A Punching Widow and a Black-Eyed Judge: a Problem Parable ont the Problem of Prayer ~ Luke 18:1-8 (Short Stories Jesus Told)

The parables should disturb us. 

They certainly disturbed many of their original hearers. The challenge, of course, is that like so many things we have Disney-fied them – you know, made them sweet and cuddly with happy endings about people far more beautiful than us from a spiritual world far, far away. Most people aren’t aware that many of the Disney films like Cinderella, the Little Mermaid, Sleeping Beauty, Snow White, Beauty & the Beast, etc., were far darker tales originally than many of us imagine – rarely ending in “happily ever after” or without serious tragedy, violence, and pain. They sought to offer a moral vision even as they entertained but did so with greater grit, irony, and on-the-ground-realism than their Disney counterparts. They are “disturbing” but far more powerful. Jesus’ stories are also often like this and we must be careful to not turn them into “la la la, pie in the sky, cutesy” fables. They were by their very nature: apocalyptic. That is, they sought to show us the kingdom often by “unmasking” us and helping us see, which if you been in the dark long enough – can cause your eyes to hurt. And to be honest – this week’s parable maybe one of the more painful stories. It’s the parable of the punching widow and the black-eyed judge (I know that’s not its Disney title)! What does it reveal and unmask? How does it hurt? What does it want us to see?

 Don’t be like her because God’s not like him. [Reading One]

This is an anti-hero story, of sorts. Remember the parable of the unjust steward Luke 16:1-13)? Sometime Jesus would use negative or controversial characters to make a stronger point through comparison and contrast. This is such a story. And because of that – some try and make it nicer than it actually sounds. It’s a story about a widow – we don’t know much about her other than that she comes repeatedly to an unjust judge for help. What she wants is not as clear as it sounds? In fact, this whole parable belongs in the Greek of the Week of the category. Let me explain. The NIV says that the widow wants “justice” but it’s not the regular word for it in the NT and can mean either “vengeance” or “vindicate” or “punish”. It’s a polyvalent word, and, therefore, ambiguous. Paul, for example, will say in Romans 12:19 that it’s something that we should not do – “Do not take revenge [ekdikeō],” he commands. Moreover, the woman, rather than being meek or mild, apparently has threatened the unjust judge because he changes his mind due to her potential violence (vs. 5). The NIV says “attack” but the Greek word is literally a compound word meaning “below the eye.” It’s a boxing term and means to give someone a “black eye”. Apparently, she’s got quite the right hook. BUT – her persistence and potential punches are effective and she gets what she wants. And she has to be tough - consider the judge. The judge, of course, is even less a shining model than the punching widow. The judge, who Jesus calls “unjust” in vs. 6 neither “fears God nor cares for people” (vs. 2). BUT even an unjust judge, Jesus shows, can be persuaded, worn down, beaten into submission. Even he can grant one’s request. And that’s the ironic point. In the end, Jesus doesn’t even refer back to the woman at all. But in vs. 6 says, “Listen to what the unjust judge says.” Why? Well, because he gave her what she wanted and God is not like that. We don’t pray to that God, Jesus implies. We pray to the Father of the two sons who will not “put us off”, the Vineyard owner who is lavishly generous, the one who is always compassionate. So one of the things that Jesus is stating is that “theology matters.” What you think about God matters and will change the way you pray? You don’t pray to a distant, arbitrary, heartless, calculating judge. You pray to a Father that runs. Imagine what he will give and bring in response to your prayers – even when you have to wait. It’s interesting that when I meet with people who are in real distress they often cannot pray. And the reason for this is not some unwillingness on their part but sometimes a bad theology about God who they believe wants to punish them for sport. I often say, “Don’t pray to that God.,” but perhaps I should tell them as Jesus did – even bad judges can be one over so how much more can a father who loves you? You don’t have to punch God in the eye. You don’t need to threaten God to be good. Pray with the knowledge that God is good so justice will come.

Here’s the thing. God is not like the unjust judge. This is a freeing reality in that if God is a good father you can plead and beg in prayer but don’t have to. If God is just you can use words that are ambiguous or problematic, even violent, and God will still listen. 

Wait! I changed my mind. I am the widow and do want to punch God.[Reading Two]

And yet . . . maybe the story is even darker and unmasks us in other ways. Maybe we are more like the widow than we first imagine and that God is the judge that we do want to be violent toward. How often in my prayers are my motives mixed? I do want vengeance and justice to go together – because I am the hero of my story and others are the villain. I want others to pay. And I do get upset with God and want God to avenge me. The fact of the matter is that the drama of the Gospels show us wanting vengeance and not getting a God or Savior we want. I’m reminded, in other words, that God came to us through Jesus Christ, offered us grace, showed us sacrificial love, commanded of us generosity to enemies and sinners, and we got violent. God did let us punch him in the eye. We even did more than that. So another way to read the parable is that even when we do our worst, put up our dukes and make our threats – God still loves us and grants us justice anyway. Perhaps the parable unmasks our prayers for vengeance and God’s willingness, despite our threats, to give us something better, something greater. 

But wait! I changed my mind again. What if I am not the widow at all but the “adversary” (vs. 3)? [Reading Three]

Friends, this week I watched in utter disbelief and horror as George Floyd was murdered by a police officer who crushed his neck. And then I realized – this keeps happening again and again – and my black brothers and sisters keep pleading, “Grant us justice against our adversary.” And I simply remain silent, or make excuses, or turn the channel, or stop the video and go back to what I always do – live a life without fear because I am not black. And I wonder, might their prayers for justice or even vengeance be against me? And it’s not simply police violence but the overall rate of Covid infections among the black community, their lack of access to hospitals and medical care, the utter lack of equity and justice in the system. And as I got lost in all this pain, I heard Jesus ask me a question, “When I return, what will I find?”

Finally, remember that parables are “faith on the earth” stories and that prayer is a “faith on the earth” practice. [Reading Action]

It’s fascinating to note that Jesus’ parable on prayer doesn’t end with the question, “When the Son of Man comes, will he find prayer on the earth, or find you more thoughtful, or discover that you’re nice? Jesus’ parable asks one direct question: “Will I find you more faithful “on the earth”; that is, in this life, at this time, in this place?” It’s interesting that in a parable on prayer Jesus concludes with faith. And not just any faith but “faith on this earth” – faith in this life, faith that matters, faith that is about justice. “Faith on the earth” is the point. Friends, it’s more than a question of whether Jesus will find “faith.” Will people as well? Will widows and orphans? Will George Floyd and Ahmaud Arbery?

Peaceful persistent prayer and acting justly are ‘the faith” God expects to find. “Faith,” according to Jesus, is a “lived conviction” – not perfectly, not without being bathed in grace but lived nonetheless and is the true thermometer of our prayer life. Faith is the coming together of prayer and justice “on the earth.” It means more than that we pray for justice but also that we pray that we act justly. So I want you to join in me that prayer. I’m going to be starting another group that will be doing just that – praying, reading, talking, acting – toward greater justice for our black brothers and sisters – that Jesus calls faith. I want to invite you to join me in it so that when Jesus comes our “faith will be found” and we won’t have a black eye.

"A man had two sons . . .": Repentance and the "and" of Salvation ~ Luke 15:11-32 (Short Stories Jesus Told series)

With most parables, one of the worst things one can do is to try and explain it. An overly explained parable is like someone endlessly talking through a movie – you lose the power and joy of it. Yet it’s tempting to dive deep into the weeds of the parable, to look under every pig and pod and extricate meaning and unintentionally wreck Jesus’ beautiful story with endless underlines and footnotes. And while looking at the Mona Lisa through microscope might help you know more about the painting itself. It won’t help you see it, might even distort it. I want to help you see our parable today not know it better. Because by seeing it you will be able to do what it calls you to do – repent. And that means to better see yourself and God. Our story begins . . .

“A man had two sons” – which son are you?
This is probably the worst named parable. The very beginning challenges the whole title – The prodigal son. Because there wasn’t only one son but two. And one son doesn’t mean much. But two sons – uh, oh! That’s Biblical code for juicy drama. Did he just say, “two sons”? Two sons? That’s a recipe for murder and mayhem like Cain and Abel, of rivalry and banishment like Ishmael and Isaac, of trickery and favoritism like Esau and Jacob, of blessing and comparison like Manasseh and Ephraim. Yikes. But, at this point, every listener knew two things when they heard “two sons”: 1) this was going to a white-knuckled, pulp fiction like drama; and 2) you should identify with the younger son. “There was a man who had two sons. The younger one . . .” Yep. You wanted to be the younger one because that’s the one who was going to win, going to be blessed, expected to prevail. Abel, not withstanding (at least he was the dead hero), all of the younger ones – despite cultural conventions which gave priority and status to the oldest – were the ones blessed and chosen by God. But yikes – what kind of son is this? Jesus tricks us. This can’t be right – for the younger son was an irresponsible, self-indulgent, self-centered, sinner. “That cannot be the son who is blessed,” some must have thought. Others, however, “the tax collectors and sinners” who were listening must have recognized – that’s the son I have been.
And this son does terrible things and comes to a horrifying conclusion, “I’m dying.” He is brought to the beginning of confession – where he sees clearly the terrible state he finds himself in. And no one had to say to him, “You idiot!” No one needs to. And so he surmises that he should just go home and that it was better to be a slave in his father’s house than a son with the pigs. And so he head’s off for home.

A man had two sons. Repent!

With his rehearsed confession – the younger son heads home only to be surprised by his father. The Father ran “threw his arms around him and kissed him.” He “kisses” him [kataphileo] with the same fervor that the woman who “showed great love” kissed Jesus’ feet at the home of Simon the Pharisee (Luke 7:38, 45).
He discovers that we are not forgiven because we make ourselves forgivable or even because we feel bad; we are forgiven solely because there is a Forgiver who “runs and kisses.” Confession is not some transaction or negotiation to secure our forgiveness – it is merely waking up to the fact that we can go “home” and that Dad is ever ready to receive us. So I want to talk about a dusty, old, potentially boring, often feared, word – repentance, and bring it to our story.
Repentance isn’t accomplished when we first realize our need, our hunger, our pain. It doesn’t occur when we imagine that we're bad, or broken, or even mistaken. It “happens” when we repent and realize that God, our Father, is FOR us. It happens when we acknowledge that God is generous and then become dumbstruck by how much. He recognized he was lost but that’s not repentance. Repentance may be one of the more misunderstood words in the Biblical canon and misleadingly conjures up feelings of self-loathing, unworthiness, even terror. So now it’s time for the Greek of the Week. “Repentance” in Greek is metanoiete which is the joining of two words, meta (beyond) and nous (mind or spirit), and thus it means something like “go beyond the mind that you have.” The English word “repent” has a moralizing tone, suggesting a change in behavior, whereas Jesus’ use hints at a change on a far more fundamental level of one’s being. His call to repentance through the parables urges us to change our way of knowing, our way of perceiving and grasping who we are and who God is. When this is understood we recognize that the younger son’s confession wasn’t the whole story – couldn’t be the whole of repentance. The Son rightly knew he was in trouble but wrongly thought he was something “less,” something “no longer.” He wrongfully believed that his bad choices and sinful actions reflected the most important thing about him. But deeper than being sorry for his own actions, true repentance began when he “came to his senses” and remembered that the father was kind and generous and repentance finished when he encountered the kissing father and he learned he wasn’t less. The Apostle Paul understood Jesus - it’s God kindness that leads to repentance (Romans 2:4). God’s repentance plan involves God running, kissing, and giving a “best” robe, a dazzling ring, the fattened calf, and a spectacular party. The video of Jim Wolf, a veteran of the U.S. Army who was offered a makeover is a helpful analogy (you can watch the link by clicking HERE). 

 

Through grace he sees himself differently which, in turn, leads to transformation. Repentance occurs when you see yourself as God sees you. That’s what it means to be “found" - to discover that you are lost but not less.

A man had two sons – which son are you?
The hammer has just been dropped for the first? What? He didn’t get way-laid, punished, or but was celebrated. And that’s the real rub, isn’t it? Forgiveness isn’t so bad when it’s offered to others with an icy stare, a glass of water, and crust of bread. But a party? And the older, moral, hard-working son – who had done nothing wrong – well, it turns out that he needs to repent too, needs to go beyond the mind he has. And what was that mind? Well, it was a competitive spirituality of saints and sinners, losers and winners. It was a spirituality of reward for the dutiful and punishment for the rest- or at least a “what comes around goes around” option. It’s a vision which wants wayward sons to be servants and a forgiveness that doesn’t “eat” with bad-choice people. It was a spirituality of “or” and a “refusal to go in.”
A man had two sons. So give up your “or”, embrace an “and” and let’s party.
An element often overlooked by the title The Prodigal Son is that the Father not only had two sons but loved two sons, went out to two sons (vs. 20, 28), and was generous to two sons (12, 22, 31). Perhaps it is because of the competitive rather than cooperative spirit of our society that we must imagine there must be losers if there are winners. It is so difficult not to think Jews or Gentiles, poor or rich, gay or straight, saint or sinner, tax collector or Pharisee, Republican or Democrat, younger son or older son. But God is both/and not either/or. Such is God’s love and if we let go of our syrupy notions – it’s difficult to not be offended by God’s grace toward those I don’t like, and think don’t deserve it. And God’s grace doesn’t just let them in to hide in the corner but wants them to come out on the dance floor, eat the food, laugh and play games.
There is one difference between the two sons. Both sons were lost and loved – that’s true. We know that the younger one – the reprobate went in. We don’t know about the older one – we’re left hanging in a Cliffhanger-like way. Will he join the party? Vs. 28 may be the most significant difference between the two brothers (not their moral choices but their responses to grace): forgiven sinners don’t have to be “pleaded with” to come in. Obedient sons often do. Does God have to plead with you to join the party? Salvation is not ultimately about religion or spirituality or morality any other solemn subject; it’s about God having a good time and just itching to share it. Your inability to accept that doesn’t change the party, doesn’t cancel the invitations, won’t ruin the cake, doesn’t turn away the guests. It will only leave you on the “outs” and looking in. Join the party. If you are the younger son, come home. We can only  have church, only see this parable, only understand God, when both sons are under the same roof.