Yearning or Earning (sermon, October 24, 2010)

Luke 18:9-14

The Methodist preacher Will Willimon recently wrote about a trip he took:
“I’m driving down a road in South Carolina and a I pass a church with one of those sign boards out in front...This sign read,

“Repent! Now is the day of salvation.”

“Just down the road was a church of a different denomination from the first. It also had a sign out front. The sign proclaimed,

“Happy Mother’s Day.
Virtues are learned at Mother’s knee,
vices at some other joint.”

Willimon thought to himself, “What does the world that knows nothing about Christianity except for those signs, think about the Christian faith?”
Then he passed yet another church with a sign out front. This one read:

“Do you know what hell is?
Come and hear our preacher.”

And just down the road there was another one. “Still more churches on this road?” he asked himself, amazed. This church’s sign read,

“We’ve got room for you at our table.
Hospitality practiced here.
Everybody welcome.”

Finally! Willimon thought. Something that sounded like Jesus! No judgment, no criteria for entry, just hospitality and everyone welcome. The trouble was, Willimon looked more closely at the building as he drove past and realized that although the sign was in front of what had once been a church, it was now labeled Shady Dale Restaurant. A restaurant had the one sign that actually belonged in front of all those churches. (1)

I suppose it’s one of the perks of ministry that people like to send me emails about notable church signs. Have you seen the one about the battle between the signs at a Catholic Church and a Presbyterian Church over whether dogs go to heaven?
First there was the Catholic church’s sign that announced, simply,

“All dogs go to heaven.”

The Presbyterian church’s sign countered with,

“Only humans go to heaven
Read the Bible”

Then the Catholics changed their sign to read,

“God loves all his creatures,
dogs included”

To which the Presbyterians responded,

“Dogs don’t have souls
This is not open for debate”

Then things got personal. The Catholic church sign proclaimed,

“Catholic dogs go to heaven
Presbyterian dogs can talk to their pastor”

And the Presbyterian sign shot back,

“Converting to Catholicism does not
magically grant your dog a soul”

To which the Catholic sign replied,

“Free dog souls with conversion”

I hate to think of what Jesus might have thought of that exchange, but I suspect it wouldn’t have had much to do with dogs. It should probably come as no surprise to us that it’s incredibly complicated to try and articulate complicated theological concepts on a church sign where space is limited and which people are trying to read while driving. Yet it seems that Jesus also chose a means of explaining things that was at least as frustrating as church signs: parables. By their very nature, parables are meant to surprise, confuse, and defy easy explanation.

The parable we heard today is no exception. With this story of the Pharisee and the tax collector, Jesus attempts to teach us something about righteousness and justification. These are two big theological concepts that we often hear thrown about in worship; righteousness can simply be thought of as being in right relationship with God. Justification is the process of taking a broken relationship with God -- broken because of our sin -- and restoring it, making it whole again.

At first glance, the lesson in this story appears crystal clear and there’s hope that this parable won’t be so confusing after all: the Pharisee has a rather high opinion of himself, so high, in fact, that his self-righteousness apparently cancels out the many ways he serves God by keeping -- and even exceeding -- God’s law. He doesn’t just fast on the high holy days as the law required, he fasts twice a week. And even though there were many interpretations of the law that defined tithing as something less than a full ten percent of one’s income, he gives a tenth anyway.

Now remember, even though sometimes the Pharisees get a bad rap in the gospels, to Jesus’ first audience, the Pharisees were the good guys, the faithful, the rule followers. Surely no one, and particularly not Jesus, would argue that it is his actions that condemn the Pharisee; rather it is his preoccupation with his actions. Just listen to all the “I’s” in his so-called prayer: “I thank you that I am not like other people...I fast...I tithe...” Furthermore, his only reference to others is to pass judgment on someone he deems lesser than himself: “Thank God I am not like the tax collector.” The Pharisee is convinced that he has earned justification.

The tax collector, on the other hand, refers only to his failings: God, be merciful to me, a sinner, is his simple prayer. Luke’s original audience would have known just why he called himself a sinner, too. This is no honest IRS agent. Back then, tax collectors were the lowest of the low. They worked on behalf of the Roman government and they were notoriously corrupt, lining their pockets with money they stole from the masses. Yet the tax collector comes to the temple all too aware of his failings in God’s eyes. He begs for mercy, convinced that he can only yearn for justification.

In this parable Jesus offers us two extremes: a faithful, law-abiding Pharisee who is certain that by his actions he has earned God’s favor, and a tax collector whose daily labor is sinful and who is convinced that he will always be an outsider, yearning for God’s love and favor but never actually receiving it. And yet Jesus says that only the tax collector leaves justified, restored to right relationship with God.

The point is obvious right? We need to be more like the tax collector: not judging other people but keeping our own sin ever before us and humbling ourselves before God. But as soon as we come to that conclusion, as soon as we pray, thank you, God, that I am not like the Pharisee, we have done the very thing the parable warns against: assuming that we can earn God’s justification by our good behavior. Looks like this parable might not be so straightforward after all.

Stan Musial, one of the greatest players in the history of baseball, had his worst year in the late 1950s as a player for the St. Louis Cardinals, hitting seventy-six points below his career average. At the end of the season, Musial went to the General Manager of his team and asked for a 20 percent pay cut from his salary of one hundred thousand dollars. Later, when asked why he did it, he explained, “There wasn’t anything noble about it. I had a lousy year. I didn’t deserve the money.” (2)

Contrast this with the prevailing view of those who work on Wall Street. Almost any major bank we could name would not exist today without the bailout approved by Congress. And yet, as a group of journalists discovered in their recent interviews with Wall Street bankers, bankers have no sense of gratitude for the government’s help.

These journalists went into a bar across from the Federal Reserve late on a Friday afternoon and talked to a group of men who worked in three different fields for three different banks. Each of them declared that they are the victims, they are being scapegoated for all the government’s problems. When a journalist observed that “your banks would have gone under if not for the bailout,” one of the bankers replied, “You’re crazy!” and insisted that he still had his job “because I’m a smart person...it is not because of the bank bailout...it’s because I’m smarter than the average person” and knew how to make the best of a bad situation. (3)

As human beings we have a nearly uncontrollable urge to determine our worth by comparing ourselves to others. These days it seems there are few people willing to admit their mistakes publicly, much less, like Stan Musial, actually ask to be held accountable for them. Instead, we tend to divide the world into those we want to be like and those we are grateful not to be like -- just think back to the dueling Catholic and Presbyterian church signs. And yet, by the very act of comparing ourselves to others we end up yearning -- wishing we were better, different, more than we are -- or earning -- congratulating ourselves for what we have done that has elevated us above someone else, even if only in our own eyes.

The real problem is, our own eyes will always deceive us.

In the Presbyterian Book of Common Worship there are several examples of assurances of pardon, words of comfort that a minister offers a congregation after the confession of sin. One of them begins like this: “Who is in a position to condemn?”

How might we answer that question? When we come to church on a given Sunday, and bow our heads to pray and particularly to confess, what are the voices of condemnation that we hear? Our own? The voice of a parent or spouse or teacher? Some unknown voice from society? Well, this particular assurance of pardon sets all of those aside. “Who is in a position to condemn? Only Christ. And Christ died for us, Christ rose for us, Christ reigns in power for us, Christ prays for us.”

None of us can earn God’s love and not one of us is left in the position of simply yearning for it. Because the most important thing about justification is this: only God can do it, only God can restore our relationship; only God can take what is broken in our lives and make it whole again. And God justifies us regardless of what we done, no matter how good or bad it may be. God’s grace and love simply is...it is all around us, constantly available to us. We do not have to work tirelessly to earn it or live in fear that we will only ever yearn for it.

Father Gregory Boyle tells the story of taking two gang members, Chepe and Richie, out of the projects of LA several towns away to where he was scheduled to give a few speeches. One night, Boyle took them out to a restaurant called Coco’s for dinner. Coco’s was, as he put it, “one notch above Denny’s, one notch below everywhere else.”

When they walked in, they encountered a hostess who made no secret of the fact that she strongly disproved of Boyle’s dinner companions, whose dress and tattoos clearly marked them as gang members. Boyle is furious at the way she treats them. “I know exactly the origin of her displeasure, and I volley some of my own right back at her,” he writes. “I judge her just as surely as she judges them.” Finally, she grabs three menus and takes them through the restaurant, far into the back where there are no other diners.

Chepe and Richie haven’t missed what’s happening. “Everybody’s looking at us,” Richie says. “Don’t be ridiculous,” responds Boyle, but, he writes, everybody was looking at us.

Their discomfort lasts until the waitress comes. For whatever reason, she is a whole different breed of person than the hostess and all the diners whose judgment of the gang members was so palpable. She puts her arms around Chepe and Richie, calls them “sweetie” and “honey” and brings them refills they didn’t ask for. Says Boyle: “She is Jesus in an apron.” (4)

God’s love is already ours. We don’t have to earn it or just yearn for it. What we can do is share it. The best way to communicate the gospel is through the lives we live -- not lives of perfect behavior, like the Pharisee, or lives of only brokenness and pain, like the tax collector, but the perfect combination of saint and sinner that each of you is even as you is each God’s beloved. In your everyday lives, you too can be Jesus in an apron, not constantly comparing yourself to others, but by showing mercy and compassion to the lost and broken who have not heard or refuse to believe God’s love is real. That’s the only signboard any church needs. Amen.

Endnotes:
1. This story appeared in the April 24, 2010 edition of Pulpit Digest and was quoted by the Rev. Mark Ramsey in his sermon “Church Signs” at Grace Covenant Presbyterian Church, Asheville, NC, on August 29, 2010.
2. Told by Malcolm Gladwell in his article, “Talent Grab” in The New Yorker, October 11, 2010, p. 93.
3. This American Life, “Crybabies,” September 24, 2010, listen to it here.
4. Gregory Boyle, Tattoos on the Heart, Free Press, 2010.

Staying Put (sermon, October 17, 2010)

Jeremiah 29:1, 4-14


Dan Savage is a well-known columnist, journalist, and newspaper editor. Most recently, Dan is the creator of an internet project called “It Gets Better.” In response to the rash of recent teen suicides in response to the bullying of youth who are gay or perceived to be gay, Dan and his husband, Terry, sat down together and recorded a video. In it they talk about their experiences with bullying and their life now, which is very good. They have been married for five years and together are raising an adopted son. The point they want to get across to these teenagers who are being harassed is that life does get better and that the struggling adolescents should stick around to see it. Since Dan and Terry put their video on the web it has “gone viral,” as they say, and been viewed and shared by hundreds of thousands of people. In addition, thousands of other videos by gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender teens and adults have been added to the project, all with the same message of hope: “It gets better.”

Back in the sixth century BCE, there was no internet or You Tube through which people could communicate with each other. But there were prophets, who spoke on behalf of God to God’s people, and there were letters. Today we read a portion of a letter that the prophet Jeremiah sent to the Israelites who had been exiled from Jerusalem to Babylon. And what was his message?: It gets better.

The thing is, even this hopeful message from the prophet Jeremiah was NOT what the exiles wanted to hear. Because as far as they could tell, life as they knew it was over. Here’s how one commentator describes the modern equivalent of what these exiles had just experienced. Imagine if: “Our national government has just collapsed as the result of an invading foreign power. There is no remnant of the military. There is no government. The President, First Lady, Cabinet and Congress have all been exiled. All of the artists in New York and steel workers in Pittsburgh were separated from their families and exiled as well.” (1)

Essentially, this is what has happened to the Israelites. Jerusalem was invaded and taken over. The leaders of government and all the skilled workers have been taken into exile and relocated to Babylon. And Jeremiah wasn’t the only prophet who was sending letters to the exiles. In chapter 28, the prophet Hananiah had just proclaimed to the exiles that they would be released from captivity very, very soon, and that God was going to break the necks of the Babylonian leaders who had caused this calamity. But here we have a case of a prophet who says what the people want to hear rather than what God wants. That unfortunate role is left to Jeremiah.

Listen again to what Jeremiah tells the exiles: “Build houses, plant gardens, take wives, have children, seek the welfare of the city and pray for it.” In other words, stay put and invest. It will get better.

Staying put is no easy thing to do. Just look at LeBron James and his decision to move to Miami. Before he announced his decision, there was not just hope that he would stay, but genuine speculation that staying put was the best option for LeBron; he had a lot to gain by sticking with the team he’d played for since graduating high school and by staying here, he could continue to give back to the community that had done so much for him. But in the end, the temptation to move on and to be part of a championship team, the pull to be part of something new and different -- all this overcame the benefits of staying put.

The temptation to move on to greener pastures is something all of us face. The “greener pasture” might be a different job, house, relationship, church, or community. Regardless of the details, we all have wondered at one time or another whether pursuing something different, somewhere different would change things for the better and help us find happiness once and for all.

Fifteen hundred years ago, a Christian monk named Benedict established a monastery not too far from Rome. Near the end of his life, after thirty years of monastic living, Benedict wrote down what he felt were the most important guidelines for life in a monastery. This book, known as the Rule of Saint Benedict, has become the leading guide in Western Christianity for monastic living in communities.

According to the rules of Benedictine monasticism, men and women are required to take three vows. The first is a vow of obedience, placing oneself under the authority the leader of a community. The second is a vow of conversion, and this includes giving up private ownership, committing to a life of celibacy, and dedicating oneself to seeking God through a balance of prayer and work. The third and final vow encompasses the other two and is what Saint Benedict calls a vow of stability. With this vow an individual commits to staying in one particular monastery for the rest of his life. Benedict believed that only by making this lifelong commitment to a particular community could both the individuals and the community thrive. (2)

It is this same kind of commitment to stability that Jeremiah prescribes for the exiled Israelites. Hananiah was flat-out wrong, Jeremiah says. The exile isn’t going to be over anytime soon; in fact, it will last for more than a generation. But instead of spending seventy years longing for greener pastures, Jeremiah tells the Israelites to make the most of today by investing in the place where they find themselves. “Build houses, plant gardens, take wives, have children, seek the welfare of the city and pray for it.”

Not only does Jeremiah tell the exiles to invest by building houses and planting crops and getting married and having children, he also tells them to work and pray for the welfare of Babylon. Nothing could have been harder for the exiles to hear. After all, the Babylonians were the very ones who had destroyed their homeland. In Psalm 137, which Becky read earlier, we get a glimpse of the emotions the exiles experienced. “How could we sing the Lord’s song in a foreign land?” But Jeremiah tells them to stay put, invest, and work and pray for the welfare of their enemies, not as a punishment, but because only by doing so can the Israelites experience the fullness of life. “For in [Babylon’s] welfare,” Jeremiah writes, “you will find your welfare.”

Today is the day we set apart to reflect on stewardship. This is by no means the only time in the year we talk about how God wants us to use our resources, but this is the time of the year when we as a church are beginning the process of budgeting for the future. Stewardship season is all about planning for the future...and not just the immediate future, but the future that none of us will be here to see, a future that will be seen only by the next generations.

The Bible is full of stories of people who were asked to invest and participate in the work of God even though they would not be around to see God’s promises fulfilled. Think of the many Israelites, including Moses, who escaped slavery in Egypt and spent decades wandering in the wilderness, but who didn’t live to set foot in the Promised Land. Think of the earliest disciples and followers of Jesus, those whose lives were described in the Book of Acts. Many of them risked their lives and even gave their lives in order that future generations would know about God’s work in the the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ, and because of them, all of us have lived in a time when we do not risk our lives by professing to be Christian.

What you as members of Firestone Park Presbyterian Church must do in these days is perhaps not quite so drastic as these examples, but it is not so different, either. When Jeremiah wrote to the exiles to tell them to stay put and invest in Babylon, he didn’t just tell them to do what was necessary for their immediate survival -- build house, plant gardens -- after all, whether they were there for two months or two decades they would need food and shelter. He also told them to make the ultimate act of investment in the future -- bear children. Through Jeremiah, God was telling the exiles that God didn’t just want them to survive in exile -- God wanted them to thrive.

I’m guessing that for some of you, there have been times in the not so distant past of FPPC where it felt like the church was in survival mode. Maybe from time to time you find yourself wondering whether the church will be here when you and your family need it most in the ways you need -- for a baptism, a wedding, a funeral. Well, when it feels like an organization is in survival mode, it can be very hard to be generous in your giving. After all, if you are giving to an organization that looks like it won’t be around much longer, then you would be wise to give just enough to keep it going for a finite period of time and no more.

It would be wise...but as God’s people, we are rarely called to be wise, we are called to be faithful. And being faithful to God’s vision for this place, this church, means that we have to be generous in ways that aren’t necessarily wise. It means we have to trust that when we give money and time and talents to this place, we are not pouring our resources down the drain, we are watering gardens which will bear fruit, even if we aren’t around to see the fruit that is borne.

I am confident that FPPC has a vibrant future. This fall, there is a task force devoted to figuring out, at least in part, what the specifics of that future are going to look like. There is also a confirmation class with young people who are learning about their faith and about this church. In other words, we are even now making investments in our future. It isn’t always clear how those investments will turn out, but this is God’s church, and one thing we know for sure is that God is preparing a future for us just like God planned a future for the exiles who could not see any way forward, a future with hope.

Right about now, maybe some of you are thinking that there is not one more thing you can do to invest in this church. In these challenging economic times, you think there is not one more penny you can give. In your busy, overscheduled life, you think there is not one more minute out of your week you can spend working for the church. That may be true. For others, I suspect that you may have more to give, but you have chosen not to because you don’t really know if giving money and time to the church is an investment or simply throwing money down the drain. Well, this stewardship season, I challenge each of you to stay put, to look around at this church -- God’s church -- with a renewed vision and find a way to increase your investment of money, time, or talents by any amount. “Build houses, plant gardens, take wives, have children, seek the welfare of the city and pray for it.” For what was true for those exiled Israelites is also true for you, in the welfare of this place you will find your welfare, in the welfare of this church you have the opportunity to see the love and grace of God at work, and to glimpse the plans God has for you and for this church...a future filled with hope. Amen.

Endnotes:
1. From Wil Gafney’s commentary on this passage at Working Preacher.
2. Read more about St. Benedict here.

The Power of Prayer (sermon, October 3, 2010, World Communion Sunday)

Luke 18:1-8

Although you may have heard of the National Prayer Breakfast that takes place annually in our nation’s capital, you may not know anything about the organization behind it. That is because this organization is particularly secretive, working as much as possible behind the scenes of the constant politicking and power brokering that takes place in Washington, D.C. It is known simply as the Fellowship.

Participants in the Fellowship include members of the House and Senate, Democrats and Republicans, Catholics and Protestants, even some Jews, Muslims, and Buddhists. Regardless of party affiliation or religious background, they are all involved in one primary activity: prayer. The Fellowship’s leader, David Coe, always urges newcomers to get involved with a prayer group, telling them to “find something to pray for that is bigger than yourself...something you can’t do so that you can’t take credit for it, when you see it start to happen. And it will happen.” David Coe is an unabashed believer in the power of prayer. (1)

I must confess that I find it almost hard to imagine a bunch of high-ranking government officials in Washington, D.C. coming together every week to pray, but it shouldn’t be surprising. After all, many of our political leaders claim that their faith is an important part of their lives, and prayer is a major part of our faith tradition. Yesterday, at our prayer retreat, we saw many different examples of prayer, many of which come form the Bible.

And yet, in spite of the biblical focus on prayer, the gospel of Luke contains only two stories where Jesus directly addresses prayer. The first is when the disciples beg Jesus to teach them how to pray. He gives them the words of the Lord’s Prayer and then tells a parable about the need to be persistent in prayer. Then there is today’s story, a story Luke tells us the point of even before he tells the story: “Then Jesus told them a parable about their need to pray always and not to lose heart.” The main point of both Jesus’ parables on prayer is simply this: keep doing it.

Luke offers an unusually clear set up to today’s parable: “Then Jesus told them a parable about the need to pray always and not to lose heart.” Tom Long suggests that Luke’s introduction just proves that problems with prayer have always been around, at least since the time of Jesus and the disciples. And we all know what the problems are, don’t we? How do we pray? How much should we pray? How does prayer work? Why should we bother praying when our prayers never seem to matter anyway? But Tom Long also says that Luke knew that the deepest, most persistent problem with prayer is that “we lose heart, we just plain lose heart.” (2)

And so Jesus tells this parable about a widow. Back then, widows were powerless. All kinds of laws were created with the sole purpose of protecting widows, and yet, what good are laws when there is no judge to enforce them? This widow found herself in just such a predicament; she knew that her cause was just, but she needed the authority, the judge, to make the ruling and set things straight with her opponent. And time and time again, the judge refused. He didn’t care about the religious laws because he did not fear God; he didn’t care about his reputation, either, because he had no respect for people. So the widow used the only power at her disposal, a power every three year-old is intimately familiar with: she made herself a nuisance. She pestered him relentlessly until the only thing worth his while was to see that she got justice. With her persistence, the widow wore down the unjust judge.

In one of his comedy routines about parenting Bill Cosby talks about how young children often come running to their parents to tattle on their siblings or friends. “He took my teddy bear and won’t give it back!” The mistake the kids make is thinking that their parents care about justice. Parents are not interested in justice, says Cosby, they are interested in peace and quiet. The same seems to be true of the unjust judge. Yes, he finally settled her dispute, but why? Because he was sick and tired of the widow bothering him.

So, what are we to make of this? Is Jesus saying we should be like the widow, badgering God relentlessly until we finally get what we want? Is Jesus saying that God is like the unjust judge or like a worn-out parent of small children, who will finally grant our wish just to shut us up?

It was a perfect evening for a baseball game. Not too hot, a nice breeze blowing over the field and into the stands. There was a boy in the stands wearing a too-big baseball cap, and a worn-out baseball glove that didn’t fit. In the bottom of the second inning, a fly ball came into the stand right at the boy. He lifted his gloved hand to catch it but just then, a man sitting behind him wearing horn-rimmed glasses reached over the boy and plucked the ball right out of the air. The kid was crushed.

“Give the kid the ball!” someone shouted at Horn Rims. “Yeah, give the kid the ball!” cried someone else. Soon, the entire section of the stands took up the cry. “Give the kid the ball! Give the kid the ball!” But Horn Rims never even acknowledged the cries of the crowd. He just put the ball in his pocket and sat down, his eyes never leaving the field.

At some point in every inning, the chanting started up again; it even spread into the lower stands: “Give the kid the ball! Give the kid the ball!” But Horn Rims kept ignoring it. Finally, in the seventh inning, a man went up to Horn Rims, laid a hand on his shoulder and calmly but firmly said something in his ear. Whatever it was worked, because Horn Rims took the ball out of his pocket and handed it to the boy.

“He gave the kid the ball!” someone shouted, and soon, the whole crowd was on its feet, stamping and yelling, “He gave the kid the ball! He gave the kid the ball!” Even the ballplayers on the field were looking up into the stands, trying to see what was happening. (3)

Is that what prayer is like? Persistence pays off and we get what we want? I don’t think that’s exactly what Jesus meant. After all, the widow didn’t get a mansion or a pony or her dead husband back. She got justice. Not only that, but she got justice from a judge who was not just.

Two wealthy philanthropists had a meeting with Mother Teresa. They knew that in this meeting, Mother Teresa was going to ask them to donate a large sum of money for her mission to those with HIV. Before the meeting, the men agreed that they would listen to her speak, but they would tell her they didn’t have any money to give, even though the reality was they just didn’t feel compelled to donate to that particular cause. “HIV just isn’t my thing,” said one of the men.

So Mother Teresa came in and made her appeal for the AIDS Hospice. When she finished, the men said, “We’re moved by what you’ve said, but we simply don’t have any money to give you.” She looked at them and nodded and said, “Then let us pray.” After the prayer, she made the exact same appeal as before. Again, the men said, “We’re touched, but we’re sorry, we just don’t have the money.” Again, she nodded and said, “Let us pray.” At which point one of the men jumped up from his seat and said, “Alright, alright, let me get my checkbook!” (4)

Today’s parable is not just about the pwer of persistence, of making ourselves a nuisance until we get what we want, it is about God who longs for justice and who will answer our prayers for justice in our lives and in the world. Jesus is telling us don’t give up on justice, don’t lose heart that God can and will set the world right, even though it might take so much longer and look so much different than we thought. Yes, we might look around this world and see that the powerful always win at the expense of the weak; the rich get richer by exploiting the poor; those working for peace seem to be endlessly toiling in vain. That’s what it looks like, but in the face of all that, Jesus reminds us to “pray always and not lose heart.”

And we can do this because of who we pray to. We do not lift up our prayers to an unjust judge but to the God who created the universe and everything in it, the God who rescued the Israelites from slavery and who sent the prophets to demand justice when the Israelites’ society became unjust. If the unjust judge would finally honor the demands of that persistent, relentless widow, Jesus is saying, then how much more will God honor the cries for justice that come from God’s own beloved children? How much more? After all, ours is the God who proclaimed through the prophets, “Let justice flow like a river and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.” How much more? “And Jesus told them a parable about their need to pray always and not lose heart.”

When I spent a year in Belfast, Northern Ireland as a student pastor, I got to know a woman named Ruth Patterson. Ruth was the first woman ordained as a Presbyterian Minister in Northern Ireland, and she knows a lot about praying for justice. After years of working in a Presbyterian Church during the worst of the Troubles, when terrorism was the primary means of communication between Protestants and Catholics in Northern Ireland, Ruth left parish ministry and founded Restoration Ministries, an organization that served both Catholics and Protestants and which tried to model unity in diversity, bridge building in a torn community, hospitality, and the power of prayer. The home base for Restorations Ministries is a beautiful old house where people come to take refuge. As Ruth puts it, “Prayer is at the centre of what we do and it seems, as the years go by, that the bricks and mortar of this old and beloved house are absorbing some of the many prayers offered here every day. We rejoice that people find within these walls a place of safety and beyond that a sense of the presence of God.” (5)

Ruth tells the story of a woman named Jean McConville, a thirty-seven year-old widow and mother of ten children, who was a Protestant by birth and married to a Catholic. In the 1970s, at the height of the Troubles, she assisted a dying soldier who was shot outside her home. Not long after, she was abducted from her home by twelve people wearing masks. Her family never heard from her again. The children had to be split up and sent to various institutions. For thirty years, Jean’s family tried to find out what had happened to her, but they found nothing, and they had no remains to lay to rest. They had no justice.

When she met them and heard their story, Ruth encouraged Jean’s family to pray and she also took up the cause in prayer. For two years they specifically prayed that if no one would come forward with information about Jean, then the earth itself would yield up its dead. And after two years of persistent prayer during which this aching family did not lose heart, that’s exactly what happened. And on All Saints’ Day in 2003, Jean’s children and grandchildren laid her body to rest at long last. (6)

Today, Christians around the world celebrate communion in the face of all kinds of injustice. In all kinds of circumstances, we lift our prayers to God, who is loving and just. We break bread and pour wine and when we do this we proclaim that in spite of the poverty and violence and heartbreak all around us we will pray always and we will not lose heart that with God’s help, justice and peace will reign. May it be so. Amen.

Endnotes:
1. Peter J. Boyer, “Frat House for Jesus,” The New Yorker, Sept. 13, 2010. Online here.
2. Tom Long’s sermon on this passage is available online here.
3. This story was told in Tom Long’s sermon footnoted above, but can also be found in Chicken Soup for the Sports Fan’s Soul, pp. 307-8.
4. Tom Long tells this story in his sermon footnoted above.
5. Ruth Patterson, Proclaiming the Promise. Veritas, 2006, p. 93.
6. Ibid., pp. 74-5.