Proper 24 C October 20, 2013 Luke 18: 1-8 I love the musical Fiddler on the Roof. I especially enjoyed Tevye, the Russian-Jewish father of a family of girls. What really tickled me were his conversations with God. Like the Friday evening when he was pulling his own milk wagon, and complaining to the Lord: “Today I am a horse. Dear God, did you have to make my poor old horse lose a shoe just before the Sabbath? That wasn’t nice. It’s enough you pick on me, Tevye, bless me with five daughters, a life of poverty. What have you got against my horse? Sometimes I think when things are too quiet up there, You say to Yourself, ‘Let’s see, what kind of mischief can I play on my friend Tevye?’” He continues talking to God: “I’m not really complaining – after all, with your help, I’m starving to death. You made many, many poor people. I realize, of course, that it’s no shame to be poor, but it’s no great honor either. So what would have been so terrible if I had a small fortune? You and I would probably shrink from such familiarity with the Almighty. Our sense of propriety would inhibit us from being quite that informal. And maybe that’s a problem. But – more on that later. I don’t generally watch pro wrestling, but when the World Wrestling Federation suddenly came into fashion among pre-teens back in the 70’s, I found it hard to avoid in my house as our boys were growing up. We had Hulk Hogan action figures, a WWF toy wrestling ring, all the WWF magazines and, of course, the WWF was on the TV every day after school. One thing I noticed, whenever Hulk Hogan got into the ring with Mr. Wonderful, or Jesse “the Body” Ventura, was that those matches didn’t last very long at all. It’s not hard to see why. Even with all the fakery and show-bizz, those men are superb athletes, and can do some incredible things. But they couldn’t possibly keep it up for very long. But I noticed the same thing during the Olympics, in the Greco-Roman wrestling events. That was more to my liking. At least there were discernable rules; and those wrestlers were young, at the peak of their physical power. But even there, the matches were quite short. The wrestlers put forth all the strength they had, in a very short time. Contrast that with the wrestling match you heard about in the First Reading today, where Jacob wrestled with a man all night! At the end of that match he received a new name, “Israel,” “because you have striven with God and with humans, and have prevailed.” The name, “Ysra-el,” means, “He struggles with God.” Just before the dawn Jacob’s opponent says, “Let me go, for it is daybreak.” But Jacob, realizing who he has been wrestling, says, “I will not let you go, unless you bless me.” So, Jacob emerges from his all-night wrestling match with a sore hip and a new name. As we read the story today, we’re apt to wonder at it. It doesn’t sound like the polite and formal way we generally try to deal with God. It might even strike us as disrespectful, maybe even bordering on blasphemous. The nerve of that Jake! Who did he think he was, saying something like, “I will not let you go unless you bless me”? Today we have a much more highly developed sense of etiquette with respect to God, a more highly developed sense of what is proper and fitting when addressing the Almighty. And we have also developed a prayer style that probably bears little resemblance to Jacob’s all-night wrestling match. Maybe part of our problem is that we tend to pattern our own devotions after what we hear in church. The problem with liturgical prayer is that it is designed partly for God’s ears and partly for ours. Since it is the prayer of the whole assembly, it is of necessity going to be somewhat formal and rather structured. And, if it comes out of the western catholic tradition, as our ancient Collects do, it is also going to be marvelously short! None of this all-night-wrestling stuff for us! Especially not when it might make us run over into the coffee hour! No indeed! In public prayer we come quickly to the point and say, “P Lord, in your mercy, C hear our prayer,” and stop! Well, that’s how it should be in the liturgical assembly. But if we get into the habit of talking to God that way in private, we’re probably missing out on what a joy a close relationship with him can be. I remember back when our public worship was all in Elizabethan English, with its “thees” and “thous.” People were terrified to pray out loud for fear they might make a mistake. But God isn’t an English teacher with a red pen for catching our errors. He’s a loving Father, longing for closeness with his children. Maybe that’s why I love the Old Testament! There is something refreshingly real and honest about the way those people dealt with God. Abraham, trying to bargain and haggle for the fate of Sodom and presuming to fuss at the Holy One: “Far be it from thee to destroy the righteous with the wicked! Shall not the Judge of all the earth do right?” Jacob, wrestling all night with the Lord and saying, “I won’t let you go, unless you bless me.” David crying, “Wake up! Why are you sleeping, Lord?” Job saying, “I have a bone to pick with the Lord. Let him show up and defend himself against my complaint!” Maybe those OT heroes of faith don’t win any points for tact or politeness or liturgical finesse. But they’re real! They don’t hide their true feelings behind a veneer of reverence. Maybe we can learn something from them about what sort of God we are dealing with, and what sort of people he is looking for. And, lest we somehow get the notion that those are Old Testament ways of talking to God, we hear our Lord in today’s Gospel, urging us to keep banging God’s door down, just like the widow who kept pestering the unjust judge until he finally gave her justice, just to get her out of his hair! If there is a point to these ramblings, it is this: Public prayer is different from personal and private prayer. It’s different because it has to fit all kinds of different people. It’s different because it is highly structured, so that everyone can follow it and so that it doesn’t take forever. (Of course, even public prayer can sometimes be too long. I remember back in the Dark Ages, when I was an acolyte, standing before the altar while the pastor read the General Prayer from the old Lutheran Hymnal. He seemed to drone on and on, and I went to sleep on my feet and was lucky not to topple over and disgrace myself in front of the whole church.) Today, liturgical prayer is mercifully briefer. But what we do in church shouldn’t necessarily dictate what we do in private. That doesn’t mean you can’t use a prayer book or devotional guide. They’re good. But at some point we all need to close the book, lay aside the stained-glass English, and lay bare our hearts to our Father in heaven. The Bible tells us the Holy Spirit himself prays for us in groanings that cannot be uttered. Why should we need to be more elegant than the Holy Spirit? Sometimes our wordless groans need to be voiced too. We have Christ’s own promise that our groans and cries are heard: “Will not God grant justice to his chosen ones who cry to him day and night?” Part of the marvelous grace of God is that we don’t have to wrap ourselves in a veneer of piety. As the Psalm reminds us, “He knows our frame; he remembers that we are dust.” He knows what we’re made of. He ought to! He made us! And he took our human weaknesses into himself in the incarnation of our Lord. He knows our pain, our weakness, our longings. He has longings too. He longs for children who will pour out their hearts to him, fuss at him, and even insist, “I will not let you go, unless you bless me.” + Arthur D. Yunker, pastor
Posted on: Mon, 21 Oct 2013 00:28:53 +0000
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