Sermon for Proper 24, Year C

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For several years, my family and I enjoyed watching a TV show based on the classic comic book character The Flash. For those who may not be familiar, The Flash is a superhero, real name Barry Allen, whose special power is that he can run very fast. 

Early on in the series, Barry figures out that, if he runs fast enough, he can actually go back in time and change the past. So, being a hero with his heart in the right place, he goes back in time to prevent his mother’s untimely death. He succeeds at this task, but then returns to the present day to discover that his good deed has created unintended consequences. Much of the rest of the series involves Barry repeatedly going back in time to correct past mistakes, against the advice of his friends and mentors. Each time, he creates a new set of unintended consequences, which he then feels compelled to go back and fix.

If this sounds frustrating and repetitive, that’s because it is. I don’t actually recommend the show. Not for moral reasons, but simply because it gets too annoying to watch. During the opening credits, the hero introduces himself, saying, “My name is Barry Allen and I am the fastest man alive,” but the kids and I took to shouting in unison over that line. When he said, “My name is Barry Allen,” we would all shout back, “and I make poor life choices!” Eventually, it got so bad that our family decided to give up on watching the show.

Barry Allen’s main problem in The Flash is that he tries to control things that he cannot, in fact, control. Some people call this kind of behavior codependent and some call it neurotic (and they’re both partially right, even though codependency and neurosis are both much bigger than that one thing, but that’s a topic for another day). 

We all know what it’s like to live in a world where things, as they are, are not things as they should be. Trying to control things we can’t control is one possible response to this situation. As we can see with The Flash, this approach often leads to unintended consequences. Other responses include sticking our heads in the sand denying that there’s a problem at all, lashing out in anger and becoming the mirror-image of the evil we resist (like the Soviets did when they replaced the oppression of the Tzars with an even more oppressive regime in 20th century Russia), or giving into the demon of despair, thus giving up on any possibility of making life even marginally better for ourselves and our neighbors.Understandably, none of these sounds like a particularly appealing option.

In today’s gospel, Jesus offers us another way to respond when we come face-to-face with a world that is not as it should be. He does so, as he often does, by telling a parable about a scene that would have been all-too-familiar to his audience.

The story begins with a judge, “who neither feared God nor had respect for people,” and a widow. Widows, in that time, were among the most vulnerable members of society because they lacked a male voice to speak up for them in public affairs. Such was the sexism of that society.

Biblical scholars have pointed out several details, based on context clues, that would have stood out to the people who heard Jesus tell this parable the first time. First of all, as we already noted, she has no male representation in court. This would mean that she has no living father, brothers, or adult sons. 

Second, we know from the legal practices of the time that women were entitled to keep whatever property they brought into the marriage, whenever that marriage ended by death or divorce. If she had a lot of money, this would make her an appealing target for her late-husband’s relatives, who may have wanted to keep the dead man’s estate for themselves. 

Third, we also know, based on legal practices of the time, that a quorum of three to seven judges was supposed to rule on cases of inheritance law, like this one. So, the fact that there was only one judge in this case would have been a major red flag to Jesus’ audience. It would seem most likely to them that the judge was taking bribes in order to cover up a backroom deal to cheat the widow out of what was rightfully hers. That kind of corruption was not uncommon in Jesus’ day. 

So, what was the widow supposed to do about it? According to Jesus, she had to keep showing up and speaking up for what she believed was right.

The author of Luke’s gospel tells us, in the editorial note at the beginning of the parable, that this is a story about prayer. God, the author says, is not like the unjust judge, but “will quickly grant justice” to those who cry out for it.

This, admittedly, is a tough phrase to hear. After all, people in pain have been fervently crying out to God for thousands of years, but still the world is not as it should be. Was Jesus wrong?

Well, that depends on what we mean by the word prayer.

If we define prayer as, “getting what we ask for from the all-powerful Man in the Sky,” then the unavoidable answer is Yes, Jesus was wrong. After two millennia of waiting and praying, God has still not set right the wrongs we see in the world around us, despite our frequent crying out. If however, we define prayer as, “the foundational act of reorienting our lives around the central fact of Love,” then the answer is a resounding No, Jesus was not wrong. Prayer works.

My favorite teaching on the subject of prayer comes from the 20th century saint, Mother Teresa of Calcutta. She says, “I used to believe that prayer changes things; now I know that prayer changes us and we change things.” 

Mother Teresa, as we know, spent her days living out the truth of these words. She worked tirelessly in the slums of India to bring relief to those who suffer and encouraged people around the world to find their own Calcutta in their own backyards. She is a saint, not because she said a few pious words, but because she lived out the words she prayed. Her life itself was an act of prayer, continually seeking and serving Christ in all people, just as we have promised to do in our Baptismal Covenant. Mother Teresa showed us the way.

This, I believe, is the answer that Christ calls for in response to the injustice of this world. It is neither denial, nor control, nor anger, nor despair. It is an acceptance of the fact that things in this world are not as they should be, and that the way things are is unacceptable.

Therefore, kindred in Christ, we are called to keep showing up: for ourselves, for each other, for what is true, and for what is right. Whether we are raking leaves for an elderly neighbor or marching in a protest, we keep showing up. Whether we are kneeling in church or going to therapy to repair our broken relationships, we keep showing up. Consistently, persistently, and even obnoxiously showing up is the way of prayer, as Jesus described it in today’s parable. 

At the end of the Prayers of the People in our weekly liturgy, the priest prays a short Collect. The Book of Common Prayer gives several options. My favorite is the one we are using today. Listen for it when we come to that section of the service in a few minutes. It says, “Almighty and eternal God, ruler of all things in heaven and on earth: Mercifully accept the prayers of your people, and strengthen us to do your will; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.”

What I like about that prayer is that it connects the idea of God accepting our prayers with the idea of us doing God’s will. In my mind, that connection is key. I cannot, in good conscience, pray for God to change the world if I am unwilling to do anything about it. By the same token, I cannot successfully change the world if I don’t ask for help, because the task is far too big for any one person to accomplish alone. We need God and God needs us, if this world is to be any different from the way it has been for all of human history.

Prayer is the lifeline that keeps us connected to each other and the Source of Life. It works slowly and gently, like the water of the Colorado River eroding the walls of the Grand Canyon. It may not make a visible difference overnight, but in time, it will create a geological spectacle that is a wonder to behold. 

All we need to do, as the author of Luke’s gospel said, is to “pray always,” and in all ways, and “not to lose heart.”

Amen.