sermon repository...
Having extracted my manuscript sermons from the hard drive of my poor [may its memory be a blessing to us] now-departed seven-year-old desktop, I've renewed my comittment to keep a less-fragile record of them...
From 2007,
Persistence (Luke 18:1-8)
In a certain city there was a judge who neither feared God nor had respect for anyone.
The figure of the judge is fairly heavily loaded in the Bible: with a constant subtext that God is the ultimate judge, there's a Biblical expectation of who and what it is to be a judge to which the judge of the parable absolutely does not conform. He's got two sets of broken relationships -- he doesn't care about God, and he doesn't care about those around him. According to Biblical standards -- love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your might, and love your neighbour as yourself -- he fails on all fronts.
Of all the neighbours we're supposed to love, the Hebrew scriptures repeatedly stress caring for the most vulnerable in society. Cursed is he who distorts the justice due an alien, orphan, and widow, Moses tell us, and Isaiah hears God exort us to Learn to do good; Seek justice... Defend the orphan, Plead for the widow (Isa 1:17). Before condemning Israel to exile in Babylon, the indictment God declares against them is: Your rulers are rebels and companions of thieves... they do not defend the orphan, Nor does the widown's plea come before them. Again and again widows are specifically named: widows rank with orphans and immigrants as highly vulnerable, and a just society takes care of its vulnerable people.
This is turn-of-the-millenium Palestine: women didn't have a lot of legal standing, although a widow would have had the right to continued support from her husband's estate; but women didn't testify in court, and they certainly didn't act as their own advocates before a judge. That it is the woman herself who appears, again and again, to plead her case shows us just how vulnerable she is: not only is she widowed, but she is without any advocate. (If she had a son or even a brother living, it would have been he who would appear in court.)
Interestingly enough, the content of the widow's complaint is never explained. So the parable isn't about the matter of a particular case, but rather about the nature of these two people, in relationship with one another: a person of power who is broken in every way one can be broken, with respect to God and to humanity, and the most vulnerable of the vulnerable, who because of her persistence makes headway despite his brokenness.
Christianity has this astonishing central proclamation: that God entered fully into a very real human being who accepted dinner invitations and celebrated weddings with his family and who didn't much appreciate being woken up from a nap. In Jesus God makes it pretty clear that He intends to work in and through humanity. When we allow God's spirit to move within us, to use our hands and our voices and our strength and our minds, we hasten the coming of God's kingdom. When we respond to God in such a way that his light and his love shine through us, we make the kingdom real, even in the midst of all of the brokenness of this earth.
When I was in Egypt a couple of years ago I was surprised by the daily use of religious language which is shared by Christians and Moslems there. Everyday speech is peppered with phrases such as elHamd ulilleh -- praise be to God -- and insha allah -- God willing, or as God wills it. Christians and Moslems alike seem to live closer to their religion in Egypt: they have no real notion of what we would call a "secular" society; rather each person's understanding of God and relationship to God permeates everyday life, affecting how they speak and eat and drive and spend their money.
And so it was rather joyful to be immersed in an environment in which elHamdulilleh was an acceptable part of everyday speech. In American society I rather censor myself in public spaces -- I can't imagine it would have been taken well in my work at a public university to have exclaimed, praise the Lord!, every time I perceived God at work in the world around me. I suspect it would have been seen either as an affectation, or as an imposition, or maybe both. But I fear that in censoring my public speech I affected my private thoughts, as well, so that praise of God became relegated only to designated moments, Sunday mornings or evening prayer.
So elHamdulilleh warmed my heart, but I found myself increasingly becoming uncomfortable with the Muslim use of the phrase insha allah. You see, when I say "God willing," I am acknowledging God's vast power, yes, but also in some way I am trying to reach out and open myself to God's will, to align myself with it. Thy will be done on earth, as it is in heaven. But the cultural use of the term in an islamic context implies rather less human agency, and rather more fatalism. [ --> expand car insurance/saftey/driving examples here]
Within a Christian context I think perhaps there's more of a sense that God uses us to further His kingdom; that the spirit moves in us to share in God's work.
Luke opens the scene with the introduction: "And [Jesus] told them a parable to show them that it is neccessary to pray at all times and not give up." It's a pretty typical Lucan introduction. When I first decided to preach on this parable I actually thought I'd skip the preliminaries, and stick only to the meat of the parable as Jesus told it.
I think maybe I was hesitant to stress Luke's prelude because I was thinking more of that insha'allah approach to prayer, a sort of give-it-up-to-God, it's not in my hands prayer that denies human responsibility for the world around us.
But the more I read this parable, the more convinced I become that Luke has it right: that at every moment of our lives we should reach out for that connection to God, in communion with Him, so that praise of God -- elHamdulilleh -- permeates every aspect of our lives, in our professions, in our families, behind the wheel of a car.
Paul reminds us to pray without ceasing -- in everything we do to open ourselves to God: to perceive the world around us, to discern at each moment what God is calling us to do, and to decide how we will respond to God's call.
I have had great joy in my life: I have been blessed with golden moments full of all that is right God's world. But there are also times when I have felt stuck, at a hopeless distance from God's promise, as vulnerable and alone as the widow of the parable. We straddle two worlds, and this parable is about our response to both. After all, the widow does, with persistence, get her justice in the here-and-now, despite the insistent brokenness of the unrepentant judge. Human actions really do make a difference.
God also promises help and justice in a healed world, through the nearness of His in-breaking kingdom and in the spirit which moves among us. In his teachings and in his actions, Jesus shows us that even the seemingly powerless can and should make a difference in this world, with determination and persistence; he also assures us that even at the moments in which we feel furthest from the promise of the kingdom, our prayers and our faith connect us to our God who hears, and loves us, and responds. Ask and it will be given to you, seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you. For everyone who asks, receives, and who seeks, finds, and to whomever knocks, it will be opened.
In the end what matters then is to live a truly prayerful life in relationship with and in response to God in each moment, whether quiet or busy, to reach for that relationship and open ourselves to the kingdom
and to know that even in a world which is broken -- even in a world in which judges care neither for God nor for humanity -- even in a world in which [communities neglect the saftey of their bridges and the most vulnerable are shot for having the wrong name or the wrong affiliation on their identity papers] -- even in all our brokenness God still works in us and through us -- persistently -- to the glory of His name.
When our relationship with God and our life in God show forth in our praise and our joy, in our work and our actions, in our interactions and our relationships, we know that we are participating in God's kingdom.
From 2007,
Persistence (Luke 18:1-8)
In a certain city there was a judge who neither feared God nor had respect for anyone.
The figure of the judge is fairly heavily loaded in the Bible: with a constant subtext that God is the ultimate judge, there's a Biblical expectation of who and what it is to be a judge to which the judge of the parable absolutely does not conform. He's got two sets of broken relationships -- he doesn't care about God, and he doesn't care about those around him. According to Biblical standards -- love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your might, and love your neighbour as yourself -- he fails on all fronts.
Of all the neighbours we're supposed to love, the Hebrew scriptures repeatedly stress caring for the most vulnerable in society. Cursed is he who distorts the justice due an alien, orphan, and widow, Moses tell us, and Isaiah hears God exort us to Learn to do good; Seek justice... Defend the orphan, Plead for the widow (Isa 1:17). Before condemning Israel to exile in Babylon, the indictment God declares against them is: Your rulers are rebels and companions of thieves... they do not defend the orphan, Nor does the widown's plea come before them. Again and again widows are specifically named: widows rank with orphans and immigrants as highly vulnerable, and a just society takes care of its vulnerable people.
This is turn-of-the-millenium Palestine: women didn't have a lot of legal standing, although a widow would have had the right to continued support from her husband's estate; but women didn't testify in court, and they certainly didn't act as their own advocates before a judge. That it is the woman herself who appears, again and again, to plead her case shows us just how vulnerable she is: not only is she widowed, but she is without any advocate. (If she had a son or even a brother living, it would have been he who would appear in court.)
Interestingly enough, the content of the widow's complaint is never explained. So the parable isn't about the matter of a particular case, but rather about the nature of these two people, in relationship with one another: a person of power who is broken in every way one can be broken, with respect to God and to humanity, and the most vulnerable of the vulnerable, who because of her persistence makes headway despite his brokenness.
Christianity has this astonishing central proclamation: that God entered fully into a very real human being who accepted dinner invitations and celebrated weddings with his family and who didn't much appreciate being woken up from a nap. In Jesus God makes it pretty clear that He intends to work in and through humanity. When we allow God's spirit to move within us, to use our hands and our voices and our strength and our minds, we hasten the coming of God's kingdom. When we respond to God in such a way that his light and his love shine through us, we make the kingdom real, even in the midst of all of the brokenness of this earth.
When I was in Egypt a couple of years ago I was surprised by the daily use of religious language which is shared by Christians and Moslems there. Everyday speech is peppered with phrases such as elHamd ulilleh -- praise be to God -- and insha allah -- God willing, or as God wills it. Christians and Moslems alike seem to live closer to their religion in Egypt: they have no real notion of what we would call a "secular" society; rather each person's understanding of God and relationship to God permeates everyday life, affecting how they speak and eat and drive and spend their money.
And so it was rather joyful to be immersed in an environment in which elHamdulilleh was an acceptable part of everyday speech. In American society I rather censor myself in public spaces -- I can't imagine it would have been taken well in my work at a public university to have exclaimed, praise the Lord!, every time I perceived God at work in the world around me. I suspect it would have been seen either as an affectation, or as an imposition, or maybe both. But I fear that in censoring my public speech I affected my private thoughts, as well, so that praise of God became relegated only to designated moments, Sunday mornings or evening prayer.
So elHamdulilleh warmed my heart, but I found myself increasingly becoming uncomfortable with the Muslim use of the phrase insha allah. You see, when I say "God willing," I am acknowledging God's vast power, yes, but also in some way I am trying to reach out and open myself to God's will, to align myself with it. Thy will be done on earth, as it is in heaven. But the cultural use of the term in an islamic context implies rather less human agency, and rather more fatalism. [ --> expand car insurance/saftey/driving examples here]
Within a Christian context I think perhaps there's more of a sense that God uses us to further His kingdom; that the spirit moves in us to share in God's work.
Luke opens the scene with the introduction: "And [Jesus] told them a parable to show them that it is neccessary to pray at all times and not give up." It's a pretty typical Lucan introduction. When I first decided to preach on this parable I actually thought I'd skip the preliminaries, and stick only to the meat of the parable as Jesus told it.
I think maybe I was hesitant to stress Luke's prelude because I was thinking more of that insha'allah approach to prayer, a sort of give-it-up-to-God, it's not in my hands prayer that denies human responsibility for the world around us.
But the more I read this parable, the more convinced I become that Luke has it right: that at every moment of our lives we should reach out for that connection to God, in communion with Him, so that praise of God -- elHamdulilleh -- permeates every aspect of our lives, in our professions, in our families, behind the wheel of a car.
Paul reminds us to pray without ceasing -- in everything we do to open ourselves to God: to perceive the world around us, to discern at each moment what God is calling us to do, and to decide how we will respond to God's call.
I have had great joy in my life: I have been blessed with golden moments full of all that is right God's world. But there are also times when I have felt stuck, at a hopeless distance from God's promise, as vulnerable and alone as the widow of the parable. We straddle two worlds, and this parable is about our response to both. After all, the widow does, with persistence, get her justice in the here-and-now, despite the insistent brokenness of the unrepentant judge. Human actions really do make a difference.
God also promises help and justice in a healed world, through the nearness of His in-breaking kingdom and in the spirit which moves among us. In his teachings and in his actions, Jesus shows us that even the seemingly powerless can and should make a difference in this world, with determination and persistence; he also assures us that even at the moments in which we feel furthest from the promise of the kingdom, our prayers and our faith connect us to our God who hears, and loves us, and responds. Ask and it will be given to you, seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you. For everyone who asks, receives, and who seeks, finds, and to whomever knocks, it will be opened.
In the end what matters then is to live a truly prayerful life in relationship with and in response to God in each moment, whether quiet or busy, to reach for that relationship and open ourselves to the kingdom
and to know that even in a world which is broken -- even in a world in which judges care neither for God nor for humanity -- even in a world in which [communities neglect the saftey of their bridges and the most vulnerable are shot for having the wrong name or the wrong affiliation on their identity papers] -- even in all our brokenness God still works in us and through us -- persistently -- to the glory of His name.
When our relationship with God and our life in God show forth in our praise and our joy, in our work and our actions, in our interactions and our relationships, we know that we are participating in God's kingdom.