The Widow's Might

The persistent widow from Luke 18 provides an exemplary model for prayer — even in, especially in the face of injustice, disrespect, or violence. The question is, will we follow her lead?

This sermon was preached at the Episcopal Church of the Holy Apostles on October 19, 2025. A video of the sermon may be found here. The sermon is inspired specifically by the following texts:

Jeremiah 31:27-34
Psalm 119:97-104
2 Timothy 3:14-4:5
Luke 18:1-8

©2025 The Rev. Seth Olson

Holy God, may my words be your words and when my words are not your words, may your people be wise enough to know the same. Amen.

If you’ve ever felt like the world is unfair, you’re not wrong. You only have to scroll through the headlines for a few moments to feel it — war, corruption, greed, violence, exhaustion, and loneliness. It’s enough to make any person of faith sigh, “What’s the point of praying, of giving, of showing up, when it all feels so stacked against hope?” And that, I think, is precisely where Jesus meets us today — with a story about a widow who refused to give up on justice, and a judge who couldn’t care less.

 

Luke sets the tone right from the start: Jesus told them a parable “about their need to pray always and not lose heart.” The original language is something like to keep on praying and not grow weary, not cave in. The verb literally means “to lose courage” or “to faint within.” So, Jesus is talking about an interior resilience, the kind that holds firm even when the outside world feels unmoved.

 

Then comes the story. A widow — a symbol throughout Scripture for the powerless, the voiceless, the vulnerable — keeps coming to a judge, saying,
“Grant me justice against my opponent.” Her request is simple enough: “vindicate me,” or “set things right.”

She’s not asking for revenge, but restoration. But the judge — and Luke is blunt about this — “neither feared God nor respected people.” He’s the walking opposite of everything Torah (the Law) demands of those in power. In Deuteronomy 16, Israel’s judges are told to “judge the people with righteous judgment, not perverting justice, not showing partiality, and not taking a bribe.”

 

I don’t know if he took any bribes, but this man seemingly fails every other clause from the Law. And yet… even he gives in. “Because this widow keeps bothering me,” he says, “I will grant her justice so that she may not wear me out.”

The original language is much more colorful, “so she doesn’t give me a black eye.” It’s comically vivid: this little widow, metaphorically boxing the judge into submission through sheer persistence.

 

Now, here’s where Luke’s artistry shines. Most parables work through comparison — “the kingdom of God is like…” But this one works through contrast. Jesus isn’t saying that God is like the unjust judge. He’s saying God is nothing like him.

 

“If even a corrupt, heartless man yields to persistence,” Jesus says, “how much more will God — the One who loves justice and mercy — respond to those who cry out day and night?” But, Jesus doesn’t stop there. He twists the story on its head and asks a question that lands a punch not just back then but through the centuries unto today: “When the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on earth?” In other words: The question isn’t whether God is faithful, but whether we will be.

 

So what about today? This parable doesn’t deny the world’s injustice (then or now); it names it. Jesus doesn’t tell a story about a fair system or a kind judge. He tells a story about maintaining faith even when you live within a system that isn’t fair, about living with persistence when the odds are impossible. That’s where the Gospel lives — in the tension between a broken world and a faithful God.

 

The spiritual giant Henri Nouwen once wrote: “Do not despair. Stand in your suffering as one deeply loved by God.” That’s what the widow does — she stands, day after day, knowing she’s loved enough not to give up. (And guess what — you are too, you're loved enough to not give up on!)

 

Another wise one Richard Rohr says that prayer isn’t meant to change God’s mind, but to change ours — to make us into people who can persist in love.

And Frederick Buechner, with his usual wit, says, “The secret of prayer is persistence. Keep at it… speak again, and then again, and then again to God.”

 

Faith, in other words, isn’t measured by how often we feel God’s nearness, but by whether we keep knocking, keep praying, keep showing up – even when, especially when, we do not feel God’s nearness. 

 

Now, here’s where this parable gets beautifully relevant. Because today, as we gathered for our Annual Parish Meeting, we did something that feels — on the surface — ordinary: electing a new Vestry, hearing reports, talking about our financials. But beneath the ordinary lies something sacred.

 

We’re saying, like that widow: “We will not give up on the work of God’s justice and mercy.” We will keep coming. We will keep believing that how we live, how we give, how we serve — still matters in a world that doesn’t always play fair. We will pray always and not lose heart.

 

That’s also the spirit of our “Tell Out My Soul” Stewardship Campaign. In Mary’s song — the Magnificat — she tells out her soul because she has seen what God can do when the lowly are lifted up. And she doesn’t wait for the world to be fixed before singing. She sings while still living under Roman oppression. She sings while the powerful still sit on their thrones. She sings because faith refuses to lose heart.

 

In the same way, our pledges, our gifts, our ministries — they are songs of faith. They are acts of persistence in love. When you give, when you volunteer, when you pray, you are saying, “I still believe in what God can do here.” I still believe in what God is doing here, what God is doing now!

 

Every parish has its moments when things seem uncertain — budgets that need balancing, ministries that need volunteers, challenges that test our patience or unity. But every time we choose to show up — to worship, to pray, to discern, to give — we are answering Jesus’ question: “Yes, Lord, you will find faith here.”

 

When a congregation like Holy Apostles gathers to elect a new Vestry class,
it’s not just an administrative act. It’s a statement of trust — trust that God’s Spirit continues to raise up faithful leaders who will guide us with courage and compassion. 

 

And when we fill out a pledge card, it’s not a transaction — it’s a testimony. It says: “I will persist in hope. I will do my part.” It’s a way of keeping faith when the world says, “You’re wasting your time.”

 

One final bit from the Gospel text that seems fitting here. The text says God will bring justice quickly, but the Greek phrase doesn’t mean “instantly.” It means “suddenly, decisively.” It’s like saying: when the time comes, God will move in ways that surprise us — but until then, we keep praying, we keep loving, we keep building the church.

 

God’s justice may not operate on our timetable, but it always operates on God’s faithfulness. Our role is not to predict when it comes, but to live in a way that says, “I trust that it will.”

 

“When the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on earth?” 

I can’t help but imagine Jesus looking out at you Holy Apostles — at our choir and acolytes, our altar guild and youth, our Vestry, our outreach volunteers, our children running through coffee hour, and saying: “Yes. Right here. I have found faith here.”

 

Faith looks like persistence.
Faith looks like generosity.
Faith looks like community — this community.

 

The widow teaches us that prayer and justice, hope and giving, are all part of the same heartbeat — a rhythm of love that keeps pulsing even when the world goes cold.

 

So, beloved, as we celebrate this Annual Meeting Sunday, as we encourage our vestry members, as we Tell Out Our Souls through faithful giving — let’s do so with the persistence of that widow. Let’s be a people who keep coming, keep praying, keep hoping, and never lose heart. Because our God — unlike the unjust judge — hears us, loves us, and will make things right in the end.

 

And for that, thanks be to God. Amen.

Teach Us To Pray

The disciples have a simple plea for Jesus, "Teach us to pray," so why is prayer such a mysterious art?

Hosea 1:2-10
Psalm 85
Colossians 2:6-15, (16-19)
Luke 11:1-13

 

©2025 The Rev. Seth Olson

This sermon was preached on July 27, 2025 at the Episcopal Church of the Holy Apostles in Hoover, AL.

Holy God, may my words be your words and when my words are not your words, may your people be wise enough to know the same. Amen. 

“Lord, teach us to pray…”

 

It’s a beautiful request. Not, “teach us what to pray” or “give us the perfect words,” but, teach us to pray. Teach us how to live in this strange, sacred rhythm of communion. Instruct us in how to enter the mystery that holds us. Educate us in how to show up—even when we’re tired, confused, or grieving. Even when we’re joyful or just busy. Teach us to pray.

 

Because prayer is not something we master. It’s something into which we enter, like a gateway. It’s not something we perfect; it’s something that perfects us—over time, like water smoothing stone. And, perhaps most importantly, prayer is not something we do as much as something we become.

 

When the disciples asked Jesus this question, he didn’t respond with a lofty lecture or even a story right away. He gave them words. A model. Something simple.

 

Not flashy. Not proud. Just: “Father, hallowed be your name. Your kingdom come. Give us each day our daily bread. Forgive us our sins… and do not bring us to the time of trial.”

 

The verbs Jesus employed are bold imperatives—Give! Forgive! Lead! Deliver! There’s an urgency to it. But there’s also intimacy: “Father”—in Aramaic, Abba—Papa or dada is the more colloquial form in English. This does not depict a distant deity, but a loving parent. One who already knows what we need before we ask. One who invites us to keep asking anyway because Lord knows I don’t always hear my children’s requests the first time they say it.

 

And there’s something else here, something that connects this prayer across centuries and continents: it endures. 

 

What I mean is 2,000 years later, it’s a prayer within every Episcopal service we offer. And more than that, the Lord’s Prayer is one of the most universal prayers in all of Christianity. Maybe the only supplications more well-worn are the ones Anne Lamott, the theologian and writer, lifts up: Help. Thanks. Wow. 

 

The prayer Jesus taught us has been whispered by children at bedtime and recited in crowded churches. It’s been said in the hush of early mornings and the chaos of emergency rooms. It echoes through recovery meetings in church basements, and sometimes it’s the very last thing a person with Alzheimer’s remembers how to say. It’s simple, powerful, and rooted in trust—and it came in response to this honest plea: “Lord, teach us to pray.”

 

But let’s be honest—sometimes prayer feels like shouting into the void.

Especially for those among us who are grieving… who are aging and feeling their bodies change in ways they never asked for—losing taste, smell, or mobility… who struggle to hear their grandchildren’s laughter… who are facing health diagnoses or wrestling with spiritual fatigue.

 

We also have folks who feel anxious about the return of the school year—whether they’re students, teachers, or parents counting down the days. We have those who are hurting from recent loss. 

 

We have those who are flourishing—empty nesters rediscovering themselves, retirees finally enjoying rest, and people entering exciting new chapters of their careers or relationships.

 

And we have some who are wounded by the hurts of the world—by war, famine, political division, economic injustice, and the slow, aching burn of God’s Creation crying out as we continue to pollute and ignore Mother Earth. In short, we have people all over the physical, spiritual, emotional, and psychological maps… So, it’s worth wonder…

 

What unites us? What draws us together as one?

 

Well, prayer! That’s part of why we’re all here right now. And perhaps even more what binds us together is that we still don’t know how to pray. At least, not perfectly. We are stumbling and fumbling into God’s presence together, and that’s okay.

Because prayer is not a magic trick to make life better. It is not a transaction with a vending-machine God. Prayer is not about presents (what we get), but about presence (who we are with). As Frederick Buechner wrote, “We all pray whether we think of it that way or not. The quiet, tired, aching part of us is always praying.”

 

Prayer is the language of longing. Of trust. Of communion.

And sometimes it sounds like silence. Sometimes it sounds like screaming. Sometimes it’s tears. Sometimes it’s song—when you pray twice. And sometimes it’s just showing up—again and again—like the neighbor in Jesus’ parable.

 

Let’s talk about that neighbor.

 

It’s midnight. One friend is knocking on another’s door, demanding bread. The host is annoyed—his kids are asleep in his bed (very relatable, as I awoke this morning to find Teddy next to me). The man’s locked in for the night. But Jesus says, the neighbor doesn’t give up. And not because of friendship, but because of word we misinterpret from the Greek. In our Gospel lesson I read it as persistence, but it’s closer to shamelessness.

 

That friend is without shame. He’s bold, unfiltered, unembarrassed to ask for what he needs on behalf of someone else.

And Jesus says… that’s what prayer can be like.

 

Shameless in our need. Bold in our trust. Relentless in our knocking—not to wake up a sleepy God, but to awaken ourselves to the divine presence that is already within and around us, so that we might act—that we might respond as God’s hands and heart in this world.

 

The Episcopal tradition teaches that prayer is “responding to God, by thought and by deeds, with or without words.” Did you catch that? Prayer doesn’t start with us. Prayer is always a response to what God is already doing. And sometimes the best way to pray is just to notice. To be aware. To be willing.

 

Willing to sit in silence. Willing to name our wounds. Willing to ask boldly, even if we don’t know what we’re really asking for. Willing to be changed.

 

Friends, I don’t think prayer is about getting what we want. I think it’s about becoming who we are.

 

Because if we are made in the image of God, and if God is the Great Mystery, then there’s something mysterious in each of us too. Prayer is the meeting of our mystery and the Great Mystery. It is not always rational. It is not always productive. But it is always holy.

 

In prayer, we don’t solve the mystery of God or of life or of ourselves. But we can be saved by it. Transformed by it. Freed by it—to live more fully, more honestly, and more courageously.

 

And maybe that’s where this sermon lands: not with answers, but with an invitation.

 

To pray. Shamelessly. Boldly. Simply. Consistently. To show up for yourself. To show up for the neighbor knocking and the neighbor who has traveled from far off. To show up for the world.

 

Because when we pray—whether it’s in our hearts or in our bodies, in this sanctuary or stuck in traffic—we are not just talking to God out there. We are communing with the God who dwells within. We are aligning ourselves with the divine grace already present. We are awakening to the truth that even our smallest prayers stretch outward to the farthest bounds of God’s Creation.

 

We are not alone. We are connected. We are loved. And we are heard.

So pray. As you can. As you are. Not to change God’s mind, but to change our lives.

 

Amen.

Pray Shamelessly

Dr. Brené Brown at TED 2012

© Seth Olson 2019

July 28, 2019—The Seventh Sunday after Pentecost—Proper 12 (Gospel Reflection Track)
Genesis 18:20-32Psalm 138Colossians 2:6-15, (16-19)Luke 11:1-13

“Lord, teach us to pray.” This request (in today's Gospel) from one disciple appears simple enough. Jesus what do we say when we want to talk to God? In response, Jesus offered his followers the familiar words of the Lord’s Prayer. We often recite these comfortable words—and when we do we are literally following what Jesus said to do. We cannot do much better than that, can we?

Hammering this home, we in the Episcopal Church have taken Jesus at his word so closely—when it comes to praying the “Our Father”—that every time we gather together we say the Lord’s Prayer. Whether it’s at Holy Eucharist or Holy Baptism; during the sacramental rites of confirmation, ordination, holy matrimony, reconciliation of a penitent, or unction; whether it is part of the Daily Office or a devotion for individuals and families, every time we participate in Prayer Book liturgy—the spiritual work that binds us together—we pray in the way that Jesus taught us. So, that’s it, right? We have prayer figured out. Just stick to the script Jesus gave us. Maybe…

When the one in today’s Gospel lesson asked Jesus to teach the disciples to pray what was that inquiry really about? Was this a request about what to pray or was it about how to pray? While the importance of what Jesus offered is critical enough that we speak it every time we gather, the significance of how Jesus taught his followers to pray was even more profound.

Particularly in Luke’s telling of the Gospel, we often observe Jesus going off to pray. Right at the start of today’s story Jesus was praying. He prayed in the morning. He prayed through the night. He prayed on the eve of his death. He prayed constantly. Something we are called to do in our own lives. If his example were not enough Jesus also gave us a parable about how to pray in today’s lesson.

Fresh on the heels of teaching his disciples our most familiar prayer, Jesus invited his students into a creative exercise. I, in turn, invite you into this practice of imagining, as you seek to understand how to pray as Jesus modeled and taught.

Suppose you have a friend who is your neighbor. And, you go to your friendly neighbor to ask for some bread in the wee hours between dusk and dawn. You are doing this because you have another friend who has come to you and you have nothing to give this visiting friend to eat. Well, at first your friendly neighbor is hesitant. The neighbor has been cuddled up in bed for a while and even has children snoozing in the bed too. And just because you are this person’s friend and neighbor that’s not enough. The warmth and comfort of the bed keeps your neighbor from responding. However, as Jesus explained, “Even though [this neighbor] will not get up and give [you] anything because he is [your] friend, at least because of [your] persistence he will get up and give [you] whatever [you] need.” If this story is about how to pray, we can see that Jesus is telling us to pray persistently. It’s as clear as day, right there in the text. Jesus said prayer is about being persistent—except that’s not what he originally said.

Persistence is half-way right, but if we walk away thinking that the morale of the story is to pray persistently we will not be even half-way right. The point is not everything will turn out how you want it to turn out if you pray all the time. Jesus is not telling us that God is waiting to give us something good when we pray consistently enough. That’s just not who God is. This makes sense when we take a closer look at the word we translate as “persistent.”

The original word here is more closely related to our word shamelessness. It might be self-evident, but shamelessness means without disgrace, disrepute, or shame. How does this change the meaning of this parable? Well, let’s put the story into a contemporary setting to find out.

Suppose you knock on your neighbors door at 2 o’clock in the morning pleading for some bread because your best friends have just arrived from out of town. You don’t have anything to offer them or their family. Publix is long since closed. And, you don’t really want to go to the Green Springs Walmart Neighborhood Market, so you knock on your neighbor’s door. Your neighbor might not respond because of your friendship, but they will if you are not only persistent but also shameless in your knocking and yelling. The next day I bet your neighbor might even call you shameless. I can even hear them asking, “HAVE YOU NO SHAME?” Truthfully, that’s the point of this parable on prayer. When questioned, “Have you no shame?” in the presence of God we are to wholeheartedly respond “YES, I HAVE NO SHAME!” Maybe this sounds crazy to you, but bear with me for a moment.

What Jesus was trying to tell his disciples is that when they prayed they were to lay everything completely bare without disgrace. In doing so, they were relying upon themselves, but asking God for whatever they truly needed. This is how we are called to pray as well. Now, maybe a little clarification about shame might be helpful.

Noted author, storyteller, and researcher Dr. Brené Brown in her TED talk entitled “Listening to Shame” explained that shame prevents us from innovation, creativity, and positive change. Things that often come from prayer if you ask me. Shame is “I’m sorry. I am a mistake.” [1] As opposed to guilt, which is “I’m sorry. I made a mistake.” “Shame is the gremlin who says, ‘Uh, uh. You're not good enough. You never finished that MBA. Your wife left you… I know those things that happened to you growing up. I know you don't think that you're pretty, smart, talented or powerful enough. I know your dad never paid attention, even when you made CFO.”[2] Dr. Brown even says that shame is different for women and men.

“For women, shame is, do it all, do it perfectly and never let them see you sweat.” For men, shame is don’t be seen as weak. It’s “I’d rather die on my white horse than for others to see me fall off it.”[3] So, this is shame and it is something that prevents us from not only innovation, creativity, and positive change, it also keeps us from one another, and it can keep us from God.

So, Christ Jesus through today’s parable tells us the posture with which we are to pray is without shame. But, how do we do this? How do we overcome the gremlin?

In Holy Baptism, God calls us beloved children—we are sealed as Christ’s own forever. In Holy Eucharist, we are what we eat—we are the Body of Christ as we consume the Body of Christ. Even after experiencing these transformative services of worship regularly, I don’t always get it. I hear my own self-talk and it’s not “I’m a beloved member of the Body of Christ.” It’s more like, “I’ll be good when I…” or “I wish I hadn’t done that stupid thing, I’m such a bad (husband/father/friend/son/brother/etc.).” This sort of communication within ourselves reinforces shame—so what’s the antidote for shame?

Well, Dr. Brown says that it is empathy. Secrecy, silence, and judgment help shame to grow, but empathy destroys it. We see a glimmer of this in today’s parable.[4] The neighbor finally address his friend’s needs seeing the dilemma of the knocking neighbor. Even more clearly we see Abraham’s shameless empathy in our Old Testament lesson.

Throughout this lesson Abraham empathizes with the inhabitants of Sodom and Gomorrah. Leave alone for now the destruction of these cities. Instead focus on the prayerful actions of Father Abraham. When he sees the possibility of a righteous one struggling in a desolate city he cannot help but vulnerably lay bare his desire before God. God, don’t destroy these cities if people there are living in right relationship with you. According to Genesis this was not the case, but the what of the prayer isn’t as important as the how here. How are we to pray? Like Abraham: vulnerably, shamelessly, empathetically (if that's even a word).

Of course, this is difficult. We often think our prayers have to be pretty, that we have to have some perfect prayer routine that we stick with forever, or that God will only listen to us if we act the right way. But, this is not the case. God hears all our needs before we offer up any prayer. And, in today’s lesson Jesus provides the important instructive that we are to pray shamelessly. We are to pray without shame because God is a non-shaming entity. God wants our entire selves—even the broken, messy bits.

I’ll leave you with some inspiring words from President Theodore Roosevelt that inspired Dr. Brown. To me this is a beneficial way of envisioning our lives—prayer lives and otherwise: “It is not the critic who counts. It is not the [one] who sits and points out how the doer of deeds could have done things better and how [that one] falls and stumbles. The credit goes to the [person] in the arena whose face is marred with dust and blood and sweat. But when [that one is] in the arena, at best, [winning], and at worst, [losing], but when [that one] fails, when [that one] loses, [that one] does so daring greatly.”[5]

How are we to pray? May we dare greatly, shamelessly speaking with God who sees us completely and does not shame us, but loves us unconditionally, and calls us to reach out to others with empathy.

---

[1] Brené Brown, “Listening to Shame.” TED Talk. https://www.ted.com/talks/brene_brown_listening_to_shame?language=en [published March 2012; accessed July 24, 2019].

[2] Brown, “Listening to Shame.”

[3] Ibid.

[4] Ibid.

[5] Ibid.

The Answers Are Getting Harder: Shamelessness in Prayer

Album art from Blues Traveler's fourth album Four.

The first CD I ever purchased on my own was the 1994 Blues Traveler record Four. I loved that album, and still listen to it regularly. While the singles “Hook” and “Runaround” garnered much of the attention, I devoured (and nearly memorized) all the tracks of the hour long recording. As I have been preparing for preaching this week, I found myself mysteriously singing the second song from Four, a track entitled “Stand” (You are going to want to listen to it before continuing... do so here).

For the first two verses and refrains of the song, the lead singer John Popper makes a series of declarative statements, which lead to the theme that sometimes in life it’s a long way to fall. These statements are almost universal beliefs that we as humans hold subconsciously—beliefs like talk and tragedy are cheap, wounds heal in time, and decisions we make come back to us in one way or another. Right before the two-minute mark of the song though something shifts. Popper begins an intense harmonica rift that gives way to a calmer and more transcendent sounding harmony from the rest of the band. It’s at this point in the song when I realize why my subconscious spit out this tune during this particular week.

As the harmonized vocals return, the band sings, “The answers are getting harder.” This feels like the most accurate depiction of our current state of complicated existence in this polarized world of have’s and have not’s. Sure this song is turning 25 years-old this September, but the words that John Popper wrote for Blues Traveler’s fourth album remain as true as they were in the mid-1990’s. The answers are getting harder. And, the band repeats this statement three times before adding another belief in the background, “If an answer comes to those who pray.” What could this possibly mean?

Taken together these statements read, “The answers are getting harder if an answer comes to those who pray.” To me this means that even in our practice of conversing with God as we grow the answers become more complicated. Perhaps this is a belief that Popper discovered as he matured in his life as a musician and a man. The real power and a true connection to this Sunday’s Gospel lesson from Luke 11 comes in what happens next in the song.

At the 3:45 mark the tempo increases and Popper sings:
“The answers are getting harder and harder
And there ain’t no way to bargain or to barter
But if you’ve got the angst or you got the ardor
You might faint from the fight but you’re gonna find it
For every challenge could have paradise behind it
And if you accept what you have lost and you stand tall
You might just get it back and you can get it all
So now you know why it’s a long way to fall
Yeah cause it’s a long way to fall.”

While it’s not explicit if Blues Traveler is referring to the act of praying and receiving answers, the implication is clear: persistence in prayer and in life will carry you through challenge, loss, and even falls. Taken in concert with this Sunday’s Gospel lesson this song pushes my own understanding of Jesus’ response to how one ought to pray.

In Luke 11:1-13 Jesus uttered the familiar words of the Lord’s Prayer, but he also offered up a teaching about our posture during prayer. No, I’m not talking about standing or kneeling, I am referring to the vigor and persistence with which we pray. In Luke 11:6-8 we hear Jesus describe a persevering neighbor knocking on his friend’s door in the middle of the night. The man inside does not want to give this pesky neighbor any bread for he’s already in bed with his kids asleep. Still he does get up and give into the request because of the friend’s persistent knocking—not because of their preexisting relationship. Some take this to mean that we are to persevere in our prayer and life—and I agree—however, there’s more here, and it relates to what Popper sang about in “Stand.”

A more honest translation of the word we quote as “persistence” in Luke 11:8 is actually “shamelessness” or “importunity” or “un-modesty.” The knocking neighbor has no shame in asking, which is a very different thing than being persistent. In truth this unlocks a completely different way of viewing God. God’s not waiting on us to be persistent in our prayer life before God grants our requests. Rather, we are to have no shame in asking boldly for what we want, laying our entire lives for God to view, and pushing onward for our will, as we allow it to fall in line with God’s own will.

This shamelessness insight dovetails nicely into what Popper sang. As the answers to our prayers and in our world become harder and harder, there’s no way to bargain or to barter with God for a reply. Instead as we express our anxiety and passion to God we are to without modesty share our entire existence with Him/Her/Them. As we bear our entire souls to God we might faint from the fight (see: Jacob wrestling with God in Genesis 32), but as we persevere we discover heaven on earth right within/beyond our challenges. Accepting the losses of life, instead of denying their existence, allows us to stand within our truest selves and like Job we get back not what we had but something even greater. So, while we pray that God lead us not into temptation, the truth is that God guiding us through the evils of this life leads us into a promised land. This paradise is so fathomless that it exceeds our imagination. Even now as we pray shamelessly to God, nakedly laying out our entire selves open to the one who knows us entirely, we dwell in the intersection of heaven and earth with the one who creates, feeds, forgives, sustains, and loves us completely.

So, when you pray stand tall as you boldly lay bare your whole self to God. It is not about the words you utter, but the posture of shamelessness you invoke. For God will never shame you (see: Old Testament lesson from Sunday Genesis 18:20-32)—so ask emphatically for what you want. And while God may not answer precisely how you desire, know that beyond and even within the challenges of life God is bringing heaven to earth, as God’s will is always done. Stand, stand and walk with God.

Pray Twice

Our Church has been gifted mightily by its musicians and our Hymnal is a treasure trove of these gifts.

This sermon was preached on the Feast Day of William Byrd, John Merbecke, and Thomas Tallis. The readings which inspired the sermon were the following:

Revelation 15:1–4

John 15:1–8

Psalm 47

When I say “meeting” what words come to your mind? Boring. Excruciating. Awful. Waste of time. Too long. These are some of the words that typically pop into my head when I think of most meetings. And, I think this is often the case. I know I have been in meetings that make it feel like time itself is standing still. However, there’s one meeting I have always enjoyed since getting here to St. John’s: our music planning meetings!

Now, when Evan Garner was still here I loved these meetings because watching Foster Bailey and Evan negotiate hymn selections was like watching two seasoned boxers go toe-to-toe for twelve rounds. I often felt like the underqualified referee who tried desperately to keep the fighters from taking any low blows, punching after the bell, or biting anyone’s ear off. The conversations now are a little less lively, but nonetheless they are times when I genuinely look forward to attending a meeting. Why is this? I’ll give you three reasons.

First, and please don’t tell him this, but I have learned so much about church music from our organist. I say don’t tell him because he’s insufferable already. Still, he has always been brutally honest with me about things I can do better, and he’s also shared so much about what makes for good church music—most notably, that people can actually sing the hymns we choose! So, during these meetings I joyfully look forward to figuring out what pieces both apply to the church season or day and get people singing.

Second, I look forward to attending our church music planning meetings because it is amazing to watch how we can weave together music, readings, prayers, and eventually sermons to fit a day or a season perfectly. Sometimes parishioners remark about how great everything fell into place on a given day. Well, I am sad to break it to you but there is a lot of prayerful planning, probably a couple of arguments, and of course God’s Spirit that leads to making those selections. In other words, our liturgy doesn’t magically fall into place. Still sometimes even I am taken aback at how perfectly our songs reflect everything else in the liturgy.

Finally, I happily anticipate music planning meetings because in them I am always reminded that to sing is to pray twice, as St. Augustine is supposed to have said. Yes, sometimes I needed to pray not twice but continually when Evan and Foster were arguing over hymns. And yet, so often during a service I get most lost in prayer when I am singing. During other parts of the service I might be so focused on what I need to be doing (“Am I holding my hands right?” “Did I annunciate that prayer well?” “Was I smiling or frowning during the Eucharistic Prayer?”). However, when we sing I receive the great gift like the rest of us to pray doubly. And, we not only have our own church musicians to thank for that, but also those who came in ages past, like the saints whom we celebrate today.

John Merbecke, Thomas Tallis, and William Byrd were church musicians in the 15th and 16th Centuries. Merbecke composed a musical setting to accompany the 1549 Prayer Book. Tallis survived four monarch shifts back and forth from Catholic to Protestant, and all the while he provided for the changing needs of the Church of England. Perhaps that is why he is known as the father of English Church music since the Reformation. Byrd composed mass settings, motets, graduals, psalm settings, anthems, and hymns for the great feast days of the Church. Tallis and Byrd even combined for some years and held the Crown Patent for the printing of sheet music. These musicians and so many others have given us a treasure trove of songs to sing. And, they have been ones who help our music and our liturgy to be a sacrifice of praise, worship, and thanksgiving.

As we celebrate the feast of Thanksgiving tonight and tomorrow, may we with joyful hearts be grateful for Church musicians throughout the ages. They may at times be insufferable, pigheaded, irreverent prima donnas. However, they help us to pray twice as we sing songs that bring us into not only describing who God is, but also participating in the wonder, love, and praise of Our Lord. And for that, thanks be to God. Amen.  

The Power of Prayer

This sermon was preached on the Feast Day of Vida Dutton Scudder at St. John’s Church. The readings for this day were the following: 

Isaiah 11:1–10

Psalm 25:1–14
John 6:37–51

The Dean and President of the Seminary of the Southwest (SSW) when I attended school there was a priest named Doug Travis. To my class he was a monumental figure. He almost felt like a folk hero with a hallmark deep, booming voice. He hailed from out in West Texas in a little town called Tulia. Anytime he presided at Holy Eucharist he—how do I put this?—glistened. Once when he was having a coughing fit during the Eucharistic Prayer he even drank some of the unconsecrated wine just to keep going with the service. But, his legend did not only have to do with humorous liturgical moments in the middle of the service.

Dean Travis had helped SSW through some of its darkest days. During the aftermath that followed the 2008 financial crisis, he made some very difficult decisions that allowed for the seminary to keep going. When he had to fire some longtime employees he did so with such grace and care that people still talked about it when I arrived a couple years later. He never talked about these difficulties, rather he chose to point to what he truly believed was the goal of seminary education: forming mature, Christian leaders.

Almost every sermon that Dean Travis gave had to do with this theme of developing influential people to step up in the 21st Century Church. My friends started to think that he was like a toy with a drawstring that once pulled released one of a handful of catchphrases. Sure, “Mature Christian Leadership,” was one of them, but he also almost always said, “The older and older I get, the more and more convinced I am of…” (fill in the blank). One such sermon still resonates to this day.

While talking about some research that showed that people are more spiritual than they have ever been, but at the same time less religious, Dean Travis pointed to something one of his daughters said. She was more convicted of the power of the Church than ever. Dean Travis on the other hand insisted that the older and older he got the more and more convinced he was not of the power of the Church, but of the power of God. Though the Church is flawed, God is not. Even if the Church fails, God won’t. Hearing these words from the leader of a seminary were both powerful and challenging. He then charged us to be part of leading people to Christ in the Church—not for self-promotion, but for sustenance, life, and transformation. Dean Travis’ words continue to challenge me to wonder why is it that I do what I do, why do we do what we do? We stumbled upon our answer today.

In this afternoon’s first lesson we heard of the perfect vision—not for the Church, but for all of Creation. Isaiah described that in God’s perfect reign even the nature of wild animals changes such that all dwell in peace. Wolf and lamb, leopard and kid, calf and lion, child and snake all living in harmony with one another. These images are so profound that they often overshadow the very first words about this peaceable kingdom. “A shoot shall come out from the stump of Jesse.” These words that prophesized Christ Jesus’ ministry also provide an image for us in the modern Church.

Think about this, a stump is something that is dead or dying. When we see stumps in our yards we want them removed. I watched during construction as a landscaping company sawed down some stumps and used machinery to dig up their roots. A stump then is an eyesore, a nuisance, or at best a place to sit for a moment. But, it is from that place of death and dying that God brings about the salvation of all people. We can take heart in this.

In our own lives, in the world, and even in the Church we might see things that are not life-giving. What are the stumps of your life? A once vibrant relationship now dormant? A long ago brilliant hope in our government now decaying? A closely held belief, now dying, that you might finally pursue your true calling in life? Whatever the stump God wants to raise a shoot out of it. God yearns to bring new life and God’s reign of peace from it—especially in the Church! So how does this happen?

The saint we celebrate today had an answer for this question. Vida Dutton Scudder was born driven! She was the child of Congregationalist missionaries in India in the mid-19th Century. After excelling in school and college Scudder founded several religious organizations devoted to community living and intercessory prayer. It is in this latter area of ministry that Scudder provided for us a way to bring new shoots out of stumps where resurrection is needed.

Scudder’s example and writings about having an active and vibrant prayer life give us a most helpful pathway. On this journey we are invited to access God’s deep desires to bring new life to us. Scudder wrote, “If prayer is the deep secret creative force that Jesus tells us it is, we should be very busy with it,” adding that there exists a surefire way “of directly helping on the Kingdom of God. That way is prayer. Social intercession may be the mightiest force in the world.”[1] If you are seeking something, pray for it. If you are yearning for new life, speak to God about it. If you want a shoot to grow out of a stump, give it to God in prayer. And not just like we are writing a letter to some cosmic Santa Claus.

When we pray we open our hearts to God. We speak and we listen. We pass along our deepest desires and we hear God’s deepest longings for us. To paraphrase Dean Travis, the older and older I get the more and more convinced I am that when we take the broken stumps in our lives to God in prayer God raises new shoots in us such that we become mature Christian leaders for this day. Pray always for God’s reign to come!

---

[1] Lesser Feasts and Fasts (2006). “Vida Dutton Scudder.” 410.

Real Work, Real Treasure

An early photograph of a Rogation Day blessing.

This sermon was preached at St. John's Church, Decatur, AL on the second Rogation Day—the Tuesday before Ascension Day. The readings, which inspired the sermon were the following: 
Ecclesiasticus 38:27-32
Psalm 107:1-9
1 Corinthians 3:10-14
Matthew 6:19-24

On the three days before Ascension we celebrate Rogation Days. The Latin word rogatio means “to ask.” During the Fifth Century a bishop in France yearned for his congregation to fast and pray to ward off any impending disasters. Thus these days emerged. Over the years they have evolved into days of supplication when we ask God to supply our needs. Historically that meant agriculture with priests walking the bounds of the geographical parish to speak a litany while blessing the crops. More recently the focus has shifted.

In our current Prayer Book the Rogation Days have themes of Agriculture, Commerce and Industry, and Stewardship of Creation. Today being the second of the Rogation Days points us to Commerce and Industry. On this day we pray for and hear readings about these ways of working.

In Ecclesiasticus, we were reminded that artisans, smiths, and potters relied upon their hands to create work. The Psalm focused on the goodness that God produced in the lands to quench thirst and satiate hunger. Paul urged those in Corinth to build not with destructible materials, but with ones that would last. All of these words provide wisdom about how we create, build, and work in this world, but Jesus’ words from Matthew tell us of what economy truly matters.

“Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust consume and where thieves break in and steal; but store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust consumes and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” On a day when the Church asks God’s blessing upon our work, these words remind us of our ultimate work. We are called by God to work for the building up of God’s reign, not our own wealth. How do we go about this in a world and a country so dedicated to creating wealth?

In some ways the world Jesus knew was not unlike our own. He may have lived in the rural area of Galilee, but he knew the day’s global economic system. He viewed how the Roman Empire and the religious elite made money off the backs of the poor. Whether it was money changers exploiting Temple sacrifices, Pharisees fleecing widows, or husbands leaving their wives divorced and penniless, Jesus observed that the love of wealth—not wealth itself—was rooted in evil. And, he pointed out the ways through which the rich took advantage of the poor. Thus, he spoke his warning: do not store for yourselves treasures on earth where moth and rust consume and where thieves break in and steal. Still, this warning only gives us half of the equation.

How do we take part in God’s economy? How do we build up treasure not on earth, but in heaven? In previous generations on this day, people would fast, hence the purple penitential color. They did so because they thought that God would bless them for this practice. While fasting has its own spiritual benefits, if we take on this practice because we think God will bless us (here or in heaven) we have it mixed up. Someone wiser than me (the Rev. Robert Wisnewski) told me this sort of spiritual growth—the building up of heavenly treasure—is like making coleslaw not taking something away.

Often we think that the way we grow closer to God is through getting rid of something we deem as bad. I don’t think it’s impossible to follow this path of finding balance, but the analogy of making coleslaw appears more tasty and fruitful. When we want to give more time to God, when we want to store up our wealth in heaven, we would do well to add more of certain ingredients—like when one creates the right balance with coleslaw.

Coleslaw requires chopped cabbage, maybe carrots, perhaps some onion, mayonnaise, a bit of vinegar, and a few spices. When one of those ingredients is out of whack one cannot remove it from the rest. Instead, one must add a little more of the others to create balance. So it is with our spiritual treasure. We may think, I really need to stop doing this thing—and that can definitely be the case. But, adding a much needed ingredient can have a transforming effect that allows us to focus on building up treasure in heaven not here on earth.

Another way of looking at this is how we spend our time, our energy, and our talent. Each month at St. John’s we celebrate a different stewardship focus. This month is the stewardship of time. How do we spend our time? In thinking of my own response I was reminded of two common ways we pray.

First, the liturgy. Liturgy means the work of the people. Our common work is to pray. If we spend our time together praying we quite often discover new ways to build up our treasure.

Second, the Daily Office. We call those prayer services in our Book of Common Prayer the Daily Office because that is where we are called individually and collectively to work. Again our work is prayer.

We may think we do not have time for these prayerful practices, but often when we add these ingredients other parts of life get balanced, like with coleslaw. Our work is of critical importance. But, if we are to take part in God’s economy we will focus on building up treasure not here, but in heaven. We start this by doing the work of prayer as we listen to God, ask God for our needs, and praise God for the response, which is our lives.

The Rhythm of Prayer

Like most people I have a problem with sitting in traffic. Perhaps this is one of the grandest understatements that has ever come forth from my mouth. I hate traffic. My sister told me yesterday she drove several hours out of the way to avoid some major wreaks on the way home from the beach. I told her I would have done the exact same thing. As I reflected on that I discovered something I did not know about myself. I do not like sitting in gridlock because in that time I feel unproductive.

Each and every one of us has a different obsession and mine very well may be productivity. While I noticed the quirk occasionally, it took a friend and fellow priest—during the sermon at Kim’s and my wedding no less—saying that I practice “the strange act of over-functioning” for me to realize that sometimes my deep desire to contribute may actually have a negative side to it. In this way all gifts stand out as double-edged swords. Being productive may be wonderful sometimes, but if it prevents one from ever resting or sitting in traffic without panic, then is it not also a curse? There is more to life than checking everything off our to-do lists or bucket lists or honey do lists.

The rhythms of our lives change constantly. One week may be filled with visitors coming into town, big projects at work, planning for a trip, and a million other things. The next week may show a calendar that has only a couple of events scarcely populating it. If we are not careful we will allow the rhythm of our lives dictate how we relate to one another, to our own souls, and to God. Strangely enough when we put our relationship with God first the other aspects of life fall into place more simply—not necessarily perfectly or without work, but more simply nonetheless. This is why you may often hear clergy people talking about a rule of life.

A rule of life is a set of guidelines that help one to order one’s life such that she or he can most fittingly experience the profound grace within relationships with self, others, and God. Today in the life of the Church we celebrate Saint Benedict of Nursia whose ministry as a monastic, abbot, and leader pointed to living out a rule of life that puts God first. Taking a look at his way of living provides a richer way of living not into worldly productivity, but into a spiritual fullness.

The order of Saint Benedict has a very particular way that they go about their communal life that still exists to this day. For a Benedictine monastic four hours of the day are spent in liturgical prayer (i.e. the Daily Office or Holy Communion) including the recitation of the entire Psalter every week; five hours of the day are spent in spiritual study and reading; six hours are spent doing labor of some kind; one hour is reserved for eating; and eight hours are spent sleeping.[1] This way of ordering one’s life gives a very particular rhythm that completely focuses upon God—no wonder the Benedictine Order has been so widely practiced since the 6^th Century! While this method works well for some what about those of us who cannot—at least not at the moment—dedicate 24 hours a day to a monastic lifestyle predicated on vows of “obedience, stability, and conversion of life”?[2]

Something our rector, Evan Garner, likes to say is that whether we know it or not we all have a rule of life—we just may not be aware of how we are ordering things. A very telling practice is keeping a journal of our activities. Where are we spending our time and energy? Another telling practice can be looking at a bank statement. Where am I putting my treasure? We may believe that our focus ought to be on cramming as much into every moment of the day as possible; however, often what I find so freeing about putting God and spiritual practices first is that everything else then falls into place.

We already have rules of life. Are we putting concepts like productivity over relationship with God? How will we take a hard look at our lives, so that we may ensure that God comes first?

---

x

[1] Kiefer, James. "Benedict." Mission of Saint Clare. July 11, 2017. http://www.missionstclare.com/english/July/morning/11m.html (accessed July 11, 2017).

[2] Ibid.

Learning to Pray

This weekend I had the pleasure of serving as one of the Spiritual Directors for Happening #70 right here at St. John’s. If you were here at all over the weekend, even on Sunday morning, it was hard to miss this spiritual retreat for high-school-aged adolescents. In many ways there are similarities between Happening and Cursillo: energy-filled songs of praise, inspired Faith talks, and lots of surprises along the way. Of course, at Happening there are a lot more pixie sticks consumed. In the midst of the weekend, one of the talks, which focused on Piety, stood out to me.

A high school student named Spencer gave this talk in which she broke down the Lord’s Prayer line-by-line. In this way, she breathed new life into something that we so often hear and say in church. Today, I think we would benefit from taking a step back to ponder anew the way in which Jesus teaches his disciples and us to pray in this lesson from Matthew.

Our teacher starts by saying, “Pray then in this way,” as in when we gather together or when you are praying alone this shall serve as the template for your prayer. You may know this already, but in every Episcopal service we say the Lord’s Prayer. Every service from Baptism to Eucharist, the Daily Office to Individual Devotions, every service all the way through Burial includes this prayer.

Jesus begins this supplication with “Our Father in heaven,” which has become so customary to us, but sounds pretty strange if we think about it further. Father is an intimate term, as in close in proximity and relationship; however, in heaven connotes one who exists in the beyond. Right from the start Jesus addresses God in a paradoxical way, God both immediate and transcendent at the same time!

The descriptor Jesus next uses for our Father in heaven is “hallowed be your name.” Hallowed means holy, set apart, or sacred. We are to set God’s name apart as one that we revere, take serious, and glorify. Often, though when we set something apart we create a perceived distance, but Jesus immediately guards against this speaking the next line.

“Your kingdom come, Your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.” God who we set apart as sacred, transcendent, and beyond us does not desire to live in holy isolation. In fact, that stands as antithetical to what Jesus says here. God’s kingdom is to come, God’s will is to be done, on earth, just like it is in heaven. God, then does not exist off as a watchmaker who wound creation long ago, but as an intimate parent whose presence, action, and will exist in this realm as they do in the one that we hope will come.

Prayer though does not only exist so that we might ponder high and lofty aspects of God’s existence, for Jesus’ next words stand out as so practical, “Give us this day our daily bread.” Here a connection exists between the Holy Father and our sustenance as human beings, not just in our bodies only, but in our minds, hearts, and souls too. Without God we do not survive. God creates everything, every second, throughout all time! From aspects of basic survival we move into the more relational parts of existence.

Jesus then prays, “And forgive us our debts,” which would be a powerful enough plea to ask of God; however, he follows it saying, “As we also have forgiven our debtors.” An association persists between our forgiven-ness and our forgiving of others. In Matthew’s version of this prayer Jesus hammers home this point at the end, “For if you forgive others their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you; but if you do not forgive others, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses.” The flow of forgiveness stops when we hold something against another. God will always forgive us; however, when we do not relinquish the debts we hold against others we miss the fullness of God’s grace, which amplifies as we share it with others!

Jesus’ prayer continues, “And do not bring us to the time of trial, but rescue us from the evil one.” For some time I struggled with this line, as I love to look for the good in the world; however, evil exists. Our lives are full of moments of trial in which we have many choices that range from the ultimate good to the totally evil. Jesus establishes for us the path to live into our created goodness by relying upon the Father, praying for his assistance always, but especially in those dire moments. Evil will not overcome the good, for Christ came, comes, and will continue to come to aid us in moments of need. This prayer ends by urging the person praying to lean on God when one is not strong.

We might pray this prayer a little differently in light of these observations. Perhaps it could sound like this:
Our transcendent, yet intimate Father (or Mother),
Your name is set apart as holy.
Let your kingdom be here now,
As it is in the eternal realm.
Feed us today: spiritually, emotionally, and mentally as well as physically.
Help us to forgive others, as we pray you forgive us
Through your loving grace.
Please do not allow us to fall into evil
In moments of trial and temptation,
Instead, help us to rely fully upon you and your way.
The control, all authority, and any honor are yours, not ours.*
Amen.

Let us continue to pray to Our Father throughout these forty days and beyond!

*The last line is sort of a summation that the Church added after Jesus died.

Graft in Our Hearts

One of my best childhood buddies at Camp Winnataska exhibited some odd behavior. Now, I’m not one to talk, as I once caused quite a fuss when I got splashed in a canoe because I was supposed to be in the dry boat (I know, I know I was am a dork!). My friend, Stephen, was odd in some other ways though. He moved from Tennessee to Arizona, but kept coming back to camp every summer, and so he had a different accent than everyone else. He was not used to the humidity, so he took way too many showers for camp. Plus, there was something else.

During a trip up to Gatlinburg, TN Stephen had gotten his ankle caught in one of the ski lift chairs. As a result of the emergency accident he had to have immediate surgery. The doctors had to take a section of his skin from his buttocks to cover his torn up ankle. Not only would my friend readily show the gruesome ankle injury, he was known to show from whence that flesh had initially come (at least in the boys’ cabin)! This was the first time I had ever heard of a skin graft and to this day this type of procedure fascinates me.

I am struck by the fact that doctors can take skin from one part of our body and use it to patch another part of us. I am amazed that surgeons acting quickly can harvest the organs from a deceased person to give life to another human. I am uplifted by the enormous number of people that show up to give blood to help others when disasters strike. While I do not understand all of the nuances of the science behind these life-giving events, I can (and we all can) marvel at the gift that comes from someone making a sacrificial gift and life-saving action for someone else. I wonder if this works on a spiritual level as well.

This coming Sunday’s Collect (opening prayer) has some real beauty within it:
Lord of all power and might, the author and giver of all good things: Graft in our hearts the love of your Name; increase in us true religion; nourish us with all goodness; and bring forth in us the fruit of good works; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God for ever and ever. Amen. (Book of Common Prayer, 233, Italics added for emphasis.)

In particular the italicized part halts me. The word graft calls to mind those life-giving efforts that require skill, speed, and care. When we pray that God graft in our hearts the love of God’s Name we are undergoing a spiritual procedure that may manifest itself in multitudinous ways! The love that God plants in our hearts will hopefully “increase in us true religion; nourish us with all goodness; and bring forth in us the fruit of good works.” However, what I take away from this is not these potentially fantastic results, but a realization about the One who places this love in the first place.

God loves us so much and so freely that God was willing not just to take our own flesh to graft in our hearts, but to place God’s own flesh within us! God came to dwell here among us to show us the way back to home to God, to make all things holy, and to show us the fullest extent of love. The procedure that all of Creation underwent when Jesus exhibited a love that was and is stronger than sin, separation, and even death was and is an eternal grafting of this type of love on our hearts and into the very fabric of the universe. May we all be so bold as to remember that our hearts, our souls, our bodies, and our entire selves are not merely our own, but are our God’s and possess within their being the imprint of God's love. Within us God grafted the love that exists eternally may we allow it to grow and transform us!