In Nomine Iesu
St. Luke 18:1-8
October 17, 2010
Pentecost 21/Proper 24C
Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~
The themes for today are faith . . . and the life of persistent prayer that flows from faith. It all comes to us from a simple parable about a pesky widow and a corrupt judge. And just to make sure that we get the main point of the parable, St. Luke spells it out right at the beginning. Unlike some parables that might leave us scratching our heads about the meaning, St. Luke sets up this parable by telling us exactly what it’s about, right up front: “And Jesus told them a parable to the effect that they ought always to pray and not lose heart.”
Losing heart is what tends to stifle prayer. Losing heart is what sometimes happens when you pray, and pray, and pray some more—sometimes praying about something or someone for months or even years—and nothing changes. Do you know someone who is losing heart—giving up—ceasing to pray instead of praying without ceasing?
It happens to all of us from time to time—we begin to lose heart. It happens even to pastors who ought to know better. I’ve spent the better part of the last decade praying for the recovery of my son who has autism. When he was first diagnosed, there was an intensity to my prayers—an outright expectation—that my prayers would be heard, that there would be a medical breakthrough, and he would be healed. As the years go by, I’m sad to admit that the intensity of those prayers for healing and the level of expectation, and the frequency of those prayers, is not what it used to be. This is, I think, what it means to lose heart. Each one of us has been there, done that. Each one of us, like Jacob, has wrestled with God in prayer, but only to feel like we’ve come out on the losing end.
So it ought to perk up our ears just a bit to hear that Jesus has a parable especially for us—a parable leading us always to pray and not lose heart. The praying protagonist is just an old widow, a nobody, a woman with no standing, no influence, no money. And even the little bit she has has apparently been ripped off. And this unlikely heroine is an icon of faith and prayer. She does not lose heart. She does not give up. She does not despair because faith is alive in her. This pesky widow keeps on showing up in the courtroom of a crooked, corrupt judge who doesn’t fear God or respect his fellow man. This judge is unjust; he could care less about justice—particularly for someone as insignificant as this widow.
And while this judge keeps on delaying and stonewalling, the widow refuses to give up. She continually pounds the judge with her claim. She bothers the judge. She beats the judge by her continual appearances before him. She grinds away at him with her persistent petitions. The corrupt judge eventually gives in and grants her justice, simply to get her off his back. And this, my friends, is the picture of faith expressing itself in persistent, patient prayer.
The corrupt judge in the parable should lead us to think about Jesus, who is indeed our judge. The point of comparison is obviously from lesser to greater. Jesus is not an unrighteous judge, but the Righteous One whose judgments are pure and precise and grounded in mercy. If a corrupt, crooked judge can be persuaded by the persistent petitions of a pesky widow, then how much more will Jesus work for justice and relief for His elect—His chosen—who cry out to Him in prayer day and night? In fact, Jesus says that the justice He gives is always given “speedily.”
Really? Speedily? If I had been one of the disciples listening to this parable, I think I might have raised my hand at that point and asked, “Lord, could you define what you mean by ‘speedily?’” Our definitions of “speedily” are all skewed by the fact that we sinners are inherently impatient. This is often why we lose heart and fail to pray. It’s not so much that God is slow, as that we are terribly impatient. We are driven by impatience. Our Old Adam is unashamedly impatient. It’s now or never. Have it my way in sixty seconds or less. Long lines, slow traffic, a sluggish internet connection, being told to take a number and wait—Don’t you know who I am?! This is an insult. You are wasting my time. I want it now. Instant gratification is what it’s all about for the Old Adam in us.
But prayer prompted by faith is always an exercise in patience. We are praying to the God for whom a day is like a thousand years and a thousand years are like a day. This could take a while. One of the characteristics of faith is patient endurance, persistence in the face of hardship, long-suffering. The widow in the parable keeps coming back to the crooked judge with her persistent petitions because she has no place else to go. Even though the guy is uncaring, unsympathetic, and waiting for a bribe, yet she keeps coming back, day and night, over and over again, because there is no one else who can grant her justice.
We lack her patience most of the time. When years go by it’s easy to lose heart and just give up. Our prayers become shallow, sporadic, undisciplined and anemic. It’s like someone who goes to the gym a few times, lifts a few weights, and then concludes that exercise doesn’t work because he can’t detect a hint of new muscle. But prayer is to be exercised over the long haul. It’s a marathon, not a sprint. I usually exercise at the gym five or six times a week. I started doing that about nine years ago. I’m still waiting on bulging biceps and six-pack abs. But that’s not important. What is important is that prayer, like physical exercise, is good and beneficial, even when we don’t notice all the desired results. The important thing is not to lose heart—to keep at it.
I was reading last week about an amazing woman of prayer. She was a model of patient, persistent prayer. Although she was raised as a Christian, she married an unbeliever with a violent temper who was also an adulterer. Her mother-in-law hated her and made her life miserable. But this amazing woman attended church daily and prayed just like the widow in today’s parable. Eventually, over many years, she won the favor of her mother-in-law and her husband changed his ways and became a Christian.
But then there was her rebellious son. This loser shacked up with his girlfriend, had a child out of wedlock, and got caught up in a new age religion. And so she prayed for her son, year after year for ten years (a decade of tears—a decade of being tempted to lose heart and give up!) That son’s name was Augustine—who we now refer to as St. Augustine—a great theologian and bishop. His mother, who so famously prayed for him, was named Monica—but who we now refer to as St. Monica—a woman you honor every time you say “Santa Monica Blvd” (the street on which our church is located). She could be the patron saint for patient, persistent prayer. (And now you know . . . the rest of the story!)
But if I simply tell you to be more like Saint Monica—if I just tell you to be like the widow in the parable—I haven’t yet given you what you need so that you don’t lose heart. I need to direct you to the Judge. Not the corrupt judge in the parable, but the One who will come again to judge the living and the dead. He is the judge in whose name all our prayers are expressed. He is the judge who will rule in your favor. The unjust judge in the parable refused to be troubled or bothered by the widow. But your judge, Jesus, is so troubled and concerned for you that He went to Calvary for you. He is the judge who stands in your stead and takes your guilt and sin and punishment upon Himself. Your sin, your impatience, your angry demands—they can no longer condemn you. There is no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus. The One who was crucified for you—the One who shed His blood for you—He alone will be your judge. He is the Son of Man who, when He returns, will find faith in you—faith that He has given, faith that He has nourished, faith that He has sustained and strengthened through decades of prayers and years of tears.
It’s strange the way Jesus ends this parable. It’s unexpected how He concludes with a question that doesn’t seem to fit with the parable He told about prayer. “When the Son of Man comes,” Jesus asks, “will He find faith on earth?” With that question Jesus takes our prayers, takes the deepest desires of our hearts, and He connects them to the day of His return. And it really makes perfectly good sense. For only then, on judgment day, will it be perfectly clear. When we stand before Jesus our Judge we will see things as they truly are. Then it will become clear how tenderly—how generously—Jesus has carried us along through those dark times when everything went wrong, and our prayers went unanswered, and our lives seemed so widowed and worthless. Then it will become clear how God’s delaying—how His slowness and His seeming not to care—is really part of His wanting our good, readying us for larger gifts, building our faith not on short term satisfactions and easy solutions, but teaching us to rely completely on His grace, His mercy, His love.
It’s that love that will keep you and me from losing heart. It’s that love of God that leads us to lives of prayer—patient, persistent prayer. It’s that love that comes to you this morning in the bread that is His body and the wine that is His blood. It’s that love that rings in your ears through the Words of this sermon. His Word and His Spirit Jesus puts into you. In these ways your faith is forged and fed. And where faith is forged and fed, there is always persistent, patient prayer. So do not lose heart. For your judge . . . is Jesus. Amen.
Monday, October 18, 2010
Monday, October 11, 2010
Praying with Lepers
In Nomine Iesu
St. Luke 17:11-19
October 10, 2010
Pentecost 20/Proper 23C
Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~
I don’t know if you’ve ever considered it or not, but a pineapple doesn’t really look like much from the outside. It’s not very colorful like some other tropical fruits. The skin of a pineapple is rough and jagged. In fact, if you’re not careful, you could hurt yourself with a pineapple . . . or hurt somebody else, I suppose. To walk by a display of pineapples at the grocery store does nothing to catch your eye or make you salivate with anticipation.
But of course, everybody knows that the appeal of the pineapple is what’s on the inside. It’s sweet. It’s juicy. Cut it open, take a bite, and let your taste buds be transported to someplace tropical—not to mention all the vitamins and nutritional benefits that come from fresh fruit. No, pineapples may not look like much on the outside; but dare to go deeper and you won’t be disappointed.
That’s exactly how it is for me when I hear the account of Jesus cleansing the ten lepers. From the outside, this well known story seems so basic and straightforward. No surprises! Anyone who’s attended Sunday school knows that leprosy was a debilitating disease of the skin that affected many people in Bible times. And again, anyone who’s done the Sunday school thing knows that whenever Jesus encounters diseased people, there’s a fairly good chance that He will heal them. About the only surprise here is when but one of the healed men returns to give thanks to Jesus. And the importance of saying “thank you” is something that most of us learned, well, in pre-school.
But today I’d like you to go a little deeper with me. Let’s do more than scratch the surface. Let’s pause, and ponder, and dig down deep, and take to heart the sweet, golden good news of the Savior—which is perfectly ripe for our hearing.
First of all, the bad news about leprosy: It was more than just a disease of the skin like acne or eczema. Aside from the pain and disfigurement it could sometimes cause, the emotional and spiritual pain was greater. According to the Old Testament law, leprosy made you unclean. And if you were unclean, that meant that no one could have anything to do with you. You were essentially cut off, cast out and quarantined. Leprosy meant separation from family and friends (no cell phone, no facebook, no twitter or texting). Leprosy meant separation from worship and the temple and the God who dwelt there. Leprosy, therefore, meant depression, grief, and unimaginable loss.
Knowing all that—and knowing that Jesus had already healed at least one leper up to this point in His ministry—what do you suppose those ten leprous men would be saying to Jesus as He came within earshot? What would you be saying and praying? Jesus, heal me? Jesus, make me better? Jesus, cleanse me of this disease? All those would be perfectly suitable requests to make. Yet that wasn’t the prayer of the lepers.
Their prayer to Jesus wasn’t specifically for healing, but for mercy. “Kyrie Eleison. Lord, have mercy.” It’s what you pray when you’re stuck and helpless and hopeless. It’s what you pray when you are in dire straits and powerless to do anything about it. Kyrie Eleison. Lord, have mercy. It’s what we pray here in this place almost at almost every service. It’s a beautiful, faith-filled prayer, really. I’m afraid that we often say those words thoughtlessly and far too casually. But there was nothing thoughtless or casual about this prayer as it was shouted from the lips of lepers.
When you pray “Lord, have mercy,” you’re praying for God’s help. But like the lepers, you’re leaving the details of your deliverance in God’s hands. You’re leaving the particulars and the specifics up to the Lord. You’re trusting Him to provide you with the help you need, but you’re leaving the methods and the timing in His hands. I’m telling you, it takes faith to pray, “Lord, have mercy.” It’s like saying, “I am nothing, Lord, and You are everything.” This prayer has an intensity and a zeal that we too often forget. But don’t forget this: Whenever we pray, “Lord have mercy,” we are praying together with lepers. We are admitting our helplessness.
Incidentally, this is a prayer that Jesus cannot and will not ignore. When Jesus heard their prayer He stopped and said but one sentence to the lepers: “Go,” He said, “and show yourselves to the priests.” Okay. (From the outside, that doesn’t sound like much.) Notice that there were no explicit promises from Jesus. No encouraging words, no “fear not,” no angels choirs or shafts of light beaming down from heaven. No, Jesus just says some words. “Go and show yourselves to the priests.”
In the book of Leviticus it says that you’re supposed to show yourself to the priest after you have been cleansed of leprosy. The priests would verify your healing and offer a sacrifice to mark the occasion. Jesus’ words make perfectly good sense for someone who had already been cleansed of leprosy. Only these ten men had not been cleansed of leprosy. Their skin was still festering! They were still outcasts! Nothing had changed! The only difference was that now they had the words of Jesus ringing in their ears.
And right about now, my friends, we are approaching the center of the pineapple. In one short sentence St. Luke gives us what may just be the juiciest, most sticky-sweet bit of good news that you’re going to get for a while. Luke writes: “And as they went they were cleansed.” Now, if you were daydreaming about pineapple upside down cake, you might have missed what I just said. So let me read it again: “And as they went they were cleansed.”
I don’t know about you, but if I had been one of those lepers I don’t think I would have hurried off quite so fast. I think I would have needed to see at least some evidence of healing before I set off. “Seeing is believing,” or so they say. But not these lucky lepers. All they had were the words of Jesus ringing in their ears and they were good to go. “And as they went they were healed.”
There’s sticky-sweet, 200 proof gospel good news in that sentence. It’s a great illustration of the Christian life. We’re just like the lepers. We’re helpless and hopeless and so sick with sin that it’s killing us and cutting us off from those we love. We’re desperate for cleansing and healing and hope. And every so often Jesus passes our way right here in this place and we can’t do much but lift our voices and pray the prayer of those desperate lepers: “Kyrie Eleison. Lord, have mercy.”
And in response to that prayer, Jesus puts His words in our ears. “Go,” He says. Go and love me above all other things. Go and serve your neighbor. Go and love your spouse; honor your parents. Go and forgive those who sin against you. Go and do the holy work of the vocations I’ve assigned you. Go and take up your cross and follow me. And as you go, Jesus promises healing and cleansing. Along the way of life, as you place one foot before the other, Jesus promises help and hope and the forgiveness we so desperately need.
The question is, “Will you go?” Do you believe it? Will you walk with the lepers and step out in faith—even though you have no evidence of deliverance—even though your life is still festering with sin and doubt and fear? Will you go? Will you walk into the days and years ahead confident and expecting that Jesus will fulfill every promise—even though right now, at this moment, things look grim? Jesus knows what it’s like when things look grim. His own journey led to death by crucifixion. He was sacrificed as your substitute. The One who laid down His life for you is the same One who will carry you through this life in faith—all the way to the life of the world to come.
If those lepers had decided not to go—if they had stayed stuck in their despair—if they had decided to do the safe thing and stay put—this story would have ended far differently. The promises were from Jesus. The healing was from Jesus. The miracle was from Jesus. But it was the faith of the lepers that enabled them to receive that promised healing. “Your faith has made you well,” Jesus said.
That’s the same faith God gave to you way back when you were cleansed in the splash of your baptism. That baptism of yours is the reason you can indeed go when your God says “go.” That baptism means that you have cleansing and healing from every sin. That baptism means that Jesus’ perfect, sinless life counts for you. It means that He’s already died your death, so that the life you live today—you live for Him.
Hear again this simple, sweet sentence about the lepers: “And as they went then were cleansed.” As they went where their feet carried them in faith, they received cleansing and healing. Today, your feet have carried you in faith to this place. Your feet will carry you in faith to this altar. And as you go—as you walk this way—the Savior will feed you with His body and blood. And by that holy food you will be cleansed. You will be healed. You will receive forgiveness, and the strength to keep on going in faith—all the way to eternal life.
As you come and go from this place—with the words of Jesus ringing in your ears—you are being cleansed. There’s a miracle happening. Oh, your life is probably messy and complicated, riddled with anxiety and weariness, but you are being cleansed by Jesus. You are being healed. You are being saved and delivered from death. This is how your God operates. He cares for you more than you can know. No detail of your life is too small or insignificant. You are holy and precious to Him—as precious as the blood of His Son and as holy as the perfect life of Jesus, our Savior. So savor the sweet, golden goodness of that good news. Be reminded of it the next time you savor some fresh pineapple. And learn to pray together with the lepers—the least, the lowly, the losers of life: “Lord, have mercy.” Amen.
St. Luke 17:11-19
October 10, 2010
Pentecost 20/Proper 23C
Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~
I don’t know if you’ve ever considered it or not, but a pineapple doesn’t really look like much from the outside. It’s not very colorful like some other tropical fruits. The skin of a pineapple is rough and jagged. In fact, if you’re not careful, you could hurt yourself with a pineapple . . . or hurt somebody else, I suppose. To walk by a display of pineapples at the grocery store does nothing to catch your eye or make you salivate with anticipation.
But of course, everybody knows that the appeal of the pineapple is what’s on the inside. It’s sweet. It’s juicy. Cut it open, take a bite, and let your taste buds be transported to someplace tropical—not to mention all the vitamins and nutritional benefits that come from fresh fruit. No, pineapples may not look like much on the outside; but dare to go deeper and you won’t be disappointed.
That’s exactly how it is for me when I hear the account of Jesus cleansing the ten lepers. From the outside, this well known story seems so basic and straightforward. No surprises! Anyone who’s attended Sunday school knows that leprosy was a debilitating disease of the skin that affected many people in Bible times. And again, anyone who’s done the Sunday school thing knows that whenever Jesus encounters diseased people, there’s a fairly good chance that He will heal them. About the only surprise here is when but one of the healed men returns to give thanks to Jesus. And the importance of saying “thank you” is something that most of us learned, well, in pre-school.
But today I’d like you to go a little deeper with me. Let’s do more than scratch the surface. Let’s pause, and ponder, and dig down deep, and take to heart the sweet, golden good news of the Savior—which is perfectly ripe for our hearing.
First of all, the bad news about leprosy: It was more than just a disease of the skin like acne or eczema. Aside from the pain and disfigurement it could sometimes cause, the emotional and spiritual pain was greater. According to the Old Testament law, leprosy made you unclean. And if you were unclean, that meant that no one could have anything to do with you. You were essentially cut off, cast out and quarantined. Leprosy meant separation from family and friends (no cell phone, no facebook, no twitter or texting). Leprosy meant separation from worship and the temple and the God who dwelt there. Leprosy, therefore, meant depression, grief, and unimaginable loss.
Knowing all that—and knowing that Jesus had already healed at least one leper up to this point in His ministry—what do you suppose those ten leprous men would be saying to Jesus as He came within earshot? What would you be saying and praying? Jesus, heal me? Jesus, make me better? Jesus, cleanse me of this disease? All those would be perfectly suitable requests to make. Yet that wasn’t the prayer of the lepers.
Their prayer to Jesus wasn’t specifically for healing, but for mercy. “Kyrie Eleison. Lord, have mercy.” It’s what you pray when you’re stuck and helpless and hopeless. It’s what you pray when you are in dire straits and powerless to do anything about it. Kyrie Eleison. Lord, have mercy. It’s what we pray here in this place almost at almost every service. It’s a beautiful, faith-filled prayer, really. I’m afraid that we often say those words thoughtlessly and far too casually. But there was nothing thoughtless or casual about this prayer as it was shouted from the lips of lepers.
When you pray “Lord, have mercy,” you’re praying for God’s help. But like the lepers, you’re leaving the details of your deliverance in God’s hands. You’re leaving the particulars and the specifics up to the Lord. You’re trusting Him to provide you with the help you need, but you’re leaving the methods and the timing in His hands. I’m telling you, it takes faith to pray, “Lord, have mercy.” It’s like saying, “I am nothing, Lord, and You are everything.” This prayer has an intensity and a zeal that we too often forget. But don’t forget this: Whenever we pray, “Lord have mercy,” we are praying together with lepers. We are admitting our helplessness.
Incidentally, this is a prayer that Jesus cannot and will not ignore. When Jesus heard their prayer He stopped and said but one sentence to the lepers: “Go,” He said, “and show yourselves to the priests.” Okay. (From the outside, that doesn’t sound like much.) Notice that there were no explicit promises from Jesus. No encouraging words, no “fear not,” no angels choirs or shafts of light beaming down from heaven. No, Jesus just says some words. “Go and show yourselves to the priests.”
In the book of Leviticus it says that you’re supposed to show yourself to the priest after you have been cleansed of leprosy. The priests would verify your healing and offer a sacrifice to mark the occasion. Jesus’ words make perfectly good sense for someone who had already been cleansed of leprosy. Only these ten men had not been cleansed of leprosy. Their skin was still festering! They were still outcasts! Nothing had changed! The only difference was that now they had the words of Jesus ringing in their ears.
And right about now, my friends, we are approaching the center of the pineapple. In one short sentence St. Luke gives us what may just be the juiciest, most sticky-sweet bit of good news that you’re going to get for a while. Luke writes: “And as they went they were cleansed.” Now, if you were daydreaming about pineapple upside down cake, you might have missed what I just said. So let me read it again: “And as they went they were cleansed.”
I don’t know about you, but if I had been one of those lepers I don’t think I would have hurried off quite so fast. I think I would have needed to see at least some evidence of healing before I set off. “Seeing is believing,” or so they say. But not these lucky lepers. All they had were the words of Jesus ringing in their ears and they were good to go. “And as they went they were healed.”
There’s sticky-sweet, 200 proof gospel good news in that sentence. It’s a great illustration of the Christian life. We’re just like the lepers. We’re helpless and hopeless and so sick with sin that it’s killing us and cutting us off from those we love. We’re desperate for cleansing and healing and hope. And every so often Jesus passes our way right here in this place and we can’t do much but lift our voices and pray the prayer of those desperate lepers: “Kyrie Eleison. Lord, have mercy.”
And in response to that prayer, Jesus puts His words in our ears. “Go,” He says. Go and love me above all other things. Go and serve your neighbor. Go and love your spouse; honor your parents. Go and forgive those who sin against you. Go and do the holy work of the vocations I’ve assigned you. Go and take up your cross and follow me. And as you go, Jesus promises healing and cleansing. Along the way of life, as you place one foot before the other, Jesus promises help and hope and the forgiveness we so desperately need.
The question is, “Will you go?” Do you believe it? Will you walk with the lepers and step out in faith—even though you have no evidence of deliverance—even though your life is still festering with sin and doubt and fear? Will you go? Will you walk into the days and years ahead confident and expecting that Jesus will fulfill every promise—even though right now, at this moment, things look grim? Jesus knows what it’s like when things look grim. His own journey led to death by crucifixion. He was sacrificed as your substitute. The One who laid down His life for you is the same One who will carry you through this life in faith—all the way to the life of the world to come.
If those lepers had decided not to go—if they had stayed stuck in their despair—if they had decided to do the safe thing and stay put—this story would have ended far differently. The promises were from Jesus. The healing was from Jesus. The miracle was from Jesus. But it was the faith of the lepers that enabled them to receive that promised healing. “Your faith has made you well,” Jesus said.
That’s the same faith God gave to you way back when you were cleansed in the splash of your baptism. That baptism of yours is the reason you can indeed go when your God says “go.” That baptism means that you have cleansing and healing from every sin. That baptism means that Jesus’ perfect, sinless life counts for you. It means that He’s already died your death, so that the life you live today—you live for Him.
Hear again this simple, sweet sentence about the lepers: “And as they went then were cleansed.” As they went where their feet carried them in faith, they received cleansing and healing. Today, your feet have carried you in faith to this place. Your feet will carry you in faith to this altar. And as you go—as you walk this way—the Savior will feed you with His body and blood. And by that holy food you will be cleansed. You will be healed. You will receive forgiveness, and the strength to keep on going in faith—all the way to eternal life.
As you come and go from this place—with the words of Jesus ringing in your ears—you are being cleansed. There’s a miracle happening. Oh, your life is probably messy and complicated, riddled with anxiety and weariness, but you are being cleansed by Jesus. You are being healed. You are being saved and delivered from death. This is how your God operates. He cares for you more than you can know. No detail of your life is too small or insignificant. You are holy and precious to Him—as precious as the blood of His Son and as holy as the perfect life of Jesus, our Savior. So savor the sweet, golden goodness of that good news. Be reminded of it the next time you savor some fresh pineapple. And learn to pray together with the lepers—the least, the lowly, the losers of life: “Lord, have mercy.” Amen.
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