Divine Persistence
I want to begin with a story about our daughter. It’s also a confession of sorts by me. When Madeline was a toddler, each night I’d return home from work and hastily greet her and my husband. Then, I’d rush off to find my computer and immediately start working again. Because we kept the laptop on the kitchen counter, I’d tell myself this was alright, because: a) I would only be online for a few minutes, and b) being physically near my family would mean I was also emotionally present with them, too. Neither of those were true, of course. You’d think I’d have figured on my own. Instead, it would require the persistent efforts and wisdom of my two year old to make that clear.
When Madeline grew tired of this evening routine and yes, my inattention, she would do three things. First, she would insert her body in between me and the kitchen counter. Then, with all of her tiny might, she would try to push me away from the computer. When that didn’t work, with some force, she’d say: “Mama! No. More. Computer!” I’m sorry to say that often, it was this plea that would finally get my attention.
That kind of holy persistence like my daughter’s is a common theme in this morning’s readings. Jacob spends a restless night wrestling with a stranger. Rather than being exhausted by it, Jacob is so exhilarated that he refuses to quit until he receives a blessing. The psalm offers words of assurance about the steadfast, and yes, persistent love of God. Paul reminds Timothy (and us) about the need never to give up. Then, there is this parable about a widow and a judge and how to carry on in the face of indifference and injustice.
At one level, this parable is meant to encourage us in our prayer life. After all, that is how Jesus sets up the story. Prayer is the most basic building block of our relationship with God. It’s why St. Paul encourages us to pray without ceasing. I’m sure it’s why he says that when we run out of things to say, the Holy Spirit always takes over, filling those gaps with sighs too deep for words.
Focusing on prayer is important, for sure. But there’s more to this parable that needs unpacking. Just like Jacob wrestling with that stranger, Jesus needs us to wrestle with this story. Like prayer, wrestling is also a basic building block of our faith in God. It’s how we develop a fuller understanding of faith and a more robust relationship with God.
With parables, it’s natural to try to find God in the story. There’s also a hope, I suppose, that we can find ourselves somewhere in there, too. After all, Jesus uses these stories to explore what’s involved in a life of faith. Like God, you and I have important roles to fill when it comes to spiritual life. Identifying God and finding ourselves in the narrative makes these parables a more effective teaching tool.
So it’s reasonable to associate certain characters with certain roles. That’s also where caution, and yes creativity, are crucial. Often, people want to assign God to the person with the most power. Theologian Mary Matthews goes on to say that we also have a tendency to associate God with male characters in the parables. However, making those connections requires us to practice lots of spiritual gymnastics so that we can reconcile powerful and often misguided male figures with a good and loving God. Those common associations also continue to feed generations of stereotypes that are outdated and often harmful.
Amy Jill Levine comes at this from a different angle, specifically from the perspective of the widow. In the biblical narratives, widows were some of the most vulnerable people in society. Their very lives were dependent on the goodness and mercy of other people. Think of the widow of Zarephath who saves her last cup of flour and jug of oil only to have Elijah show up and demand that she use them to feed him rather than her famished family. Spoiler alert: she does, and miraculously from that time on, her pantry and her family’s bellies are never empty again.
Levine goes on to point out that vulnerability does not imply weakness. Think of Ruth who eventually becomes the great grandmother of David or the prophet Anna. Decades after being widowed, Anna is the one who blesses Jesus when his parents offer him to God after his birth. If you still need convincing, consider the incarnation or better yet, the crucifixion. God may willingly embrace vulnerability. There’s nothing weak about God’s choice to take on human flesh or to surrender to death.
Which makes me wonder: what if the widow is really a metaphor for God? After all, don’t you hope that God will be persistently present with you, despite your own flaws or our collective apathy? Don’t you long for a God who will always claim you regardless of what you have done or left undone? That when you feel a nudge that won’t go away or a nagging sense that something might be off, maybe, just maybe, it is God continuing to wrestle with you until you make a change? That’s the kind of God I want to follow: one who, like the widow in the parable, tenaciously seeks us out and is never exhausted by our disillusionment or disinterest. For me, there is hope knowing that like that same widow, this God of ours will nudge, or yes, even nag us when something new is called for.
At St. Hilda-St. Patrick, you have been engaged in that same holy wrestling. For the last several months, you have been intentionally, and yes, intensely, discerning the future of St. Hilda-St. Patrick. At the August meeting of the Diocesan Board of Directors, your senior leadership reported the congregation’s choice to grow. They shared some of the steps you have already taken and other goals you hope to accomplish if that approach is to result in long term viability. I want to commend you for engaging in this holy and difficult work. I also want to encourage you to remain open to the nudges of that wild and persistent God of ours.
Dozens of books and programs have been written about congregational development and growth. Search committees pepper candidates with questions about how they will deliver on the desire to grow. Ministry teams and finance committees wonder about growth, too, especially when they are confronted with dwindling pools of people and dollars. And no, this was not my plug for you to make a financial commitment, especially if it is just to balance the budget. Instead, I hope you will do that because this is a community where God is at work in and among you offering healing and hope.
As Bishop LaBelle said in last year’s Convention address, it is the church of Empire, not the church of God, that insists we connect the values of our world with success in congregations. Within that worldly framework, congregational development … congregational growth … is simply a way to get more young families in the door so they can pledge. Vitality is then measured by the size of a budget and Sunday attendance, not by faithful discipleship. It turns out that God really does want us to realign our lives with the gospel, rather than having us perpetuate the status quo, one meant to pull us away from the people and ministries that really matter.3
As you move forward in the coming weeks, unpack with each other what you mean by growth. As I would remind my congregation on San Juan Island, don’t chase after people. Instead, chase the Holy Spirit. The Holy Spirit has already given you the wisdom you need. Celebrate who is already here, and learn to listen to their wisdom. And remember, if something isn’t working or doesn’t feel right, ask yourselves if maybe, just maybe, it is that God of ours nudging, or nagging you to do something different. Like the widow in today’s parable, God knows how to be persistent. Like my daughter, that same God longs for attention. May you be blessed with courage and wisdom to guide you in the work that awaits.
Amen.