Fix It

Luke 11:1-13            He was praying in a certain place, and after he had finished, one of his disciples said to him, “Lord, teach us to pray, as John taught his disciples.” He said to them, “When you pray, say: Father, hallowed be your name. Your kingdom come. Give us each day our daily bread. And forgive us our sins, for we ourselves forgive everyone indebted to us. And do not bring us to the time of trial.” And he said to them, “Suppose one of you has a friend, and you go to him at midnight and say to him, ‘Friend, lend me three loaves of bread; for a friend of mine has arrived, and I have nothing to set before him.’ And he answers from within, ‘Do not bother me; the door has already been locked, and my children are with me in bed; I cannot get up and give you anything.’ I tell you, even though he will not get up and give him anything because he is his friend, at least because of his persistence he will get up and give him whatever he needs. “So I say to you, Ask, and it will be given you; search, and you will find; knock, and the door will be opened for you. For everyone who asks receives, and everyone who searches finds, and for everyone who knocks, the door will be opened. Is there anyone among you who, if your child asks for a fish, will give a snake instead of a fish? Or if the child asks for an egg, will give a scorpion? If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will the heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him!”

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Do you remember the BP oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico?  It was only six years ago, but I almost never think about it anymore.  Last week I stopped at BP for gas, and I suddenly remembered it.

The rig exploded on April 20, 2010 and burned for more than a day until it sunk to the bottom of the ocean.  Most of the crew escaped but 11 people were lost.  This wreckage caused oil to gush into the water continuously for 87 days.  This was not a small thing.  It’s been a long time since I have thought about it, but I can remember how horrible it felt: every single day we were thinking about the hundreds of gallons of oil gushing into the ocean; every single day thinking about the harm to our environment, to wildlife and marine habitats.  Day after day after day it could not be fixed.

I was sitting in a worship service that June in Washington DC, and this situation was on everyone’s minds.  The pastor stood in the center of the sanctuary praying and I remember his words:  He said, “Fix it, Lord!  Fix it!”  Because we were running out of time and running out of patience and running out of calm.  This was a problem that no one else seemed to be able to fix and so he prayed – he demanded – that God would fix it.

I had never heard a prayer quite like that before, but at the time it seemed appropriate.  And ever since then I have wondered if such a prayer is not, in many times and places, a most appropriate form of prayer. 

I know that some of you that you might not agree.  It seems kind of bossy to make demands of God. It goes beyond the bounds of polite conversation and, you might say, suggests that we have forgotten our place. 

Our text from the gospel of Luke today touches on prayer.  We have the disciples asking Jesus to teach them how to pray, and so he did.  In his response we recognize parts of what we know as “The Lord’s Prayer”, or what other traditions simply call “Our Father.”  Each of the first three gospels, Matthew, Mark, and Luke, contain versions of this story and the prayer Jesus offered them.  Matthew’s is the one that most completely resembles the prayer we pray every week together. 

It’s a form of prayer that is familiar to most Christians, and even many people of other faiths, as it been used by public schools, scout troops, 12 Step groups, and other organizations.  It’s a good prayer. 

Some Christian traditions use it to the exclusion of any other prayers because, according to the gospel, this is how Jesus told us to pray.  So, therefore, this is the exact form we should follow at all times.  There are other traditions that never use this prayer because they believe all prayer should be spontaneous, personal, and heartfelt expressions.  Most of us who pray use a variety of forms of prayer, but do lean heavily on this one – because it’s a good prayer.

It’s a good prayer.  It gives us the words to say when we have no words that seem adequate – or right.  As much as we might long to put our desires and our needs into our own words, we hesitate.

We just don’t know what we might pray for – I think this is something we all struggle with at times.  We are caught between our belief that God is all-knowing and all-powerful, and our hope that we might ask for what we want and receive it.  I knew a man who was struggling with this.  He had been praying all his life but he had reached the point where he simply didn’t know how to pray.  Even though he knew what broke his heart, he wasn’t sure this heartbreak was not a part of God’s plan.  All he could do anymore, he said, was to lift up a name of a loved one in need, and hold it gently, trembling before God.  A single word prayer said over and over again.

Do we dare to ask for what we want?  Isn’t it risky to ask for what we want?

Prayer is hard – not only because it requires discipline of us.  Prayer is hard because when we think about it we begin to feel helpless about how we should pray; or even if we should pray. 

Perhaps Jesus’ disciples felt helpless too.  During the years of their discipleship so many things in their world were being turned upside down.  Every tradition was questioned; every expectation was defied.  From the moment they had walked away from their communities, their families, and all that they had previously believed to be unquestionably right, they were walking in uncharted territory. 

I can imagine that their request of Jesus, “Teach us to pray,” was a fervent plea from men who no longer knew what they knew about anything, and desperately wanted a bit of solid ground on which to stand.  

So he gave them some words to pray, and he taught them something about prayer by using a parable.  Imagine a neighbor coming to your door at midnight, long after the lights have been turned out and the door locked.  He is pounding on the door and demanding you get up and give him some bread.  He has unexpected guests who arrived late and he needs to give them something to eat.

Let’s be honest; we know how we feel about this. We think it reflects very poorly on this man.  He is a very poor housekeeper if he doesn’t even keep any bread on hand for unexpected guests.  We think it’s rude that he would wake the whole household because of his poor planning.

Nonetheless, when it comes down to it, if it were our door he was pounding on, we would probably get up and answer.  We would give this man what he needs.  Why?  Because we would be even worse than him if we refused.  Wouldn’t we?

Just so, Jesus says.  If even you would give this man what he needs, wouldn’t your Father in heaven do that and more?  It’s a hard parable for us to read because of how extreme it is.  He suggests we are evil.  He presents situations that seem extremely absurd – giving a child a snake or a scorpion.  We want to run as far from those word as we can get.  I suppose that is his intention.

By the way, did you notice that when I described the parable I asked you to identify with the man inside the house, the one being asked to help?  But when Jesus told the parable he asked his audience to identify with the man standing outside the door pounding, the one in need.  Yet it is not our desire nor inclination to identify with one in such desperate need.

As confused as we might get about prayer, about what is appropriate and acceptable, we only need to look at the scriptures to be reassured that we may ask for what we need from a God who has been and will be a God of steadfast love.

Israel knew this.  The psalm calls Israel to remember the things that God has done for them, to remember that God has looked with favor upon them, forgiving them and restoring them to right relationship when they have strayed away. 

And the people of Israel know that, even when they feel forsaken, God will restore them.  Even when they feel utterly alone, God will return to them.  Even when they feel wretched, God will forgive them and love them. 

There have been many times since that June day in 2010 that I have prayed for God to fix something – just fix it.  There are so many things that need fixing in my life, in our world.  And still, sometimes I hesitate.  Do I dare ask for what I want?  Isn’t it risky to ask for what I want? 

This is the thing that prevents us from opening our hearts to God – the fear that we will be disappointed.  Because if you don’t ask, you can’t be disappointed. 

Prayer is a hard thing.  But let me offer three things I believe we can know about prayer:

Prayer is remembering.  Remembering God’s promises, remembering God’s loving acts toward us.

Prayer is stepping into that space of trust.  Trusting that God’s promises are true, trusting that God will be as God ever was.  And finally,

Prayer is living into a relationship with God.  Even when we feel utterly helpless about a situation, we have power in our hands to do something: the power of prayer.  As Israel is bold to remind God of all her promises and ask that she will intervene on their behalf once again; as Jesus assures his disciples that God’s goodness is such that they may ask, they may search, they may knock on the door and the door will be answered; just so, you and I may be bold in our prayers, even demand that God take what is broken and fix it.

May you be bold enough to ask for what you want, search for what you need, knock on the doors you want opened.  Remember that our God was and is and always will be the one who restores the world, and us, to her. 

Salt and Light

Luke 10:25-37    Just then a lawyer stood up to test Jesus. “Teacher,” he said, “what must I do to inherit eternal life?” He said to him, “What is written in the law? What do you read there?” He answered, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbor as yourself.” And he said to him, “You have given the right answer; do this, and you will live.” But wanting to justify himself, he asked Jesus, “And who is my neighbor?” Jesus replied, “A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell into the hands of robbers, who stripped him, beat him, and went away, leaving him half dead. Now by chance a priest was going down that road; and when he saw him, he passed by on the other side. So likewise a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. But a Samaritan while traveling came near him; and when he saw him, he was moved with pity. He went to him and bandaged his wounds, having poured oil and wine on them. Then he put him on his own animal, brought him to an inn, and took care of him. The next day he took out two denarii, gave them to the innkeeper, and said, ‘Take care of him; and when I come back, I will repay you whatever more you spend.’ Which of these three, do you think, was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?” He said, “The one who showed him mercy.” Jesus said to him, “Go and do likewise.”

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Earlier this week I knew what I was going to preach today.  I had a title, which I put in the bulletin.  And I wrote that sermon.  Then all hell broke loose. 

I was going to preach today about the truth of the gospel that says we don’t have to do anything to inherit eternal life.  It is given to us as a free gift from our all-loving, all-powerful God.  It was not a bad message, and I will post it on my blog, but I will not preach it to you today.  Because today we stand in need of a different message.

I rewrote and rewrote and rewrote.  I wanted to say it perfectly, but I can’t say it perfectly.

It has been an awful week in America.  We have seen – on camera – two black men get shot and killed at point-blank range, for no good reason, by officers of the law.  We saw Alton Sterling, a father of five in Baton Rouge, get pinned to the ground by two police officers and then one of those officers pull out his gun and shoot him.  We saw Philando Castile, driving with his girlfriend and her four-year-old daughter, get pulled over for a broken taillight and then get shot by an officer as he attempted to comply with the officer’s request to show his ID.  In both cases, some have said, it was because they were carrying a gun.  They had a right to carry a gun.  They had a permit to carry a gun, and in neither case were they brandishing that gun. 

Both of these incidents then resulted in protests, mostly peaceful, as people gathered together to insist once again that black lives do matter, in spite of the evidence that might cause you to think they do not.  And we began to see encouraging signs – that the justice department will investigate the shootings in Baton Rouge and Minnesota. 

It was encouraging because Alton Sterling and Philando Castile did not deserve to die.  Neither did Eric Garner, Tamir Rice, Michael Crawford, and others.  So we thought perhaps now things will begin to change.  And then another awful thing happened.

A sniper shot and killed five police officers in Dallas.  He said he was angry – angry at white people – and he wanted to kill white police officers.  And he did.

Patrick Zamarripa.  Lorne Ahrens.  Michael Krol.  Michael Smith.  Brent Thompson.  None of them deserved to die.

And this was when it began to feel, for most of us, like everything was falling apart.  Because a black man responded to violence against black men and women, with violence.  Because the men and women we all depend on to protect us are at risk and that’s not the way it’s supposed to be.  Because at that point it becomes for us, even more than it was before, a case of black against white, us against them.  And we all retreat to our corners, those who say “Blue Lives Matter” and those who say “Black Lives Matter.”  It is hard to find any safe space in between.

One of my favorite theologians calls sin “not the way it’s supposed to be.”  So many things this week were not the way they’re supposed to be.  A man turned himself into a sniper and shot 12 police officers, killing 5 of them.  You know, when Alton Sterling was killed, I felt distressed.  When Philando Castile was killed I felt sickened.  When I heard about the killings of five police officers everything inside of me tensed up and would not let go.  But when I heard that the man who did this was an army veteran, that’s when I began to cry.  And every time I think of that I want to cry.  I don’t know why.

It was absolutely wrong – not the way it’s supposed to be – for our police to be killed by sniper fire in their own city, by one of their fellow citizens.  It is easy to condemn that, and we do.

But what is harder to say, is that in some cases officers of the law are wrong.  Sometimes, the police are wrong.  And we are all culpable in their wrongs.

They are on the front lines in a society that is sick with racism, where there are preconceived notions about who you are – if you are not white.

These things are hard for us to hear, they are painful for us to hear.  Our instinct is to defend ourselves against any charges of racism.  I’m not a racist.  You’re not a racist.  But that’s not helpful.  What really would be helpful is to examine ourselves collectively as a nation.

Which is what Jesus wanted the lawyer standing before him and all the other Jews who were listening, to do: to examine their culpability in a society that rejected the worth, the human dignity, of some people because of their race.

When the lawyer asked Jesus, “Who is my neighbor,” he was engaging in the sort of theological inquiry that was common.  It was a question of how to interpret the law in our day to day actions, how to define the word neighbor:  Who is my neighbor?  Is it anyone who lives in my village?  Or the members of my particular tribe?  Do I call all my fellow citizens my neighbor?  No one seemed to expect the answer that Jesus would lead them to: that everyone is your neighbor.  Even the outsiders; even those who are different from you; even those whom you hate.

He tells a story about a man, someone just like them, who is walking down from Jerusalem and was assaulted and robbed.  He was kicked to the side of the road and left for dead.  A priest comes down the road, and when he sees the half-dead man, he actually crosses to the other side of the road to avoid him.  A Levite comes down the road and when he sees the half-dead man, he also crosses the road, to get as far away as he can from the man.  It is a Samaritan, coming down the same road, who stops.  He treats the man’s wounds, he carries him to an inn, and he ensures that the man will get continued care after he leaves.  He promises to come back.  Forevermore he is called the “Good Samaritan.” 

And the good priest and the good Levite?  Presumed good by virtue of being a priest and a Levite – by virtue of the uniform they wore – their actions were indefensible, for they failed to recognize their duty to respond with compassion to a man in need.  They failed to demonstrate love. 

Here is the message of Jesus’ story of the Samaritan:  This is the way God’s command to love one another is lived out.  To attempt to care about the lives of others who are different from us, as much as we care about our own.  To show compassion to a person in need, even if that person hates us and very likely would not do the same for us.  I believe this was a hard message for the lawyer and everyone else who was listening that day.  The gospel of Jesus Christ speaks some hard truths.

Let us consider that the gospel speaks to us today in a very particular way.  We, as a nation, have discriminated against people based on their race; and we, as a nation, have been resistant to acknowledging it.  We have doubted the word of those who would tell us that they experience discrimination on a daily basis.  We have been reluctant to examine our own presumptions.  But Jesus calls us to rise above the fray.  The gospel calls us to acknowledge the sins of our society and repent.  To practice greater love toward God and all our neighbors.

Friday night on TV there was a man with his little boy on the streets of Dallas.  He was being interviewed about what they had experienced at the demonstration the night before.  The interviewer asked why he had attended the march with his young son.  What was he hoping to accomplish?  And he said, “We are called to be salt of the earth, light to the world.  That’s all I want to do.”

It is possible to emerge from a week like this one with more hate and less hope.  But the gospel of Jesus Christ gives us something else: new life.

Transformed in Christ, forgiven, and free to love fully and forgive one another.   

May we take his words to heart and seek to love all our neighbors as we love ourselves.  

May we seek to understand our neighbors as we understand ourselves.  

May we forgive one another as we have been forgiven.