich person died and went down to torment. The poor person died and went up to Abraham's bosom" (16:19-31). That's all we know about them:  one was rich, the other was poor. And in the end, there was a great reversal of fortunes.

In Luke, sometimes we will hear this in an Advent song. The mother of Jesus sang these words: "God has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up those of low degree; God has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty." (1:52-53). In church they sound like lilting lyrics, but they have the power to ignite a hundred revolutions.

Luke’s consistent message is, "Thanks to Jesus Christ, everything will be turned upside down." In the final line of today’s text: "All who exalt themselves will be humbled, but all who humble themselves will be exalted."

It comes as the punch-line of the story Jesus told: "Once upon a time, two people went up to the temple to pray. One of them was a pious Pharisee. The other was a nasty tax collector." Then everything was turned upside down. By the end of their prayers, the bad person was justified with God. He was “put right.” And the good religious person was . . . well, we don't know what happened to him. He slipped away off the page.

We have to wonder why. Why this great reversal? One person comes out smelling like a rose. . . and the other comes out smelling.  Why? Obviously, it has nothing to do with the kind of life they lead.

After all, the Pharisee was a righteous man. Forget all those stories you've heard about the Pharisees. They were not moustache-twisting villains. No, in the time of Jesus, the Pharisees were religious heroes. They were lay people committed to keeping Jewish faith alive. They were faithful in worship, well-schooled in the scriptures, and deeply concerned about social justice. Listen: every church needs more people like that.

This man is impressive. His piety led him to fast, to abstain from food twice a week to devote himself to prayer. What's more, he tithed his income. He gave ten percent off the top to support God's work. Our office would like to know his address. We want to send him a pledge card. As someone notes, "This Pharisee is the faithful, dependable type (of person) who pays the salaries of ministers so they can preach on the parable of the Pharisee and the tax collector."[1] He was a good person, a righteous person.

By contrast, you have probably heard about the tax collectors of that time. They were Jewish citizens who collaborated with the Roman Empire. They collected all the imposed taxes that the Empire used to pay for the troops that occupied Jewish towns. The Empire winked and said, “Our collectors can collect as much as they want.” To be a tax collector then was to be a willing participant in a system of institutionalized cruelty. Politically, he was a traitor. Socially, he was a scoundrel. Religiously, he was considered unclean. And all the Jewish people sang, “Mama, don’t your babies grow up to be tax collectors.” They were hated. Despised. Banned from the sanctuary of God!

So what does it mean that this tax collector "went up to the temple to pray?" What kind of person is this? Slipping in the side door, standing in the shadows, trying not to be seen, quietly beating his breast, averting his eyes, mumbling the words of Psalm 51. What kind of person is this? He may have a prayer on his lips, but his life is reprehensible. Can one little prayer get him off the hook? “God, be merciful to me, a sinner.” Is that sufficient to gain him forgiveness? Yes. Jesus says it is enough. That prayer is enough.

But what about the Pharisee’s prayer? I don’t know if you knew this, but it is taken right out of an ancient Jewish prayerbook. The prayer went something like this:

I thank you, O Lord, that you have set my portion with those who sit in

the house of instruction, and not with those who sit on street corners;

for I rise early, and they rise early, but I rise early

for words of Torah and they rise early for frivolous talk;

for I labor and they labor, but I labor and receive a reward

and they labor and do not receive a reward;

for I run and they run; I run to the life of the world to come

and they run straight to the pit of destruction."[2]

He wants God to know that he is doing everything he can to be pure and race toward heaven. But it comes out as if he is saying, “I thank you, O Lord, that I am not like a lot of other people." He stands off by himself and says the sort of thing that many people will still say:

"I thank you, O God, that I don't live in a rundown city like that."

"I thank you that you have given me a better education than others."

"I thank you that I am not a bigot like those people."

“I thank you that, unlike others, my investments have turned out well.”

"I thank you that my marriage is happy."

"I thank you for the color of skin that I received."

"I thank you that I'm not a youngster anymore."

Or more to the point, "I thank you, O God, that I'm better than that man over there." Can you imagine somebody praying like that? Especially in a church? It is intended as a prayer of thanks, but the gratitude seems to misfire. It starts to smell like superiority. And it ignores the hard truth that sooner or later, the field does tend to level out. First becomes last, last becomes first, life seesaws and may level out.

Meanwhile, the tax collecter begs for mercy, because he has come to know that's the only thing he can do. The Pharisee can stand off by himself to say, "Lord, I am glad I'm not like him." But we know better. Don’t we know better?

Remember Linus and Lucy? They were talking one day. Linus said, "Lucy, why are you always so anxious to criticize me?" Lucy replied, "I just think I have a knack for seeing other people's faults." Linus said, "What about your own faults?" Lucy said, "I have a knack for overlooking them."

When he writes about this parable, Eugene Peterson calls this “the tale of two sinners.”  He says both of them are in church. They are both there – the one who believes he belongs there, and the one who isn’t so sure. Gene says, “Churches don’t do a good job of screening the people who show up there,” and all of us can be glad for that. If everybody here knew absolutely everything about everybody else, they would start wondering what kind of God is running the place?

I mean, really: sinners here?

Peterson says they are both sinners. One man is driven to his knees. He knows his life is a disaster. He is incapable of fixing everything that he has messed up. He still needs a job to feed his family, even though the work is questionable at best, and his neighbors hate him. He doesn’t know what to say, other than “God, have mercy on me.” Yep, he’s a sinner.

And then there’s the other one. He is so confident in his own abilities that he really doesn’t need God, because he’s doing it all himself. Remember his prayer? 

I thank you, Lord.

I am not like the others, Lord.

I fast twice a week.

I donate a tenth of my income.

Listen to what he says: I do this, I do that. The I’s have it! It’s all about him, isn’t it? Yep, he’s a sinner, pitiful old arrogant sinner. Perhaps the most pitiful thing of all is that he doesn’t know what he is. He believes he is something better, and therefore he has no need of grace.

This is the only parable that Jesus tells about church behavior. Did you know that? It is the only parable that he actually sets inside a sanctuary. His other tales are of treasures in fields, or seeds planted by a farmer, or glimpses of commerce and family life. But this parable is placed in the house of worship, with the spotlight on two very different people who show up there. The one character who is hungry for the kindness of God is the one who goes away healed. God’s grace for him.

As for the other one – somebody please tell me: why is he there?

Even so, we have to be careful. The temptation for us tax collectors to say, “I thank you, Lord, that I’m not like that arrogant Pharisee.” That would also be a terrible thing, because we are more alike than different. All of us! And do you see that sinner over there? Maybe it is you.

The only antidote for any of this is humility. Serious, joyful humility… humility comes from the word for “soil.” We are close to the ground here.

I like the old story that my friend Charles Rice tells. He found it in The New Yorker, I think.

During a recent transit strike in New York, a young man was walking home from work through the park.  It was late and he was alone.  In the middle of his trek he saw someone approaching him on the path.  There was, of course, a spasm of fear. He veered, the stranger veered.  But since they both veered in the same direction, they bumped in passing.

A few moments later the young man realized that this could hardly have been an accident, and felt for his wallet.  It was gone.  Anger triumphed and he turned, caught up with the pickpocket, and demanded the wallet. The man surrendered it.

When he got home, the first thing he saw was his wallet lying on the bed. There was no way of avoiding the truth: he had mugged somebody.[3]

That could have been you - that could have been me - because we are more alike than different.

The Gospel News is what Jesus says in the Gospel of Luke: “God is kind to the ungrateful and the selfish.” (6:35). It’s a strange statement when we first hear it, because we don’t think that is the way God should run the world. But that is how Jesus describes the Father: kind, even to though who don’t know it; gracious, even to a world that is no friend of grace.

This is the God we glimpse in Jesus, who, in the moment he is crucified, cries out in prayer, “Father, forgive these clueless human beings.” Our lives, our eternal destinies, depend on that answered prayer.

Let me say it straight: there is grace from God. Forgiving, cleansing, healing grace. It is often ignored, even by religious folk. But it is God’s grace, a complete gift for those who need it most. Grace turns everything upside-down. I’ll say more about that next week.

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

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[1] Fred Craddock, The Gospel of Luke (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press) p. 211.

[2] Joachim Jeremias, Jerusalem in the Time of Jesus, p. 142

[3] Charles Rice, The Embodied Word (Minneapolis: Fortress Press) pp. 130-131.

Knocking Until the Door Opens

Luke 18:1-8

29th Sunday in Ordinary Time (C)

October 20, 2013

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?"

  

Jesus frequently spoke in parables. It was his preferred way to preach and teach. He would tell a brief story that had some punch in it. Then he would sit back and let the parable do its work. A few people might get the point and smile knowingly. Others would not get it. To them, the parable would sound like an interesting story, perhaps even a little odd. Until people receive ears that hear and hearts that understand, they simply will not get it. Just like the rest of his life and his work, the parables of Jesus reveal and conceal the presence of God's kingdom. They invite us into a whole new world, a world as Jesus sees it. The invitation is there. Our spiritual work is to understand what he's talking about.

But the parable we just heard sounds different from many others. It describes a scene that most of us can readily understand. Jesus said, "Once there was a widow who didn't get satisfaction from the law court. Even though she had to deal with an insensitive judge, she kept knocking at his door. Every day, knock, knock, knock. Every afternoon, knock, knock, knock. Every night, knock, knock, knock. She kept knocking, morning, noon, and night. Eventually she wore down the judge and she got what she wanted."

I think we can picture that scene, don't you? It's a scene that takes shape in a hundred different ways every day.

            "I called last week for an appointment. How can you say he's not in?

                        "This is a Thursday; he never comes in on a Thursday."

            "But I had an appointment."

                        "No, you couldn't have had an appointment. This is a Thursday."

            "Well, I've been trying for days to get through to him."

                        "I'm sorry, but he's a very busy man. You can leave a message."

            "I've been leaving messages for the last two weeks. When can I speak to him?"

                        "Leave a message today, and I'll see that he gets back to you."

            "No, he hasn't gotten back to me yet. What time do you expect him back?"

                        "This is a Thursday. He doesn't come in on a Thursday."

            "When will he be back?"

                        "I told you, this is a Thursday."

            "But I talked to someone two days ago. They set up this appointment."

                        "Well, you didn't talk to me. I wasn't in the office two days ago."

            "Listen, don't you have a record of your own appointments?"

                        "Actually, no. We've had problems with the computer."

            "Can I make another appointment? It's absolutely essential that I talk to him."

                        "No, I'm sorry, we don't set up appointments on Thursdays."

            "Well, I'm going to have to insist . . ."

On and on it goes.  Knock, knock, knock.

We don't need anybody to tell us the meaning of this parable. Here's a woman who had lost her husband. In addition to her grief, she suffered some difficulty at the hand of some opponent. She turned to the legal system for help. According to the Jewish law, the system was inclined in her favor. Widows and orphans got special treatment, since they had no other advocates. So she took her case to court.

Unfortunately, she happened to be assigned the only judge in the world who didn't care about the law. Not only that, he didn't care about God, he didn't care about people, so he certainly didn't care about her. Maybe the only thing he cared about remaining the judge. So the widow started a little campaign of her own. We can assume she knew the law was on her side. So she grew aggressive, even a little bit pushy. She interrupted his golf game to plead her case. She pestered him when he was dining on veal and capers. She banged on his door when he was sound asleep. Knock, knock, knock.

Finally, like a lot of the characters in the parables Jesus tells, the judge had a little conversation with himself. He said, "Self, that lady is wearing me out. I'm going to give her justice, but not because I care about God nor anybody else. No, I'm going to give that widow justice before she gives me a black eye."

Now, we don't need anybody to tell us what this parable is about. But we do need someone to tell us why this is a parable about prayer.

That is Luke's introduction, after all. Before he paints the scene, he has already placed a frame to go around it. Luke says, "Jesus told them this parable about their need to pray."  It joins a number of passages in Luke's gospel that intend to teach us about prayer. Only in Luke do the disciples ask, "Lord, teach us to pray." Jesus taught them the Lord's Prayer. Another time he said, "Imagine a friend came to you at midnight, begging for bread. What would you do? What would God do?" Then he added, "Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and you will find; (and remember the rest?) knock, and the door shall be opened to you." Jesus taught us to pray with confidence, and honesty, and a clear sense of need.

But he didn't teach us how to annoy God, to wear out God, to get God to give us what we want. On the surface, to call this parable a teaching about prayer is, in my mind, to water down the meaning of prayer. We don't pray to God as if we were widows who kept bothering a judge who tried to ignore us. We pray to a God who knows us, a God who loves us, a God who names us as daughters and sons. We pray to God as an act of trust. As we pray to God, we trust in God. And trust doesn't keep going knock, knock, knock. If you trust somebody, you speak your peace and let it go.

A mother was talking to her teenage son one night.

            "I thought you were going to the homecoming bonfire."

                        "I did. Brian and I were there."

            "When I stopped by I didn't see you."

                        "Well, it started to rain. We stuck around for a while."

            "I was there when it was raining. Where did you go?"

                        "We didn't go anywhere. We stood there in the rain."

            "Then how come I didn't see you?"

                        "Well, we got wet, and Brian's mom said we could have a ride, and . . ."

            "I didn't see Brian's mom there. Where was she standing?"

                        "Well, I don't remember, and we were getting wet, and . . ."

If you trust somebody, you don't keep going knock, knock, knock.

What does all of this knocking have to do with prayer? What does the insistence, the aggressiveness, the hovering, the "in-your-face" attitude, the constant bang, bang, bang - - what does all of that have to do with trust and the life of faith? It's hard for me to make a quick connection. But if there is a connection, it has to do with persistence, with perseverance, with digging in and sticking with it. True faith doesn't have to go knock, knock, knock, because we believe in a God who can be trusted. At the same time, true faith never gives up, never abandons hope, never loses its focus.

Fred Craddock tells about serving his first little church out in the mountains of Tennessee. When he arrived and began his ministry, this rural congregation was having a contest. They were trying to pick appropriate artwork to put behind the pulpit to give a focus to things. Maybe they thought the new minister was already out of focus. Whatever the case, they needed something on the wall. The winner was a little girl, Mr. Hickey's daughter. She had cut out of an old Life magazine a picture of a bulldog, and glued it to a piece of paper, and then written underneath, "Get a bulldog grip on your faith." She won. For weeks, Fred preached beneath that bulldog. For those mountain people, many of whom could not read, many with children of uncertain families, many people unemployed or living in broken-down shacks, that was the picture of faith. Fred says, "I don't care where you are or how tall your steeple, it comes to that."

Faith grabs hold and never lets go. Prayer hangs on and never gives up. And you know as well as I do, that there are a lot of times when you feel like throwing in the towel. You see a lot of institutions that don't seem to work anymore. You see good people who fall to pieces when their loved ones die. You see a society infected by injustice, where wicked people prosper and life seems so unfair. And you really don't know how you can go on believing, much less praying. And maybe that's why Jesus tells this story about a woman who had everything going against her, and yet she kept going knock, knock, knock.

And how striking, too, that Jesus told this parable as part of a speech where he teaching about the kingdom of God. Some Pharisees asked, "Jesus, when is the kingdom of God coming?" And he said, "It's not obvious, but God is already ruling right here." And the disciples interrupted him and said, "Where is the Son of Man to reveal that God is ruling over heaven and earth?" and Jesus said, "That's a dead question." Then he tells this parable: the widow begs for justice, and the judge ignores her. So she keeps begging until finally he breaks down. If that’s how a corrupt judge responds, how much more will a holy God do for all of you?

And yet, when the Son of Man is finally revealed, will he find people who have kept praying, "thy kingdom come"? That's the question, because the prayer of the widow, the prayer for us, is really the prayer, "thy kingdom come."

It takes time to get the prayer right. We pray for a lot of other things. We pray for parking spaces. We pray for good weather. We pray for good grades in school. We pray for a lot of things that in the grand scheme of the universe really don't matter much. It takes time to learn how to really pray. It takes a lot of time and a lot of knocking.

I think of Reynolds Price, a novelist from the south, recently departed. At a medical checkup, he discovered he had cancer. A ten-inch-long tumor was wrapped around his spine. He was never a religious man, but he began to pray. And he said, "I well understood that the vast majority of human prayers get No for an answer, if any answer at all." Yet he kept praying, knocking on every door, rattling every window, pursuing every option. In time, medical care both countered his tumor and took away the use of his legs. The content of his prayers had changed over the course of his illness and healing. At first, he said, prayer was a shameless begging to be made well: "O God, give me my health back." In time, however, his perspective changed. Price began to pray, "O Lord, give me life as long as I have work to do, and work as long as I have life." (A Whole New Life, p. 76)  It took a while, and a lot of knocking, but his prayers changed.

The one thing you have to say about the widow in this story is that she was absolutely sure what she was praying for. Over the course of time, she knew the one thing that really mattered was justice. She wanted a whole new world of fairness and trust and neighborly relationships. That's what she wanted.

Jesus says, "All of you, listen up: won't God grant justice to his people who cry to him day and night? Fear not, little flock, for it is your Father's good pleasure to give you the kingdom" (12:32). We trust that. We pray for that. We persevere, and work it through, and try to discover what that means.

"The kingdom of God is among you," said Jesus. "There's a whole new world of justice at hand. And God is going to give it to those who cry to him day and night."

And so, night and day, we pray, "thy kingdom come." Thy kingdom come. In the meantime, Jesus says, "Hang on and keep knocking."

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