I preached this sermon at the funeral service for Linda Driedger, my aunt. Linda was a wonderful woman, full of smiles, who died from cancer at the age of 50. She taught anthropology, sang in many choirs, played the recorder, and was always ready to laugh at a joke. She taught me to drive stick shift and didn't complain when I drove in 4th all the way to Fernie. I will miss her very much.
Isaiah
Psalm 4
Romans
John 6:37-40
Linda Driedger – December 11, 2007 – Okotoks, Alberta
Peter, and Nick and Jesse, and Lana, and Jean and Cliff, how can we even begin to understand the pain your family has gone through in the past few weeks and months? This is not something a family should have to go through; it is not fair that Linda died. It is not fair that you have been separated from her so soon, at this time of year that is supposed to be all about family gathering together. It is not fair that Linda will not be here for those pivotal family moments – for family dinners, for walks together, for weddings, or grandchildren. She has been separated from you and from her communities – church, and school, and friends – in a way that leaves us with so many unresolved feelings. Pain; despair; anger – that’s a good one; relief – that’s there, too, that she won’t suffer anymore; doubt – that there is a God who could let this happen. We can even throw in those moments of denial and numbness, too, just to round things out, but overall, I’m guessing there’s the overwhelming feeling that things will never be the same. The world is emptier, her voice is silent, her presence is missing.
But this is not the end of things. If there is one word of comfort that I can offer, it is that this is not the end. You, and we, are not separated from Linda forever. God does not allow such things to happen. As we have seen in the death and resurrection of Christ, God does not allow even death to separate anyone forever. In fact, in the readings for today that were chosen by Linda and Peter, along with the hymns, we hear God’s promise that one day we will all be together again.
The promise starts with Isaiah, and Davis read to us those strong words that God will one day gather everyone together on the mountain. What a lovely, concrete image for us to old on to! This gathering isn’t going to be in heaven, far away in some unrecognizable unearthly kingdom. It’s going to be here, on this earth that we love, on the mountain. It’s fitting, actually, that this is where it’s going to happen. The mountains have meant so much to Peter and Linda in the past few weeks – in a way, it brings thing full circle that this great reunion will happen on a dazzling peak like the ones right near us. These mountains are concrete, enduring, we can see them lasting until God’s promised reunion comes to pass.
And, you know, what a reunion it’s going to be! The reading says that Lord will make “for all peoples a banquet of rich food, a banquet of fine wine, of food rich and juicy, of fine strained wines.” The next time you see Linda, there’s going to be food. Lots of good food, lots of really good wine, and since Linda will be there, lots of music and lots of laughter.
But more than that, when we are reunited on that last day, God promises that there will be no more tears – “God will wipe away the tears from every cheek.” There will be no more tears because there will be no more death. Isaiah tells us that God “will destroy death forever,” and we will never have to experience the pain or suffering or grief that comes with it anymore.
Instead, we will have healing and joy and celebration, as we are reunited with those we love. Linda will be there, with her uncle Lee. Every single person you love will be there; no one will be missing. We can trust in that because of what we heard in the gospel reading from John. There we heard Christ promise that he will lose nothing, and no one, of all whom God has entrusted to his care. He will not drive anyone away, but raise them up on the last day. No one will be left behind, no one will be separated from their loved ones or from God. Because as Paul reminds us in our second reading from Romans put it, “nothing can ever come between us and the love of god made visible in Christ Jesus our Lord.” When that party on the mountain happens, there is nothing that’s going to get in the way of everyone being there. Not feelings of anger, not doubt, not grief. By the sheer love and grace of God through Christ, everyone will be there, and we will all be together.
But what do we do in the meantime? Because in the meantime, until that promised day comes, we have to get through this day. And the next day. And the day after that, and then there’s Christmas, and there are so many days between now and then. Are we left to just wait until that day happens?
No. For God, in the here and now, out of love and compassion for us, brings living and dead together in the gift of Holy Communion. You see, Communion doesn’t just bring together the people who are celebrating it at that particular moment. Communion, the gift of Jesus’ body and blood, brings together all people, who ever have or ever will share in this meal. At this table, as we each partake in the pieces of Christ’s body, we are all brought together in his one body, past, present, and future. Week after week, as often as you receive it, you are brought together in the shared bread and wine with Linda, and Lee, and all the living, and all the dead, as a prelude, a glimpse, a foretaste of that feast to come, that day when we will all be together on God’s mountain.
Everyone is welcome to this table, just as everyone will be welcome on that mountain on the day of the Lord. Christ turns no one away, and so everyone who takes part is drawn into God’s everlasting community, to be part of God’s love forever.
That is not to say that we no longer grieve for Linda or that you don’t feel the pain of being separated from her. But we can, simultaneously, cling to God’s promise of reunion in the future and the present. We can gaze at the mountains, and picture the great reunion feast to come, and we can come to Communion, where we are united in the love of God through Christ Jesus. Despite our pain, we can rest in God, who makes us to lie down in safety and in peace. And there we wait, clinging to the promise of God, for that great feast and reunion when we will be together with Linda and all those whom we love. And so we say, Come, Lord Jesus, Come. Amen.
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Sunday, October 21, 2007
The Judge and the Widow
October 21, 2007 - University Lutheran Chapel, Berkeley, CA - Psalm 121; Luke 18:1-8
There’s an espisode from The Simpsons where Lisa and Bart, the two kids, are watching TV and an ad for the latest amusement park comes on. Thrilled by the pictures of the rollercoasters and screaming, laughing children, the kids immediately jump up and start asking their dad, “Can we go, Dad? Can we go, Dad? Can we go, Dad?” And, of course, as you would expect, their dad says No. The next scene is the kids getting tucked into their beds, and again, you hear, “Can we go, Dad? Can we go, Dad? Can we go, Dad?” Again, No. Cut to the middle of the night, the house is dark, everything is silent, Homer is asleep in his bed, and all of a sudden - “Can we go, Dad? Can we go, Dad? Can we go, Dad?” There they are, those pestering kids, bothering their Dad when he’s trying to get some sleep. So he looks at them, and he asks them if they’re ever going to stop, and they reassure him that, No, they’re not going to stop until they get what they want. And so, the next morning, we see Lisa and Bart, smiling in the back seat of the car, with Homer at the wheel, driving them to the amusement park.
I was reminded of this scene after reading the Gospel lesson we heard today - the parable where Jesus speaks of the unjust judge and the persistent widow. Now, obviously, for the widow, things are more serious than just a trip to the amusement park. The widow has gone to the judge to demand justice against her opponent. And what makes this case especially serious is that it’s the widow herself who has gone. Women in Jesus’ time almost never spoke up in public. They were supposed to sit silently and let their husbands or fathers or brothers do all the talking. So for the widow to speak up must have meant that her situation was pretty dire. It meant that she had no husband, obviously, no father, no brothers, no sons, no male relatives who could resolve her case for her. And so her last resort is to go, by herself, to the town judge, whom everybody knows to be a terrible man, who even admits to himself that he is a terrible man, with “no fear of God and no respect for anyone.” And this widow goes, not once, not twice, but again and again and again. The widow pursues the judge until he is just plain worn down by her petitions and her constant begging. Using the “Can we go, Dad?” method, the widow gets the judge to help her with what she needs.
Now, this parable has traditionally been interpreted in such a way that God is the judge and we are the widow. Even the writer of Luke, in his editorial remarks, says that Jesus told this parable so that listeners would know about “their need to pray always and not to lose heart.” And certainly, if we take the position of the widow in this story, we will see that when it comes to praying, persistence is valuable. The judge gives in to the widow because he is afraid that such constant public attention will not only wear him out, but will also draw the public’s attention to his total lack of respect for both God and the people - two things necessary for him to have in his job.
Likewise, if we are the widow, and God is the judge, then we see how, if the terrible judge of the story finally gives into the widow’s cries, how much more will God, who is infinitely better and more just and more caring of the people than the judge, respond to the cries of not only the widows, but all of God’s children. And so because of that, we are given hope. We are encouraged not to lose heart. If an unjust judge hears the cries of a widow after months of pestering, surely a loving, just, perfect God like ours will hear us the moment we open our mouths to pray.
Unfortunately, this particular way of interpreting the parable can leave us with more questions than it does answers. For one thing, is raises all sort of questions about prayer, and the nature of prayer, and how God responds to prayer. If this parable is telling us that all it takes is persistence, and very little at that, to get God to respond to our prayers, what happens when it seems that God isn’t? What does it mean, then, when we’ve been praying for something for weeks, or months, or even years, and nothing happens? Does that mean we haven’t been praying enough? That we haven’t been persistent enough? Does it mean that we’re not one of God’s “chosen ones” to whom God will grant justice? Or does it mean that God has retreated to the judge’s chambers and is done with listening to people for the time being?
And of course, there are the questions that are raised by God being portrayed as a judge in this parable. For one thing, if God is a judge, particularly a severe one, we’re hardly like to go to God with our problems, are we? The widow showed a lot of fortitude in going to see this judge who liked no one. And I wonder if we would have as much bravery in going to God with our problems if we pictured God as a judge who was liable to rain down threats and punishments on our heads for the smallest infractions. Besides, that picture of God as a judge, while it does appear more than once in our Bible, is not the predominant image we have of God. It’s not the image we see manifested in the person of Jesus Christ. And so we have a bit of an incongruency.
Well, more than that, because in addition to God not really being like a judge, God isn’t at all like this particular unjust judge, who has “no fear of God and no respect for anyone.” If there’s anybody who tends not to fear God or have respect for people, it’s us. If there’s anybody who tends to refuse requests for aid for no other reason than that we don’t like the person asking, it’s not God, it’s us.
And so that leads me to wonder if maybe we, and even the writer of Luke, haven’t gotten the parable a little bit backwards. If maybe, instead of God being the judge and us being the widow, we’re actually the judge and God is the widow. I mean, we’re certainly a lot more like the judge than we are the widow. As I’ve said, we don’t, as a whole, have much fear of God or even have respect for other people. How many times have you had to stand in line, or been going down the street, and been impatient or muttered under your breath or even been downright rude to the person in front of you? We all do it. Or how many times has someone come to you in need, and you’ve turned away because you don’t like who they are or what they stand for? We’ve all done it. We don’t agree with people, we think they’re wrong, and so we don’t help them, worse, we stereotype them, insult them, discriminate against them. We stop respecting people, and we become unjust. We become the unjust judge.
Which means that God, then, becomes the widow. Which is a very interesting position for God to be in. God becomes the one constantly pursuing us, persistently coming to us, seeking our attention, begging to be noticed by us. And that makes this story very different, indeed. Because, you see, the widow pursues the judge, seeking attention from him, even though she knows how terrible he is. She does it because she believes that this terrible man can do good in the world if she just keeps after him. He can somehow make things right. And that’s how God treats us. Even knowing all the horrible things we do, God still believes we can do good in the world. God believes we can make some things right. And so God chases after us, coming to see us at every opportunity, bothering us, pestering us, begging us to hear what God has to say. And God doesn’t stop. Like Lisa and Bart Simpson, God keeps at it until we finally turn around and accept the inevitable. God does whatever it takes to get our attention - from being like a nagging widow, to being like whining children, to wrestling with Jacob at the river, to coming down and dying on the cross.
And what does God say once God has our attention? Is it, “Why haven’t you been paying attention to me?” Is it, “What took you so long,” Is it, “Boy, you’re going to get it now that I have your attention?” No. Instead, God says, “I love you.” “You’re forgiven.” “I missed you.” God’s words to you aren’t the words of an unjust judge, they’re the words of a widow who is longing for her husband, or her children. They’re the words of mercy, and of love, and of forgiveness. They’re the words of the psalmist today, if I might paraphrase them. God’s words to you, the words that God will speak to you over and over and over are: “I will not let your foot be moved and I who watch over you will not fall asleep. Behold, I keep watch over Israel and shall neither slumber nor sleep; I, the Lord, watch over you; I am your shade at your right hand, so that the sun shall not strike you by day, or the moon by night. I, the Lord, shall preserve you from all evil, I shall keep you safe. I shall watch over your going out and your coming in, from this time forth forevermore.” Thanks be to God. Amen.
There’s an espisode from The Simpsons where Lisa and Bart, the two kids, are watching TV and an ad for the latest amusement park comes on. Thrilled by the pictures of the rollercoasters and screaming, laughing children, the kids immediately jump up and start asking their dad, “Can we go, Dad? Can we go, Dad? Can we go, Dad?” And, of course, as you would expect, their dad says No. The next scene is the kids getting tucked into their beds, and again, you hear, “Can we go, Dad? Can we go, Dad? Can we go, Dad?” Again, No. Cut to the middle of the night, the house is dark, everything is silent, Homer is asleep in his bed, and all of a sudden - “Can we go, Dad? Can we go, Dad? Can we go, Dad?” There they are, those pestering kids, bothering their Dad when he’s trying to get some sleep. So he looks at them, and he asks them if they’re ever going to stop, and they reassure him that, No, they’re not going to stop until they get what they want. And so, the next morning, we see Lisa and Bart, smiling in the back seat of the car, with Homer at the wheel, driving them to the amusement park.
I was reminded of this scene after reading the Gospel lesson we heard today - the parable where Jesus speaks of the unjust judge and the persistent widow. Now, obviously, for the widow, things are more serious than just a trip to the amusement park. The widow has gone to the judge to demand justice against her opponent. And what makes this case especially serious is that it’s the widow herself who has gone. Women in Jesus’ time almost never spoke up in public. They were supposed to sit silently and let their husbands or fathers or brothers do all the talking. So for the widow to speak up must have meant that her situation was pretty dire. It meant that she had no husband, obviously, no father, no brothers, no sons, no male relatives who could resolve her case for her. And so her last resort is to go, by herself, to the town judge, whom everybody knows to be a terrible man, who even admits to himself that he is a terrible man, with “no fear of God and no respect for anyone.” And this widow goes, not once, not twice, but again and again and again. The widow pursues the judge until he is just plain worn down by her petitions and her constant begging. Using the “Can we go, Dad?” method, the widow gets the judge to help her with what she needs.
Now, this parable has traditionally been interpreted in such a way that God is the judge and we are the widow. Even the writer of Luke, in his editorial remarks, says that Jesus told this parable so that listeners would know about “their need to pray always and not to lose heart.” And certainly, if we take the position of the widow in this story, we will see that when it comes to praying, persistence is valuable. The judge gives in to the widow because he is afraid that such constant public attention will not only wear him out, but will also draw the public’s attention to his total lack of respect for both God and the people - two things necessary for him to have in his job.
Likewise, if we are the widow, and God is the judge, then we see how, if the terrible judge of the story finally gives into the widow’s cries, how much more will God, who is infinitely better and more just and more caring of the people than the judge, respond to the cries of not only the widows, but all of God’s children. And so because of that, we are given hope. We are encouraged not to lose heart. If an unjust judge hears the cries of a widow after months of pestering, surely a loving, just, perfect God like ours will hear us the moment we open our mouths to pray.
Unfortunately, this particular way of interpreting the parable can leave us with more questions than it does answers. For one thing, is raises all sort of questions about prayer, and the nature of prayer, and how God responds to prayer. If this parable is telling us that all it takes is persistence, and very little at that, to get God to respond to our prayers, what happens when it seems that God isn’t? What does it mean, then, when we’ve been praying for something for weeks, or months, or even years, and nothing happens? Does that mean we haven’t been praying enough? That we haven’t been persistent enough? Does it mean that we’re not one of God’s “chosen ones” to whom God will grant justice? Or does it mean that God has retreated to the judge’s chambers and is done with listening to people for the time being?
And of course, there are the questions that are raised by God being portrayed as a judge in this parable. For one thing, if God is a judge, particularly a severe one, we’re hardly like to go to God with our problems, are we? The widow showed a lot of fortitude in going to see this judge who liked no one. And I wonder if we would have as much bravery in going to God with our problems if we pictured God as a judge who was liable to rain down threats and punishments on our heads for the smallest infractions. Besides, that picture of God as a judge, while it does appear more than once in our Bible, is not the predominant image we have of God. It’s not the image we see manifested in the person of Jesus Christ. And so we have a bit of an incongruency.
Well, more than that, because in addition to God not really being like a judge, God isn’t at all like this particular unjust judge, who has “no fear of God and no respect for anyone.” If there’s anybody who tends not to fear God or have respect for people, it’s us. If there’s anybody who tends to refuse requests for aid for no other reason than that we don’t like the person asking, it’s not God, it’s us.
And so that leads me to wonder if maybe we, and even the writer of Luke, haven’t gotten the parable a little bit backwards. If maybe, instead of God being the judge and us being the widow, we’re actually the judge and God is the widow. I mean, we’re certainly a lot more like the judge than we are the widow. As I’ve said, we don’t, as a whole, have much fear of God or even have respect for other people. How many times have you had to stand in line, or been going down the street, and been impatient or muttered under your breath or even been downright rude to the person in front of you? We all do it. Or how many times has someone come to you in need, and you’ve turned away because you don’t like who they are or what they stand for? We’ve all done it. We don’t agree with people, we think they’re wrong, and so we don’t help them, worse, we stereotype them, insult them, discriminate against them. We stop respecting people, and we become unjust. We become the unjust judge.
Which means that God, then, becomes the widow. Which is a very interesting position for God to be in. God becomes the one constantly pursuing us, persistently coming to us, seeking our attention, begging to be noticed by us. And that makes this story very different, indeed. Because, you see, the widow pursues the judge, seeking attention from him, even though she knows how terrible he is. She does it because she believes that this terrible man can do good in the world if she just keeps after him. He can somehow make things right. And that’s how God treats us. Even knowing all the horrible things we do, God still believes we can do good in the world. God believes we can make some things right. And so God chases after us, coming to see us at every opportunity, bothering us, pestering us, begging us to hear what God has to say. And God doesn’t stop. Like Lisa and Bart Simpson, God keeps at it until we finally turn around and accept the inevitable. God does whatever it takes to get our attention - from being like a nagging widow, to being like whining children, to wrestling with Jacob at the river, to coming down and dying on the cross.
And what does God say once God has our attention? Is it, “Why haven’t you been paying attention to me?” Is it, “What took you so long,” Is it, “Boy, you’re going to get it now that I have your attention?” No. Instead, God says, “I love you.” “You’re forgiven.” “I missed you.” God’s words to you aren’t the words of an unjust judge, they’re the words of a widow who is longing for her husband, or her children. They’re the words of mercy, and of love, and of forgiveness. They’re the words of the psalmist today, if I might paraphrase them. God’s words to you, the words that God will speak to you over and over and over are: “I will not let your foot be moved and I who watch over you will not fall asleep. Behold, I keep watch over Israel and shall neither slumber nor sleep; I, the Lord, watch over you; I am your shade at your right hand, so that the sun shall not strike you by day, or the moon by night. I, the Lord, shall preserve you from all evil, I shall keep you safe. I shall watch over your going out and your coming in, from this time forth forevermore.” Thanks be to God. Amen.
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