Isaiah 2:1-5 "God's Dream"

         The dark and cold of nearly winter has begun to seep into our very bones – into mine, at least.  But, hey, the first candle on the wreath here in church has been lit.  The manger is in place, and the magi – the wise ones – have begun their journey from the back of our sanctuary.  It is beginning – that countercultural observance that we call Advent. 

         I say “countercultural” because Advent is really all about waiting, slowing down – savoring each moment until, symbolically at least, the darkness is dispelled and the Light of the world has broken into our lives.  Just like slow food or slow medicine, Advent is slow living.  However, that is hardly the cultural message we hear these days. 

         I mean - yikes!  It’s December 1^st – only 24 more shopping days until Christmas.  As Baptist pastor Thomas McKibbens writes, “Think of all you have to do to get with it…There is all the shopping, decorating, office parties, open houses, family gatherings, gifts to wrap, greeting cards to get out, Handel’s Messiah, Rudolph, manger scenes, Santa Claus, packages to mail, and all the rest. Hurry! says the commercial. This sale will last only until the (2^nd)! We rush from place to place with sugarplums dancing in our heads. It is one of the most frenetic times of the year.”

         And yet, the Church’s message of Advent is to wait – to wait and to hope and to trust that it – the light of the world – really is coming – softly, quietly, sneaking in the back door of our lives, giving us the courage (if we let it), empowering us (if we so choose), to transform our world.

          And if the real message of Advent is to wait, then it surely is worth our while to figure out what in heaven’s name we do while we wait.  If it is not to be shopping and wrapping and all the rest, then what is it to be?  And the answer, I believe, is simple.  While we wait, we dream.  That’s right!  God asks us to dream.  And the subject of our dream is the message of the old prophet Isaiah.

         Isaiah could be called the Christmas prophet because it is during this season of slowing down and waiting and preparing for Christmas that we most often read the words of the old fellow.  Unlike other Biblical prophets such as Amos, Hosea, or Jeremiah who really lashed out at the Jewish people to whom they prophesied, Isaiah spoke words of great high hope to a people who were tired and wondering where in the mess of their lives God was – not unlike what some of us might end up feeling during these coming weeks as we await the birth of the Christ Child. 

         However, we ought not to misrepresent the old man’s speeches either.  First and foremost, we need to realize that a Biblical prophet is not a predictor.  As comforting as it might be to believe, Isaiah did not foretell the birth of Jesus of Nazareth in Judah.  He did not point fingers to a manger and shepherds and flocks of angels.  No - Isaiah spoke out within an historical context around 740 BCE to the Jewish people of his time, hundreds of years before the birth of Jesus.  And, oh, what a mess those Jewish people were in!  They needed a good prophet to get them back on their feet again!

         You see, even as the Egyptians stood by menacingly to the south and west, the powerful Assyrians threatened the struggling nation of Judah to the north and east and were poised to overrun Syria and Palestine. The Northern Kingdom of Israel, in an effort to protect itself, had formed a coalition with neighboring nations and had asked the Southern Kingdom of Judah to join them.  The long and the short of it was that Judah was no more than a political pawn, used and abused for the benefit of the empires and politicos surrounding it.

         There was not much to Judah in those days either.  Its people lived in fear and poverty.  There was no temple, no sanctuary from the outside world.  There was only the desert that surrounded them on all sides and the immutable landscape feature of Zion, the “mountain of the Lord’s house.”  Zion served as the site of the nation’s moral compass, its point of orientation, and the seat of its worship.  Zion lay at the center of a country that had been ravaged by war for years, decades – a nation whose population had known nothing other than armed conflict.

         And it was into that context that the voice of Isaiah the prophet rang clear and fearless and true.  It was into that miasma of despair that Isaiah’s words of hope exploded and the light – finally the light – broke through the darkness of desperation.  Now there was a new word – and a new day.

         Seminary professor Anathea Portier-Young describes the transformation of which Isaiah spoke like this:  “Zion will be established, made secure, firm, and lasting.

It will also be lifted above every other height, visible throughout the world. (Zion would be) a reminder that God had chosen this place and this people. God has promised it protection….(More than that) the nations will see Zion and stream like water (like a flash flood in the desert) toward the place of presence and worship…Nations known for war will come…not to conquer or plunder, but to learn God's ways (which) will soon replace the knowledge of war.

         God will judge between the nations, deciding cases for the many and the mighty. Nations will bring to Jerusalem their desire and hunger, need and hurt, greed and grievance, and submit them to the authority of the One who is able to make peace, bridge division, and resolve conflict.”  Such a beautiful and hope-filed scenario!  That is Isaiah’s articulation of God’s dream – a dream of peace.

         What I find fascinating about this passage is a subtle grammatical shift – almost like a miscue – but it is no editor’s error.  It is a change in pronouns that I believe makes all the difference in the world and makes these beautiful words of Isaiah timeless, so that they can rightfully cascade down through the millennia to us – to our time.

         In the midst of Isaiah speaking of all that God will do, there is a slight shift of focus.  We read that only God can make Zion rise to new heights.  And when that happens, it will be God who will teach the nations the holy ways.  God will judge between the nations.  God will settle all disputes.

         However, interestingly enough, it will not be God who will beat swords into plowshares.  It will not be God who will fashion pruning hooks from spears.  It will not be God who will take the weapons of war and turn them into the gardening and farming implements of peace and abundance.  It will not be God who will transform MQ-9 Reaper Drones into 500 Mega Watt Solar Arrays.  (Russell Rathbun)

         It will not be God.  It will be them.  Read the text:  “They will beat their swords into plowshares
and their spears into pruning hooks.” It will be the Jewish people to whom Isaiah spoke.  It will be us to whom the ancient prophet still speaks.  It will be our hands that will create the world of collaboration and peace, God’s dream that Isaiah so artfully imagined – and a dream, which we must dream even still.  Blessed are the peacemakers (not the peacekeepers, not the ones who sit around and talk about peace) but the peacemakers, for theirs is the Kingdom of God.

         “There is a story of a man who was walking along the dusty streets of an Arabian village. He met a tall, young, Arab boy playing a flute. He asked to see the flute and it seemed surprisingly heavy. After examining it he discovered it was made out of an old gun barrel. The boy explained that he had picked up the gun in an area where there had been fierce fighting. He filed it down and drilled holes in it. From a weapon of destruction he had created an instrument of music.” (from Ride the Wild Horses, by J. Wallace Hamilton)

         Embedded in that little anecdote is the message of Jesus, you know.  It is why we call him the Prince of Peace.  And it is at precisely that moment when we recognize that no interventionist God will magically zap into oblivion all that sows the seeds of war – injustice, danger, the disparity of wealth, but rather it will be the work of our hands that will transform this world characterized by so much conflict on so many different levels, transform it into the world of which Isaiah dreamed – a world where “nation will not take up sword against nation, nor will they train for war anymore.”

         Does that mean that we all need to brush up our resumes and send them to the United Nations in the hopes of becoming global conflict resolvers?  I highly doubt it.  Surely doing so would be totally unrealistic – but, even so, it does not let us as Christians off the hook. 

         Instead we are challenged – and I would say called - to look for opportunities to be peacemakers in our own ordinary places and in the events of our own daily lives.  Peace can begin small – with a word opening the door to reconciliation with someone we have battled all these years.  It can be listening – really listening – to a child with whom we are at loggerheads who never seems to rise to our expectations.  It can be looking into the eyes of pain and suffering all around us and seeing a newborn baby in a manger.  It can be recognizing that we will find God – and we will discover glimpses of God’s dream for a moment come true - in the most unlikely places.

         There was once a man who grew tired of living in a world filled with racism, war, hunger, and hopelessness. He was weary of the sharp swords and cutting words. His family and friends patiently listened to him while he passionately shared his vision of a city set on a hill, where people lived together in peace and harmony.        

         Night after night he dreamed of this holy city until it became so real that he could almost taste. One morning he woke up from his dream and announced to his family and friends that he must go and find this city. He packed a meager meal, kissed his family, and set off in search of the city on a hill.

         He walked all that day. Just before the sun set, he found a place to stop and rest and sleep. He ate his sandwich, knelt and prayed, and smoothed out the earth where he would lay his head. Just before he went to sleep he placed his shoes in the center of the path he trod, pointing them in the direction of the holy city, that sacred place of peace and harmony.

         That night, as he slept, a trickster walking that same path discovered the pilgrim's shoes. Unable to resist a practical joke, he turned the shoes around backwards, pointing them in the direction from which the man had come. Early the next morning the pilgrim arose, recited a morning prayer, ate what remained of the food he had brought, and started off on his pilgrimage toward the holy city, heading in the direction his shoes pointed.        

         He walked all day long. Just before the sun set once again, he saw the heavenly city off in the distance. It was not as large and impressive as he imagined. It looked strangely familiar. He entered a street that looked a whole lot like the street in his own village. He knocked on a door of a house that looked, oddly enough, just like his own house. The pilgrim greeted the family that lived there and the friends who were there breaking bread together. And for some reason, he decided to stay, and it was there that the pilgrim lived and worked ever after with peace in his heart and in his actions in the holy city he once dreamed of.

         UCC pastor Kate Huey posed some Advent questions that are surely worth our consideration as we enter into this season that is intent on hurtling us along with our credit cards headlong into Christmas.  She asks:  “This Advent, for the sake of peace, what steps might we take to heal division, alienation, and broken relationship in our family, our community, and the world? Beginning with just one step, one relationship, perhaps one apology or offer of peace? Do we believe that we can be part of God's dream?”

         Advent does not begin in the razzle dazzle of shopping malls.  It does not begin with baking and decorating and entertaining.  Rather, Advent begins in the quiet and in the dark.  Advent begins with a single candle to light our way.  Advent begins with slowing down and waiting, waiting for a glimpse of the light of the world – and, when we see it, fashioning it into a sacred reflection in our mind’s eye and in our hearts  - but mostly in our hands – a sacred reflection of God’s dream of peace.

by Rev. Nancy Foran, Raymond Village Community Church UCC

        

Luke 18:9-14 "When is a Joke not a Joke?"

         Jesus could really tell a good joke!  Not that WE would call them jokes.  No - we call them “parables.”  However, to his poor, peasant, downtrodden audience, his “teachable moments” generally started out as real knee slappers.   You know, like, a priest, a rabbi, and a pastor walked into a bar…..Of course, in this case, it was a Pharisee and a tax collector walked into the Temple…..

         The thing about a good joke, of course, is that it is funny because it is always about someone else.  We as the knee slappers are perennially on the outside looking in. 

         The thing about Jesus’ jokes, however, is that somewhere in their telling, you and I as the knee slappers discover that somehow we really are not on the outside looking in.  Rather we find ourselves smack in the middle of the joke.  We are the ones the joke is really about.  The fingers are pointing our way, and, in the end, the joke – if it really even was a joke to begin with - is on us.

         And so you see, no matter how outlandish and hilarious Jesus’ jokes may have started out, his punch lines were never all that funny and were way too thought-provoking. 

         When is a joke not a joke?  That is what we will be exploring for the next few minutes…a priest, a rabbi, and a pastor walked into a bar….. a Pharisee and a tax collector walked into the Temple…..

         Now, here was a study in contrasts.  Any of Jesus’ listeners could see that. First, there was this Pharisee who walked boldly and ostentatiously into the Temple to pray. 

         “O God,” he intoned just loud enough so that anyone who happened to be in the Temple would surely hear him,

         “O God, I thank you that I am not like other people.  I fast twice – not once but twice a week – and I tithe – not just 2% or 5% but a full 10% - and that’s before taxes – on every cent of my income.  O God, I am truly awesome – and I want you to be sure to know that.”

         Not very humble, for certain, but surely our Pharisee had every right to pray in that manner – because, in many ways, he was awesome.  Though Pharisees as a group have gotten a bad reputation down through the Biblical ages because of what has been written about them in the Gospels, in truth, they were, as Episcopal priest David Smith writes, “quite amazing people…They were pillars of their community. They were the moral and spiritual guardians of their people.  And, OK, they might have been a bit stiff (at times as when they were seen) repeatedly interfering in Jesus’ parties, concerned that He’s eating and/or drinking too much and always partying with the wrong sort of people) but, in their defense, they were people who stood for something!

         They stood for purity. They stood for faithfulness. They stood for strong churches and strong families, and they were people who were willing to do whatever was necessary to see that their community held together!”

         Seriously, what pastor would not want a bunch of pious Pharisees in her congregation?  These folks could be counted on to be the community moral compass and always do the right thing. They represented just about everything the church has built its reputation on  - community pillars, moral guardians – and besides all that, Pharisees tithed.  If all – or even a few of you – were upstanding Pharisees, we would not even be close to running a deficit budget.  So, you see, the Pharisee in our story has a lot going for him.

         Then there was the other guy in the joke.  Along with the Pharisee, a tax collector also walked into the Temple to pray. Unlike the Pharisee, however, who parked himself front and center as close to the Holy of Holies as he was allowed to get, the tax collector slunk off to a deep dark corner of the Temple.  There in the shadows, his face in his hands, he whispered his prayer of anguish:  “God, give mercy. Forgive me, a sinner.”

         Now, though Jesus’ audience might have disliked the Pharisee in the joke, they would have despised the tax collector.  You see, tax collectors lived off other people’s misery.  Pharisees might have been in the pocket of the Roman Emperor, but tax collectors worked for the Empire. 

         Though they were Jews – or because they were Jews – they were considered traitors.  They collaborated with the occupying enemy.  Their job was to collect the required tribute to Rome – even as the Roman authorities averted their eyes both at the manner in which the collecting was done as well as any extra cash that the tax collector might pocket in order to feather his own nest.    

         Pharisees might have been wealthy, but tax collectors were wealthy and dishonest.  They were extortionists and because they handled money and conspired with Rome, they were ritually impure.  In contrast to the Pharisee in our joke, when it came to a good reputation, the tax collector had nothing going for him.

         Though it was not completely black and white because neither the Pharisee nor the tax collector would have really appealed to the peasantry crowd to whom Jesus spoke, it is still pretty easy to figure out who is the good guy and who is the bad guy in the joke, right?

         Thumbs up for the Pharisee, right?  After all, he was the upstanding citizen, the churchgoer, the glue that held the community together, and the keeper of strong family values. 

         So that means thumbs down for the tax collector, right?  After all, he was the betrayer of his faith, the traitor, the extortionist, and the one who conspired with Rome to keep Jesus’ audience all in abject poverty.

         So far, it all seems pretty straightforward.  So – what’s the joke?  What’s the punch line that is going to be not all that funny and way too thought-provoking?  Is it really a joke, or is there a deeper layer that causes what might have started out as a joke to morph into a parable, a teachable moment – as all of Jesus’ jokes seem to do?

         When is a joke not a joke?  When once again the tables are turned on us, and we are drawn artfully into the story as Jesus points out who we really are and, lo and behold, before we know it, the joke is really on us.

         Face it – which one of us does not in even a small way want to be like the Pharisee?  We want to be awesome.  We want to be recognized for the awesome contributions we make to this faith community.  We want people to think that we tithe.  We want people to know that we stand for good strong moral values and deep spirituality.  You go, Pharisee!  But more than that, we want God to know that we are awesome too.  And really, none of us wants to be the loser, the tax collector, the one everybody despises. 

         But then again, when it comes to their actions in the Temple, well, there is a right way and a wrong way to pray, correct?  I mean, in that setting, none of us wants to be like the Pharisee – tooting his own horn too loudly, causing even the most jaded and cynical among us to wince as he continues to puff himself up.  Does this guy not have one ounce of humility?

        When you come right down to it, when it comes to what happened in the Temple that day, we want to be like the tax collector – the one whom we presumed was the loser.  Like him, we want to entreat God quietly with a certain modicum of anguish.  We want to have faith enough to throw ourselves on God’s mercy.

         When is a joke not a joke?  When is this joke not a joke? Right now - at precisely this point because Jesus has set a trap, and quite likely we have fallen right into it.   As UCC pastor Carol Reynolds wrote, “basically, there’s no way out of this parable without taking Jesus’ bait: Finding ourselves playing the Pharisee’s game, judging and striking a self-righteous pose against him. As much as we’d like to believe we’re the earnest tax collector in the story, it’s nearly impossible not to be critical of the Pharisee.  It’s a pretty neat trick Jesus has pulled.”

         When is a joke not a joke? When it is a trap:  when it applies to us, when it tests our values, when it turns our world upside down – and in this case, when it uncovers our deeply held prejudices and when it reveals us all to be, like the Pharisee, judgers.

        You see, the Pharisee was not who we thought he was.  The upstanding citizen, the spiritual guardian, the keeper of moral values – though he was all of these things, he was not the good guy in the parable.

         And the tax collector – the loser, the traitor, the one you could say nothing good about - he ended up as the good guy.  How could that have gotten by us – except that we fell pray to our own prejudices?

         How often have your prejudices led you to draw hasty conclusions about people?  Take a moment sometime and write down a few of ways you determine whether or not you are going to warm up to someone.  What about people who listen to Fox News – or Jon Stewart?  What about people who have tattoos – or multiple piercings?  Bushy beards?  Short skirts that cling?  Turbans?  Dark skin?  On what basis do you judge people?

         You see, the instant we point fingers at the Pharisee for his judging of the tax collector, the robbers, and the thieves he has to put up with, we become like him – and he is the bad guy in the parable. 

         The instant we point fingers at Republicans or Democrats and blame one of them for the inoperability of our Congress right now, we become like the Pharisee, the bad guy in the parable. 

         And the minute we condemn the Pharisee for his pompousness and piety while sitting here in this church, prideful that we came here instead of staying at home and reading the Sunday paper like those other folks do, we become like him, the bad guy in the parable. 

         And the minute we declare that Islam is violent and Christianity is the best and true religion, we become like him, the bad guy in the parable.  And we all do it.  We all have prejudices, and we all succumb to them.  We all judge on another.

         That is certainly one lesson we can glean from the parable, this joke that is not a joke.  In the end, we are not called to judge because the minute we judge, we become like the Pharisee – boosting ourselves at the expense of others, trying to make ourselves look a tad more awesome in the eyes of God.  Let God do the judging in God’s own good time.

         A second lesson is that, though we may not be able to get away from our prejudices, at least we can discover what they are.  At least we can acknowledge their existence and understand when and to what extent they filter our perceptions and create a skewed sense of reality.  Things are not always what they seem.  Surely this parable illustrates that we may be able to learn as much from the tax collectors in our midst as from the Pharisees.  We may be able to learn as much from those we judge to be different from us as from those we are most comfortable because they are like us.

         Finally, we can learn something about prayer in this parable, too, and we can learn it from the tax collector.  It was he who had faith enough to look in the mirror and say to God what he saw:  I am a sinner.  I am in need of forgiveness.  Aren’t we all? 

         And yet, God did not judge.  God did not turn him away.  For the tax collector was justified, we are told.  That is, the tax collector was put into a right relationship with God because of his honesty coupled with his faith.

         So – let me ask one more time:  When is a joke not a joke?  When it touches the very heart of who we are as human beings – sinners in need of forgiveness.  When it affirms that, in spite of our lack of self-reflection when it comes to our prejudices, the tooting of our own horn before God and one another, our inability to curtail our seemingly endless capacity to judge, God still offers us redemption, justification, a second chance at a right relationship with the Holy One.

by Rev. Nancy Foran, Raymond Village Community Church UCC, Raymond, Maine

         

Luke 18:1-8 "Never Give Up"

         A little boy knelt down at the edge of his bed and began to say his nighttime prayers. His parents were just outside his door and so could hear him.  How surprised they were when he began reciting the alphabet in very reverent tones!

         When asked what he was doing, the child replied, "I am saying my prayers, but I could not think of the exact words tonight. So, I am just saying all the letters. God knows what I need, and God will put all the words together for me."

         What a lovely scene that is, and what a perfect way to begin preaching about this parable of the nagging widow and the unjust judge.  I mean, this parable is about the benefits of nagging, right?  It is about being persistent in prayer and, when we are persistent, about God’s eventual compassion and responsiveness.  After all, that is what Jesus says the story is about, right? 

         Well, actually, no.  It is what the Gospel writer Luke – and not Jesus at all - says the parable is about in the opening verse.  And perhaps that should be a bit of a red flag for us – a tiny warning not to be too complacent when we reflect upon this tale. 

         Now, let me say right off the bat that I have nothing against prayer – and I have nothing against being persistent in one’s prayer life.  Prayer is a very important part of our spiritual lives and our Christian formation.  It is just that I wonder if persistent prayer is the deepest meaning of this story of the widow and the judge.

         After all, we know from reading other parables that their point is never the obvious meaning we find at first glance.  We know these tiny tales do not tell us what life is like, but rather they tell us what life should be like – what life in the Kingdom of God is like.  As the author of the blog, Magdalene’s Musings, wrote, in the parables he told, Jesus did not “give his listeners clear, unambiguous answers. Mostly, he gave them questions.”

         So, before we come to any quick conclusions about why Jesus told this parable, let’s take a closer look at the characters in the story and what questions Jesus might be raising through their interaction.  

         First, there was this judge. His job was to adjudicate disputes fairly and equitably while maintaining a certain harmony in day-to-day affairs.  And because he was a Jewish judge, he had a responsibility demanded of him by the Torah, that is, the Jewish Law, to particularly protect the rights of the poor – you know, the widows, the orphans, the beggars, the ones who were chewed up and spat out by the rest of society.

         The second person in this story was this widow, the quintessential symbol of all a compassionate judge was called to attend to.  There was this widow whom every God-fearing judge was obliged to care for. 

         She came before our judge to plead for her rights.  She entered the court system to beg for justice.  And therein lies the crux of the problem, the singular issue of the parable.

         You see, Jesus tells us that the judge was not compassionate.  Moreover, he did not respect anyone other than himself.  And not only that; he was not God-fearing.  In short, this judge was not particularly interested in justice.  He had more glorious things on his mind – like the Brooks Brothers suit he was having tailored, like the temple hotshots he needed to impress.  And so he ignored the widow and instead busied himself with his more important concerns. 

         However, unfortunately for the judge, the widow would not take no for an answer.  She kept coming back to the courthouse, day after day.  In fact, the judge had listened to her arguments so many times that he could have repeated them back to her verbatim.  She stuck to him like glue, and her droning voice buzzed in his ears – nag, nag, nag. 

         As Presbyterian pastor Robert Dunham writes, “She keeps coming back to him day after day, resolutely pressing her case, until finally the judge has a conversation with himself….(and) figures that if he doesn't grant the widow's petition, she will wear him out and may even give him a black eye - either figuratively or literally. So, eventually, despite his callousness and his lack of integrity, he gives the woman what she wants.”

         And that is the end of the parable – except that the Gospel writer wraps it all up by sharing Jesus’ heartfelt confession about the character of God:  “Do you hear what that judge, corrupt as he is, is saying? So what makes you think God won’t step in and work justice for his chosen people, who continue to cry out for help? Won’t he stick up for them? I assure you, he will. He will not drag his feet.” 

         And then the Gospel writer concludes with Jesus’ haunting question:  “But how much of that kind of persistent faith will the Son of Man find on the earth when he returns?”

         Now, if we take the writer’s opening comment about the meaning of this story as “gospel truth” (no pun intended) – that the story is first and foremost about being persistent in our prayer lives – about nagging God as the widow nagged the judge until she got what she wanted - then I say that we have a dilemma.  

         You see, I do not know about you, but I have a real problem with the idea that if you want something from God, all you need to do is pray.  And if you do not get results, then just pray harder.  Still nothing?  Well, you must not be praying hard enough.  Keep trying, and God will answer your prayer.  Keep trying because eventually God will get tired of it all.  Keep trying because in the end God will give up and give you what you want, if only to get you out of God’s hair. 

         I have a real problem with a God who finds humanity basically annoying and, as Baptist pastor Amy Butler noted, is “an easily manipulated puppet who, if (approached) in the right way, will give us whatever we want.” 

         I mean, what does that say about the father of two young children who prays for his cancer to be cured but dies anyway.  Did he not pray hard enough or a sufficient number of times?  And what does that say about the woman who prays for her husband to be faithful but he continues to have affair after affair anyway? Did she not pray long enough, or were the words not quite what God had in mind?

         It makes no sense to me that a God who fashioned humanity and since the beginning of time has worked through men and women – prophets and apostles – to articulate the sacred promises, that the passion and dream of this God for the world is embodied in a man, Jesus of Nazareth, it makes no sense to me that such a God would divest you and me of any responsibility for ourselves or our earth and instead would be this interventionist, manipulative, mercurial Holy Presence.

         However, when we interpret the parable in this traditional way, we are presuming that God is like the judge, and we are like the widow.  However, I do not know about you, but my God is not like an unjust judge – and I really do not think Jesus would ever have described God in such negative terms.  That being said, I think we need to make a paradigm shift.  We need to look at this story through a different lens.

         So – try this on for size.  What if we – you and I - were not like the widow but were rather like the unjust judge? Oh, I know that notion is terribly unflattering because none of us wants to be characterized as not respecting humanity and not being God-fearing.  But what if this parable was less about being persistent in prayer and more about yearning for change – not God changing but us changing? 

         What if this parable is about us being like the judge who ignored the widow? What if it is about our disinclination to hear the cries of the poor, the oppressed, the ones who barely survive on the edges of our society?  What if this parable is about our shutting out the screams and whispers for mercy and compassion from our local community, our state, our nation, our world? 

         What if this parable is about why we think a panhandler is always going to use any money we might give for alcohol and cigarettes?  What if this parable asks us to wrestle with the question about why we presume that a phone call from someone claiming to be in need is most likely a scam? 

         What if we are like the unjust judge, and we are too self-involved to hear all the widows in all their modern guises who plead their cases for economic and social justice?  As Episcopal priest Steve Griffiths speculates, “Perhaps we are the judge and we need to hear the persistent cry of the poor in our midst. Perhaps this parable is about the cry of the poor coming to our ears and it is us who need to grant justice.”

         And if we are like the unjust judge, could it be that it is God who is like the widow?  Could it be that it is God, surrounded by the impoverished, the homeless, the abused, flanked by the hungry children with their empty bowls and the refugees with only the clothes on their backs, who is approaching us on their behalf?

         Could it be that it is God who is like the widow – crying out to be heard, begging us to mete out justice because we have the power and the resources to do just so?  As Steve Griffith goes on to say, the cries of the poor were “always Jesus’ starting point in ministry, and it needs to be ours too. Securing justice and relief for the hurting must always be our top priority as those who seek to reflect the love of God in society. We need to hear the cry of the poor and vulnerable.”

         Now if all this seems dark and negative to you, remember as well that if the widow represents God in this parable, then, like the widow, God has not and will not give up on us. Though we may be more concerned with the square footage of our homes rather than the man who has no home, though we may be more concerned about what we will serve for dinner than the child who will have no dinner, God still holds out hope that, with enough sacred nagging, we will indeed be the ones to usher in the Kingdom. 

         Someday, God believes, we will finally come around to doing something about the persistent cries and whispers of the poor.  You see, God still believes in us and in our potential as sacred sons and daughters.  We have it in us to become like little widows – pestering for justice, praying for justice, demanding justice. 

         And, what is more, I think God believes that the church, that Christian communities like ours, can become gathering places and focal points for that pestering, that praying, that demanding for justice that lies at the very heart of God’s dream and passion for this world.

         We – here in our little church – have the God-given power to shift the paradigm, to look at the world through a new lens, to become more like the demanding widow than the unfeeling judge. 

         However, it is up to you – each one of you – to decide if you will support this church as it seeks to look at the world through a new lens.  It is up to you – each one of you – to figure out to what extent you will help this church as it unleashes that power to shift the paradigm.  It is up to you – each one of you – to determine whether you trust that our ministries really can make the Gospel relevant in the very difficult complex times in which we live.

         Jesus has challenged us not only as individuals, but he has challenged the very nature of who we are as the church in this parable. Of course, Jesus is always challenging us.  It is never easy to be the church.  It never will be easy. 

         But then again, Jesus did say, “Lo, I will be with you always.”  Perhaps that statement alone should be enough for us to take heart – to throw off our judge’s robes, climb down from the bench, and muck it up with the hungry and the homeless, the halt and the lame. 

         Because, if we do, then when the haunting question is finally posed - “How much of that kind of persistent faith will the Son of Man find on the earth when he returns – and, I would add, where will he find such faith?” – the answer could be - here, right here – because, when it came to the Gospel message, we – you and I in this little church - never, never gave up.  

by Rev. Nancy Foran, Raymond Village Community Church UCC, Raymond, Maine