Proper 24C

For all you parents out there, how have you handled your child pulling on your sleeve or jacket while you go shopping? And, kids, have you ever done this to your parents? There’s a reason there are candy-free check-out lines in the supermarket, right? The frazzled parent, pushing the laden shopping cart, has junior tugging on his or her arm, waving some candy or cereal or whatever else toxic food he or she has found, begging to put that item in the cart. You’ve all heard those conversations or had them. (I can remember doing it to my mother and not getting anywhere.) The parent says: No. The child says: Yes. The parent says: No and gives a reason. The child protests, and if this goes on long enough, the child bursts into tears and the parent gets, well, cranky. If the parent is in a mood not to fight, he or she may actually yield the to child’s request, just to keep the peace for everyone else around them. We’ve all seen and heard this happen; we’ve all been there.

The above is how I imagine the scenario with the woman and the judge.

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As we get further and further in the gospel of Luke, closer and closer to Jerusalem, Luke ratchets up one more notch the hard road of discipleship. Once again, in a story unique to this gospel, Luke asks us to place ourselves in several shoes — those of a people crying out for justice, and those of the one who refuses to hear it and then only responds grudgingly. We are both people in the story of the widow and the judge. And the surprise is that God is, too.

The parable of the unjust judge is again typically Lukan in structure. The parable itself is prefaced by an introduction stating the purpose for the parable, and is followed by interpretative comments. Like the parable of the dishonest steward, the lesson to be learned is drawn from the behaviour of someone who is less than admirable, sort of reverse psychology if you will.

At the same time, the parable is set in a literary context that gives it even more depth and urgency. Our lectionary has skipped the end part of chapter 17, in which Jesus begins to talk about the end times. Jesus warns the disciples about the frantic days just before the coming of the Son of man, days comparable to the time of the flood and the judgement of Sodom. Thus, his question with which ends this morning’s parable, ‘When the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on earth?,’ refers in part back to his preceding words about the end times.

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Back to the two people of this odd story. Who are they beyond being stock characters in a parable?

First the widow. The word for widow in Hebrew means ‘silent one’ or ‘one unable to speak.’ In the times of Jesus, in the patriarchal Mediterranean world males alone played a public role. Women did not speak on their own behalf. A widow who had lost her husband and spokesperson to death was in an even worse condition if her eldest son was not married. Because widows were not included in Hebrew laws on inheritance, they became common symbols of the exploited and oppressed.

Since the woman appears on her own in this parable, we can assume she has no male family member who can appear on her behalf. She is truly alone and therefore in a very vulnerable situation. At the same time, she is desperate. Being already deprived of everything of value in this society, what else does she have to lose?

What about the judge? The judge, probably a local magistrate, would normally feel obliged as a Torah-observant Jew to take special care of the widow. If nothing else, the judge would surely fear the curse for not doing justice for the widow. But this judge does not care for anyone. He does not fear God. He is shameless.

The judge does not respond to the widow for quite some time. She repeatedly, continually comes to him, begging him, pestering him to render justice against her adversary. He could care less. Eventually, after some internal reflection, to which we are privy, the judge begins to soften. But not out of compassion or pity. Rather because the woman is driving him crazy. Moreover, he fears being beaten down, literally being ‘given a black eye’ by the woman. Whether the black eye is a direct hit from her or a hit to his reputation, he decides to take up her cause for the simple purpose of getting rid of her.

Now the application to a rather negative example. Jesus says to the disciples: If a judge who has no respect for people or God can finally relent and respond to the pleas of someone whom he does not know, how much more (a favourite phrase) will God respond to God’s children who cry to God. And even if it seems that God tarries in responding, we, as children of God, are to keep the faith and be steady in prayer.

Ah… but sometimes that seems so difficult to believe, doesn’t it? Sometimes we feel like that widow, tugging, pulling, grabbing at the hems of God’s garments desperate for an answer. And sometimes it just does not seem to come. There are some heavy-duty prayer requests even in this small congregation that seem almost insurmountable, impossible. And yet we have to hope, we have to keep tugging at the hems of God’s garments. We have to because we cannot lose hope even when the answer doesn’t seem clear or what we want to hear.

This morning, the whole idea of God’s justice and mercy — things which the world’s widows seek from God and from humanity — weigh on my mind and heart. This morning it seems as though there are too many voices crying out for a justice that seems so elusive.

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But what if this scenario works the other way around? What if the woman tugging incessantly at the judge’s hem is not only humanity crying to God, but also God crying to humanity? What if God, heartbroken, silenced by our indifference, our inability to hear, comes back again and again, not seeking vindication but justice? What if God comes to us saying, ‘My people, my people, when will you see that my ways are not those of vindication, but of reconciliation and justice? How long do I have to come tugging at your hems, tugging at your hearts? How long will it take for you to see my outstretched arms, arms that were stretched out on the cross for your salvation?’


That is what I also hear the gospel saying this morning. God is as incessant about getting our attention as we are about getting God’s. The late great Rabbi Abraham Heschel was right when he wrote that God created humankind because God needed to be in relation. The difficulty is that our relation is not always marked by the same justice, patience, mercy and compassion that characterises God’s end of the conversation.

Sometimes it is very difficult to find justice in this world. Sometimes it is difficult to proclaim with sincerity, ‘God is good all the time; all the time God is good.’ But the gospel speaks in the second half of the parable to that difficulty. We are to persist in our prayer. Pray continually. And have faith. And hope. Hope in the God of hope.

God has not left us alone bereft to figure it out by ourselves. Scripture and the resurrection speak to God’s presence. Jesus was crucified and in his resurrection, God consoles not only him but all the unconsoled ones. The resurrection is God’s final word, spoken already now. And our coming together on Sunday always gathers us to remember that final and merciful word, to hear it spoken again, and to encourage each other to live on the basis of God’s word even when it doesn’t appear to be effective in this world.

In other images: God’s blessing in the midst of fear is the resurrection, spoken in Christ to our death. But is that hope for us, for our world? The suffering and injustices seem to go on and on. The doors of this earth’s courtrooms seem hardly ever to open. The judges have not heard our cries. And have we heard from God?

Listen to the letter to Timothy. Continue, abide, dwell in what you have heard in this assembly and in the Scriptures. When you eat and drink the gift of Christ here, eat and drink the signs of God’s grace and mercy. Trust it, in season and out. Live with your neighbour, not out of the fear of more closed doors from the judges, but out of the mercy God has revealed as the final word in this world. Hear that mercy in this world. Eat and drink it at this table. Know it in the little signs of loving response to the needy ones with which the world is overflowing.

One other thing: The mercy of God still remains so largely hidden, revealed only in this word and in little signs. Yet we can help one another to abide by the counsel of Timothy: Wrestle with God. And keep beating at the heavenly doors for the sake of your neighbour in this town and in the world, always seeking justice and mercy. And know that at the same time God is beating at the doors of our hearts.