The Persistent Widow (The Rev. Dr. Richard Smith; Proper 24, Year C; October 20, 2013)

When I was a kid, this parable seemed to confirm my worst suspicions about God: that he was like a stingy judge who is both unjust and cranky. If I asked him for what I legitimately needed, he was not disposed to grant it. So I had to storm heaven with my prayers, keep praying until finally I managed to manipulate him and wear him down.

This is not what Jesus is getting at. Rather, this is a story about the connection between prayer and justice.

It is about a widow seeking justice from a judge. The judge is both unjust and intractable. As a widow in her day she is by definition without a voice. Without a husband, she lacks the resources to attain justice. The deck is stacked against her. She is at the mercy of this unjust judge.

But she doesn't give up until, finally, the judge relents

How does this happen? What keeps her going?

Since she has no resources of her own in this seemingly unwinnable battle, the implication is she has help. Her persistence and energy come from a source outside her, they are grounded in something deeper.

Jesus suggests she is a woman of continuous prayer. Her prayer connects her with the source of boundless energy that wears down injustice. This prayer is what sustains her in this fight despite the odds against her. Persisting in prayer and persisting in the work for justice are two sides of the same coin.

If I were writing this parable today, I would tell the story of Marisol, a woman I know who is working hard for immigration reform. She is an undocumented immigrant from Mexico, a mother of three daughters. Several years ago, she and her husband started a small business together, and over the years they have worked very hard to support their family.

One day, Marisol was slated for deportation--a deportation that was both unjust and illegal.

Marisol is a woman who prays. Constantly.

From her prayer and that of her family and fellow parishioners and friends, she found a boundless passion for justice--justice not only for herself, but for the millions of other immigrants like her.

Out of that passion for justice, Marisol, like the widow, kept crying out to the unjust immigration officials "Grant us justice".  And  she did so without losing heart, even though the forces she was up against were as intractable as the unjust judge in today's gospel.

Praying persistently and working for justice persistently are two sides of the same coin.

This is what happens when you pray--you get flooded with an outrage at the pain and injustice in the world around you, and even though the odds are against you, you--like Marisol, and like the widow in today’s gospel--become determined to make things different; you don’t give up even when the deck is stacked against you.

You may recall the story Martin Luther King used to tell at the height of the civil rights movement. They were picketing a business that refused to serve blacks. The day wore on, with no sign of a breakthrough, and it was very hot.

Toward the end of the day Martin noticed an old woman shuffling along holding her sign, chanting and singing with the rest of them.  She had been one of the first to arrive and had been picketing all day. He said to her, “Mama, aren’t you tired? Aren’t you just tired?” She replied, “My feets is tired, but my soul is rested.”

She was obviously a woman who prayed, and because of her constant prayer, despite all the odds against her, despite the hot sun and her own tired feet, her soul was rested. She did not lose hope. She had the energy to keep walking.

This is what we do when we pray: We tap into that deep down well of faith and hope that sustains life. It gives us the passion and purpose to keep walking.

The best image I know of for prayer involves our patron saint, John the Evangelist. Many scripture scholars say that he is the one referred to in John's gospel as the beloved disciple. In Jesus darkest moment as he hangs from the cross, and after all the other apostles have fled, John is the only man who stands firm, stands bravely with the women at the foot of the cross.

He is the one who, at the last supper, lays his head on Jesus' chest, next to his heart, and from there he looks out at the world. Such a powerful image!

This is what prayer is, whether we do it with rosary beads or scriptures or the Book of Common Prayer, in a quiet corner of your apartment or on the way to catch the bus. Prayer is that moment when we, like John, rest next to the heart of Jesus, bringing our hearts into rhythm with his, feeling what he feels--what makes him happy, what makes him sad, what makes him angry, what makes him laugh. Becoming in tune with the heart of Jesus.

And from that moment and that place, we look out at the world, seeing it all as Jesus does, noticing what he notices, understanding the things and people and events around us in the way that he does, with the same compassion, the same delight, the same anger, the same hope, the same passion for justice.

That's what it means to pray--it means being like our patron, St. John, in that moment at the last supper resting on the heart of Jesus, praying persistently until our hearts are in tune with his, and then stepping out into the world to be his hands and his feet and his heart in the world around us.