What the Lord Requires, Part 3: To Persist in Prayer

Luke 11:1-13     

Not too long ago, I had a conversation with someone about all the funny superstitions our mothers had. Throw a little salt over your shoulder if you accidentally knock over the salt shaker. Never walk under a ladder or step on a sidewalk crack. Be sure to hold your breath when you drive past a cemetery,  lift your feet when driving over railroad tracks, and heaven help you if you should break a mirror. To name just a few.

We laughed about these things, but of course in some situations, superstitious acts are deadly serious. I remember a man who wore the same pajamas for a whole football season without washing them because he was convinced the mojo was too great for him to dare mess with.

People are hardwired to believe in some kind of supernatural power, and are always trying to harness it to meet their needs and fulfill their desires. In its most primitive form, it is a belief in magical things. Incantations and ritual actions that have to be performed in just the right way for the magic to work. That is why you have to throw the salt over your left shoulder, for goodness sake, not over the right one. You have to do it correctly.

The belief in magic is as old as humankind; it is the less-than-rational idea that you can control the forces of nature. Even though we have evolved well beyond such thinking, these notions linger, persist, especially in times of distress. We want to do like Dorothy and close our eyes, tap our heels together three times and say the magic words that will take us home, back to safety.

When we are a little more rational, though, we understand that there is no controlling the forces of nature – at least not by us – and that there are probably higher powers, rational powers, that we might appeal to. God, that is,. And so we address God, sometimes awkwardly, sometimes with the elegant phrases we have been taught to say, and ask for what we need.

Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors; lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.

Magical thinking still persists, though, when we believe that if we only say the right words in the right way God will relent and give us what we want. Like the genie from the lamp, who is obliged to grant you three wishes. And the disappointment is enormous when we fail to get the response we desire. “I tried prayer, and that didn’t work,” I have heard people say. “It didn’t work,” we say when we are desperately trying to grasp the inherent logic of the universe, and failing.

Prayer is, indeed, as old as humankind – which is to say that there has never been a time when the human race has not struggled with the questions of how and why we pray. Philip and Carol Zaleski begin their history of prayer with this sentence: “The story of prayer is the story of the impossible.” It is the story of how flesh and blood creatures lay siege to heaven, speak to the creator of all, and await a response.

We are generally taught to do it with humility, a certain decorum. Parents teach their children to fold their hands and bow their heads. Sometimes we kneel, or prostrate ourselves, before God, the kinds of postures that would be appropriate before a king or queen. We are not worthy, yet we dare to approach the throne and beg for what we need.

You may have had discussions, as I have, about whether one should say please when asking something of God. It is what we say to one another when we want to be polite. We are taught to say thank you to God – shouldn’t we also say please? We wonder about this because the prayers we have been taught to say never include this word.

Please give us our daily bread and please forgive us our sins and please do not lead us into temptation?

The word seems to me to change the meaning of the petitions, adding the suggestion that we really don’t expect God to respond as we wish. That only if we say it nicely enough will God consider granting our wishes. There may be some truth to this, because we know that God is not in our control. We have long ago given up the magical belief that the right words and actions can control the forces of the world. God’s ways are mysterious to us, strange to us.

In fact, we know God is completely independent and even begin to wonder at the fact that we bother to pray at all. We have no control over God; why bother to ask when God has already decided? This leads to what I might even call fatalism among some Christians, such that they reduce the prayer Jesus taught us to the single fragment, “Thy will be done,” and even then knowing that God surely doesn’t need us to give God permission to do this.

What is prayer for?

Most of us, in our private moments, have wondered this very thing. I imagine that his disciples wondered as well. And so they asked him. “Lord, teach us how to pray. Give us the words to say, because we are lost and need direction.” Then he gave them these words we know so well – so well we don’t even have to think about them as we say them.

And then, perhaps knowing that they still would struggle, he gave them a funny little parable. Parables about prayer almost have to be funny – we are talking about the impossible, after all! He asked them to imagine they had unexpected guests arrive in the middle of the night. And imagine that you have no food in the house to offer your guests, yet you are obligated to feed them. So what can you do, except go to your friend’s house, knock on his door and ask him for bread? If the whole household is asleep they may not hear you at first, so you must knock harder, call louder. You must bang on the door until you raise the household and get what you need – what choice do you have? Even if he hisses at you through the door, saying leave me alone, you must persist. You must ask.

And eventually this friend will get out of bed, climbing over his sleeping children to get you some bread – if not out of love then out of a sense of self-preservation. If you are persistent, sooner or later you will get a response. Now: if even you and your friends will do this, how much more will God, who is the definition of goodness, do for you?

Ask and it will be given to you; search and you will find; knock and the door will be opened for you. This is his promise. And yet, we still wonder.

And yet, the question still persists: why pray?

In our own experience we can recall too many times when our prayers seemed to go unanswered, too many disappointments. Of course, it is in the nature of humans to dwell more on the disappointments than the blessings. It is typical of humans to take for granted the good gifts but be profoundly surprised at the times our requests seem to be denied.

There are no simple answers when it comes to prayer. After all, when we speak of prayer we are speaking of the impossible. Creatures of this finite realm trying to reach into the realm of infinity and force a change. Prayer is not logical, it is not simple, it is not comprehensible. And yet prayer is essential.

You must persist in knocking, calling, asking for what you need, as the parable says. What choice do you have? Knock harder. Call louder. Be bolder.

How we even dare to pray is a wonder. The scriptures say we are bold to approach the throne of grace with confidence, to find mercy there. And we are encouraged in this boldness. We believe that God actually wants us to be so audacious. Not just us modern folks – this, too, is old.

There is an old tale from the Hasidic Jewish tradition about a rabbi who approached an illiterate tailor to ask him what he did on Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement. He would be unable to read the prescribed prayers for forgiveness, since he was illiterate, so the rabbi wanted to know how he handled it. The tailor reluctantly told him, “I spoke to God and told him that the sins for which I am expected to repent are minor ones. I also said to him: ‘My sins are inconsequential; I may have kept leftover cloth or occasionally forgotten to recite some prayers. But you have committed really grave sins. You have removed mothers from their children, and children from their mothers. So let’s reach an agreement. If you’ll pardon me, I’m ready to pardon you.”

And the rabbi became angry and said to the tailor, “You are not only illiterate but foolish. You were too lenient with God. You should have insisted that he bring redemption to the whole Jewish people.”[1]

Be bold. Be audacious.

Prayer is a mystery and our belief in prayer is paradoxical. To say that prayer is efficacious and also that God is omnipotent – I don’t really know how these things reconcile. I believe that someday, in the sweet by and by, all these things will be explained to me.

But at its essence, prayer is about this: It is about our great need. And it is about God’s great power to meet our needs. And finally, it is about trust. Like a child who cries to be fed, to be held, we cry out to God for our needs and the needs of the world. There are a great many needs in this world, which we cannot fill on our own. There is a deep and wide brokenness in this world, which we cannot fix ourselves. Only God can heal the world, and our job, what the Lord requires of us, is to ask.

Photo: Andrea Rau, www.freebibleimages.org

---

[1] Philip Zaleski and Carol Zaleski, Prayer: A History, p. 51.

What the Lord Requires, Part 1: To Love Unconditionally

Luke 10:25-37

You have probably heard a dozen sermons on this parable. You know what it’s about, I don’t need to tell you. Maybe we should just skip ahead to our next hymn and get out of here early today. It’s one of the most familiar stories in the Bible. Everyone – whether or not they ever go to church – knows what a Good Samaritan is:  a do-gooder; a helpful person.  It’s the name of hospitals and counseling centers and homeless shelters and more.  Never mind that it once was an oxymoron, as much as “jumbo shrimp” or “boneless ribs” or “entertaining sermon.”

We all know that the point of Jesus’ story is that people should be like that – the Good Samaritan – helpful to those in need.  It isn’t something I need to tell you today: you know this – and what’s more, the legal expert who approached Jesus knew it.

I don’t know exactly what was up with that legal expert.  Sometimes I think this young man was earnestly seeking to know what he must do to gain eternal life.  And other times I think that he was just trying to show off – the way we sometimes do in school when we try to ask the really good question that will make the teacher raise her eyebrows showing how impressed she is. 

I guess I just want to give him the benefit of the doubt – in both cases.  Being earnest is good, and even being a showoff is not really that bad.  Not as bad as what he was really up to. And we know what he was really up to.

The text actually tells us: he was testing Jesus.  And I don’t think he was testing his knowledge or his compassion.  It was something else.

I like this story in the Common English Bible because it uses this term to describe him: a legal expert.  It really drove home for me just what kind of person we are dealing with.  Knowing who this man is gives us a framework for beginning to understand his motivations and his mind.  We see that the conversation he strikes up with Jesus presents itself almost like a courtroom scene.  The lawyer stands up, legal pad in hand, to question the witness – Jesus.  The lawyer takes a step toward him and begins.  His first question is very direct:  What must I do to gain eternal life?

Eight simple words:  What must I do to gain eternal life?  Meaning that there is some thing, which is required, for me to do to acquire something desirable – eternal life.  So, Jesus, tell me what it is please.

Any lawyer will tell you that when you ask a question of a witness you should already know the answer because you don’t want to be surprised.  Surprises can really mess up your case.  So when the lawyer asks this question of Jesus, he already knows the answer.

He knows because he has done his homework; he knows because is an educated man; in fact, he’s a legal expert so when it comes to matters of what is required by law, he knows.   He is not asking Jesus because he is curious or because he is lacking this important piece of information.  And he is not asking Jesus because he would like to be sure that Jesus has sufficient knowledge.  He is asking Jesus because he wants to see if Jesus’ response will be sufficiently orthodox.  This is a test.

Of course, Jesus surely knew all that too.  And, in any event, Jesus didn’t seem interested in schooling this legal expert, or in playing any games.  So he does what he does so well: he reframes the conversation; he answers the man’s question with another question.  “What is written in the law?” You are, after all, a legal expert.  “How do you interpret it?”  Isn’t that the job of a legal expert?  Interpreting the law for others who are not expert?  You tell me what it is!

And of course the lawyer knows; he knows the Law of Moses inside out.  He gives a wonderful answer: Love the Lord with all that’s in you and love your neighbor as yourself.  This is the essence of the law.  The Law of Moses contains over 600 laws, spanning four books – Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, and Deuteronomy – and on these two hang all the rest.  The man got it right, so Jesus said, “Correct.  So do it.”

Now we know we’re all on the same page.  We all know that this is the answer to the question – love God and love your neighbor.  End of story.  We should all be like this.  But –

As it happens, that wasn’t what this was all about.  That wasn’t the point of this conversation.  So far, this lawyer has just been laying the groundwork.  Now he gets to his follow-up question.   He asks, “And who is my neighbor?”

Who is my neighbor? Whom does the law say that I need to concern myself with and offer my love to?  Who is it that is worthy of at least as much love as I am?  What is the definition of neighbor?  This is an important question, because the flip side of the question is this:  Whom can I exclude?  Whom can I throw under the bus? Who is expendable?

We need to know how to form the categories … we need to know where to draw the lines – the boundary lines.  Because it seems important to keep an accurate account of who’s in and who’s out.

It was certainly an important topic for the community in which Jesus lived and worked – a community that divided the world into Jews and non-Jews.

Samaritans were in the latter category.  Yes, they thought of themselves as Jews, but the Jews did not.  They believed in the God of Israel and lived by the Law of Moses and thought this was good and right, but the Jews did not.  The Samaritans might have said to the Jews, “Hey look!  We’re just alike,” but the Jews said, “No, we’re not.”

But, of course, it would be wrong for me to just pick on the Jews.

There was a time in the not-too-distant past when African Americans were not welcome in the Presbyterian Church – a truly shameful part of our history.  There was a time when women were not permitted to be ordained – as deacons … as elders … as ministers – and, of course there were several precise reasons for drawing that line. 

We always have reasons when we make these distinctions. In retrospect we can see how flimsy they often are. I am grateful that we no longer promote those particular things, that we have moved beyond those prejudices.

But the thing is, we can’t leave this story in the past.  This story is why we cannot in good conscience ignore the crisis that is going on at our southern border.

People are being locked up in inhumane conditions – without adequate space, without adequate food and water, without the means to wash themselves. Children, even babies, have been separated from their parents and left uncared for. They are languishing in these facilities for weeks on end. And people are dying.

So the question is this: are these people our neighbors? And if they are, is this the way we love them?

Christians don’t need to agree with one another about the best way to address border policy. These are complicated matters. But all Christians must stand together and say this treatment of human beings is unacceptable.

Just as it was unacceptable for a priest or a Levite to walk past a man who was left for dead on the road from Jerusalem.

We all know this story very well, from more sermons and more Bible studies than we can count. Maybe there is nothing new I can tell you about the Good Samaritan. But today I just want you to hear one thing: This legal expert wants Jesus to tell him where the line falls. He wants Jesus to tell him who is his neighbor and who is not his neighbor. But Jesus just wants him to be a neighbor.

Such a small difference. But it makes all the difference in the world.

 Photo: Migrant detention center in McAllen, Texas. US Government, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

God’s Intervention, Part 4: Working Undercover

2 Kings 5:1-14            

Slaves and servants – the ones who are supposed to be invisible – step into the spotlight for a brief moment in this story from Kings. But first, let’s talk about Naaman.

Naaman is a great man in the land of Aram; a commander of the king’s army. He is high up on the pyramid. He is respected by all. Everything about Naaman’s life is great, except that he suffers from leprosy. Then one day he learns from an Israelite slave girl about a prophet who can cure him.

Naaman knows nothing about prophets, but he knows how to get things done. Naaman is an organization man, so he does what organization men do. He goes up the chain of command.

He tells his king about the prophet who can cure him. The king of Aram writes an official letter, on official letterhead, to the king of Israel. He sends Naaman off with the letter – and horses and chariots, and ten talents of silver, and six thousand shekels of gold, and ten changes of clothing. It goes without saying that an entourage of servants also went along with Naaman, in order to carry all his baggage. Naaman had a lot of baggage.

When he arrived in Israel he went directly to the king with the letter of introduction from his king, just like a royal ambassador.

The king of Israel received his letter and read it. “Dear King of Israel, please cure my loyal servant Naaman of his leprosy. Yours Truly, King of Aram.”

And the king of Israel flips out. “What? Who am I? God? I can work such miracles? Is the king of Aram trying to start a war with me?”

The prophet himself, Elisha, the one who can cure Naaman of his leprosy, seems to be forgotten. But Elisha gets word of the drama in the royal palace and sends his own letter to the king of Israel. “Dear King, chill out. Send this guy to me. I can take care of him.”

So Naaman and his horses and chariots and luggage and footmen all change course and head toward Elisha’s house. When they arrive, Elisha sends a servant out to meet them with instructions. Go and wash yourself seven times in the Jordan River and you will be healed.

Imagine Naaman’s disappointment.

He went to a lot of trouble and expected more attention than this. The prophet, himself, didn’t even come out to greet him. He never got an opportunity to present all his gifts. There was no one there to impress with his power and wealth. Yes, Naaman came to Israel to be healed of his affliction, but he seemed to expect and want more.

There should have been some pageantry. Speechifying, arm-waving, maybe a light show. There should have been an audience to take it all in, applauding the great men doing their thing. Naaman was a great man, don’t forget. He didn’t come all this way just to dip his wrecked body in a pathetic little stream.

A man of Naaman’s position expects certain things; he has earned the right to expect certain things. But Naaman’s expectations are a little too rigid, a little too narrow and confining for the God of Israel – the God who moves freely and, sometimes, undercover.

This is a message with particular resonance for the church today. We expect certain things. We’ve been doing this for a long time and we’ve got it all pretty well organized: denominations, presbyteries, congregations, committees, and so on. We excel at order.

But our love of order can be an obstacle for us. Our expectations can become too rigid, too narrow, like Naaman. We might assume that, because we have been doing this for so long, we have the right to our expectations, like Naaman. But you see where his expectations got him? Going the wrong way. Naaman would have missed his chance at the cure if not for the invisible ones – the slave girl and his servants. At every critical juncture, they pointed Naaman in the direction of healing.

God was working through those invisible ones, the ones that people like Naaman would not normally turn to for guidance.

Who are the invisible ones we need to listen to? Where are the outsiders who might point us in the direction of God’s healing work in the world? Where and among whom is God moving in the world? This is essential for us to contemplate. If we don’t keep up with God’s movement in the world, then we will stop being a part of God’s healing work in the world. While we were tending to our order, our power structures and finances and property, God moved.

I do not mean to say that God has left us. But God does not sit complacently, waiting for us to do something new, either. God is the Lord of this entire world – all of it. This means God is free to go anywhere God chooses.

So I read with great interest this week about a new movement called Civic Saturdays. People gather together in a public location – a library, a small business, or a town square. This is what they do:

They sing together. They talk to one another. They listen to readings, followed by a sermon that ties together the readings and important issues of the world we are living in. Then they sing some more before they are sent out into the world to make a difference. Does any of this sound familiar?

People are looking for healing, and they are ready to be a part of this healing work wherever they can find it. Civic Saturdays offer people a chance to do this.

People are looking for meaning; they hunger for community and spiritual connection with others. These folks may or may not go to church on Sundays, but on Saturdays they are coming together for the sake of the healing of our world.

They are ordinary people with ordinary human needs – to love and be loved, to contribute and care. Just like us.

We all play a part in God’s undercover work in the world. Even if we don’t recognize it as such. Other people – outside the church’s structures and organizations – are playing a part in God’s undercover work in the world. Even if they don’t recognize it as such.

Isn’t it time to build some bridges so maybe we can work together?