Keep Knockin’

Scriptures: Luke 18:1-8, Jeremiah 31:27-34

She was already at the end of her rope. Her husband had died two years earlier, and her oldest boy, at sixteen, wouldn’t listen to her anymore. He controlled the family property, and he wouldn’t give her what she needed to run the household and care for the little ones. His head was full of a girl, not his responsibilities. And now the neighbor on the eastern side was sidling his crops over onto what little land they had left. She felt old and worn as she knocked again at the judge’s door.

He was just sitting down to dinner when the knock came on his door – again. That widow. And what did she even want from him? Something about a piece of land. He sighed and got up from the table. If she was going to keep whining like this, he would have to do something. It would be a pain to sort it all out, but at some point these interruptions had stopped being worth the trouble. He trudged to the door – again.

Our parable from Luke today seems pretty much like an open-and-shut lesson: be persistent in prayer. Heck, it even says so in the intro to the story: “Dear readers, the lesson of this story is: be persistent in prayer.” Of course, what Jesus says afterwards isn’t the exact same point, but they fit together reasonably well. He says, “God is good – much better than a lazy, corrupt judge, so, be persistent in prayer. Keep knocking at the door.”

Well, this is all very nice, but I’m not ready for a pat answer and a pat on the head. The first question that comes to my mind is: how long are we supposed to keep knocking? Sometimes God just doesn’t answer prayer. Or, God does answer, and the answer is no: people live for years with painful sicknesses, or give their lives away for addictions. People we love die young. Broken relationships stay broken. Even the judge is not coming to the door.

And for many people in churches like our across the country, we feel a little like the widow, too. Church 50 years ago was part of the establishment. Anybody respectable was a church member, and the laws made it illegal to do almost anything on a Sunday other than go to church. So a lot of people came to church, with kids and energy and money. But that moment has passed, and it’s hard not to feel like a widow sometimes, standing outside and knocking, needing a response.

So how long are we supposed to keep knocking? And for that matter, how do we know we’re knocking on the right door? How do we know that what we’re asking for from God is justice we deserve and not just our own selfishness talking? I don’t know. This is NOT an easy parable.

In our reading from Jeremiah today, the prophet is speaking to a people living in exile. Their beautiful, historical, holy city, Jerusalem, had been raided and desecrated, and they had been marched away into the heart of enemy territory in Babylon. “How long, oh Lord?” they cried out to God, “How long must we suffer for our sins?”

God’s answer, in our passage from Jeremiah, is this:

The days are coming when I will stop being destructive, when I will have finished dismantling your dreams, like so many tinker-toy constructions.

The days are coming when I will build something new, like you’ve never seen before.

The days are coming when justice will be real. When people who do wrong will be punished, when the helpless and abandoned will have recourse to the powerful.

The days are coming when I will make a new covenant.

The days are coming, when I will shape a new people, and they will know me in their bones, and my dream will be written on their hearts.

The days are coming, says the Lord. The days are coming. So keep knocking.

It turned out that the Israelites had a long time to wait. They spent a total of seventy years in exile. But at the end of seventy years, miraculously, inexplicably, they were allowed to go back home, to reclaim and to rebuild their beautiful, holy city. It wasn’t the same as before, but neither were the people.

I see ways that this congregation keeps knocking at the door, from my limited view from the pew.

Week after week, this congregation welcomes people to use the building – Alcoholics Anonymous, Narcotics Anonymous, Guardian Angels, the Wellness Center. And sometimes, it comes at a cost to offer this hospitality. But we do. Knock, knock.

Each month our parties and socials are a welcome to the whole neighborhood, a chance to share hospitality and build relationships. Knock, knock.

Bible Study on Wednesdays, new Bibles in the pew as of last Sunday. Knock, knock.

New art above the altar, new banners in the sanctuary. Knock, knock.

Weekly prayers for friends, for family, and for people we’ve never met and never will. A candle of hope to remind us of God’s enduring call for justice. Knock, knock.

And those are just the things that I, one person, see. Each of you knows ways that we are working together to seek God’s blessing, and not just a blessing for us, but a blessing for the people in our lives and people everywhere. A kind word, a card, a gift, a sacrifice, an invitation. Knock, knock.

It is easy sometimes to get discouraged. Even Jesus guessed so much in the parable today. At the end of it, he says, “God will quickly grant justice to his chosen ones. And yet, when the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on earth?”

We don’t know what the future will look like. All we know is that it won’t look like the past, and that God will be there with us. Today, Jesus calls us to be faithful. May we find the courage, the love and the strength, to keep knocking by the grace of God. Amen.

Just Doin' My Job

Scripture: Luke 17:5-10

Our scripture lesson this morning comes from the miscellaneous section in Luke. Jesus is on his way to Jerusalem, and on the road he takes a final opportunity to say all the things that he wants the disciples to know. So at first, the two sections of our readings may not seem to go together very well. First, we’re told, faith the size of a mustard seed is enough for us to uproot and replant a mulberry tree in the ocean. Second, we’re told a short parable about slaves having to eat last at the end of a long day. I’d like to start by talking about the second section.

First, a little context. Slavery in Jesus’ day was a very different institution from slavery in the United States 140 years age. For one thing, it was not based on race. Society was very stratified, with only 1 or 2% of the people holding most of the power and wealth, and with just about everyone else living in what we would consider poverty as peasants, slaves, or laborers. The boundary between becoming a slave or becoming free was more porous; it was possible to be freed, or to buy your own freedom from slavery, on the one hand, and people could become slaves by selling themselves in order to pay a debt or for other reasons on the other hand. Some experts estimate that 5/6ths of the people living in Rome during that time were either slaves or descended from people who had been slaves.[1]

So when Jesus is talking about the relationship between slaves and masters, he is talking about something that will be familiar to the disciples. I think for our day, something more familiar might be to talk about people working for minimum wage in retail or in food service. Obviously, this is not slavery – you can quit your job, and many people do – but the work is still tiring and the rewards are not all that great.

Here’s what the parable might sound like today: Who among you would say to your waiter, who has just finished waiting on a party of 20, “Come here and take a break, sit at our table”? Would you not rather say to him, “Bring us our food first, then you can rest and eat something in the kitchen.”

Or maybe we could try it in retail. Who among you would say to your cashier, who has been standing for 8 hours, “Go sit down, I’ll wait for you until you come back.” Would you not rather say to her, “Ring me up first, then you can take a break”?

Either way, it doesn’t seem like we’re asking something unusual. We just want people to do their jobs. But then Jesus turns the tables, and now we’re no longer the masters, but the workers. Jesus is telling the truth, whether we want to admit it or not, which is that being a slave is hard, thankless work. And if we’re going to be God’s slaves, or God’s servants, we shouldn’t expect sudden, easy rewards. Or praise and recognition.

This parable, in other words, is a reminder that serving God isn’t optional. It’s not another add-on to enhance our quality of life, or a way that we can persuade God to give us the things that we want. Ministry is service, and the service we do is what is expected of us as Christians, no more and no less. When we are serving others, we are just doing our job.

In some ways, I wish that our text today hadn’t been about downplaying the rewards of doing the work God calls us to do, because I really enjoy recognizing the work that volunteers in LVC do. If you missed our presentation downstairs this morning, I’ll summarize. Each year in August, a new group of 11 volunteers comes to Baltimore. They work full-time in different non-profits in the city, live in houses with each other practicing intentional community, and simplify their lives. And all of this can be challenging – hard work.

In terms of their work, volunteers are placed at non-profits dealing with social justice issues. They take on the interesting and the boring tasks that go with getting people who need it health care, or housing, or legal advice. This is good work and can be very satisfying, but it isn’t always. Sometimes it’s just hard work.

Intentional community is similarly a challenge at times. When we talk about intentional community, we mean more than simply occupying the same house. We ask volunteers to develop relationships with each other, and to work together to create a community of respect and caring. Which, depending on the mix of personalities, is easier for some than for others. Intentional community requires us to face ourselves and our own habits and to adjust in ways that we might otherwise not like. Hard work.

Simplicity presents a particular type of challenge, because it’s always possible to be more simple in your lifestyle. Or to put it another way, it’s easy to let things and activities clutter up your life, making it hard to focus on what really matters. Sustainability, which means making consumer choices that are friendly to the environment, is similarly an infinite project, if we so desire. And it often means doing things in slightly less convenient ways. Hard work.

So to my mind, this kind of thing is something I like to point out as a good example of living out our Christian faith. And it is a little jarring to have Jesus say, “No, there’s no awards ceremony for outstanding Christian service.” But on further reflection, I would also say that I don’t really hear from the volunteers that they want special recognition. When you feel a call into a particular ministry, it is always nice to be thanked for your work, but the being thanked part is not the main point. The main point is to follow the call. These volunteers are just doing their job.

To come back finally to the mustard seed of faith, our work is not, ultimately, what brings about change in the world. Our labor simply clears the way for God to work. That is the grace, the faith, that makes it possible for wild and unbelievable things to happen. Don’t ask how – I’m not really sure. But I think that’s what our good news is for today, that our labor is ours, and that our faith is what works the miracles.

I’ll close with a story. Once there was an old woman who lived in a small apartment in a great church. In exchange for her room, she cared for the building, sweeping up after worship, ironing the altar cloths, letting people in for meetings, and all those other little things that need taking care of.

After many years, the woman died, and at her funeral a young man stood up to speak. “I grew up in this neighborhood,” he said, “and things were rough for me at home when I was little. Once I was so desperate that I came to this church and I knocked on the door. This woman answered the door. She saw the sadness in my eyes, and let me in. We sat together in the back of the church, and I just cried and cried. When I was done, she gave me a hug and sent me on my way. After that, I somehow felt stronger, and I resolved to help other children when I grew up, which is what I do now. This woman changed my life, and I didn’t even know her name.

So a few months ago, I called the church to say thank you. She answered the phone, and I told her the story. ‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘What you did meant so much to me.’ ‘I’m glad to hear it,’ she said, ‘But there’s no need to thank me. I was just doing my job.’”

[1] Duling and Perrin, The New Testament