22st Sunday after Pentecost, 10/20/2013

Sermon on Luke 18:1-8, by Samuel D. Zumwalt

18 And he told them a parable to the effect that they ought always to pray and not lose heart. ²He said, "In a certain city there was a judge who neither feared God nor respected man. ³And there was a widow in that city who kept coming to him and saying, ‘Give me justice against my adversary.' ⁴For a while he refused, but afterward he said to himself, ‘Though I neither fear God nor respect man, ⁵yet because this widow keeps bothering me, I will give her justice, so that she will not beat me down by her continual coming.'" ⁶And the Lord said, "Hear what the unrighteous judge says. ⁷And will not God give justice to his elect, who cry to him day and night? Will he delay long over them? ⁸I tell you, he will give justice to them speedily. Nevertheless, when the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on earth?"

REBUILDING THE NEST: PRAY WITHOUT CEASING

In the name of the Father, and of the +Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Dear God,

It's Felicity. That probably sounds silly to you, since you know everything already. But I need to say what you already know, because it's eating me alive. I have to get it out. I have to say it. I'm writing this down because the pastor suggested I start a prayer journal. He said that everytime I felt like talking to you I should put it into writing for a while. He said he thought it might help to put it down on paper where I could see it. So, OK, here goes.

I'm afraid. I'm angry. I'm frustrated. I'm lonely. I'm struggling. I'm filled with doubt. I'm hurt. I'm disapointed. I'm worn out. I'm alive, but I don't like where I am. It's not how I had it all planned. I don't understand. You've got to help me.

I've never been so alone before. Mom and Dad were always there until long after Martin and I married. Looking back, I was always so blessed. No, we weren't rich. We didn't drive what we wanted or go all the places we dreamed. But I never went without love or encouragement or food or a comfortable house or decent clothing or hope for the future. When I think about it, Mom and Dad were salt of the earth people...the kind you could count on when the chips were down...the Christian couple everyone in our neighborhood looked up to and said, "I want to be like them." They weren't perfect, but they were solid.

Martin and I met when we were little kids in the church kindergarten. Of course, you know that. Most of the time little girls and little boys aren't really friends. But we were from that first day when Martin told me his older sister had died, and I said that my older sister and brother had already left home. It's sweet and funny that two five-year-olds figured out that we needed each other. Our mothers knew each other from church choir. Dad was the Sunday school superintendent, and Martin's Dad was in charge of property. Our families became best friends. We had cookouts together and shared a lot of holiday meals. Martin and I were never bored together. We would dream up plays that our parents had to watch us perform. He helped me with reading, and I helped him with math. We were almost inseparable even as little kids.

I remember the first time I got really angry with Martin. He told me he liked Debbie, and I told him she ate Elmer's glue, and that was why she was so stuck up. My feelings were so hurt, that I didn't talk to Martin again until he stopped liking Debbie. I wouldn't sit next to him in church like we usually did, and I wouldn't even look at him. He was so clueless about why I was mad. I guess he just thought of me as his sister, and we could never fall in love. Well, too late!

Sometime around our junior year of high school we finally figured out...OK, Martin finally figured it out...that we were meant for each other. The person you fall in love with ought to be your best friend. You shouldn't be clones of one another, but you ought to have a lot in common. Well, Martin knew so much of my history, and I knew so much of his that we decided we didn't want to have to start over with anyone else. We already went to the same church, and our families liked each other. Our gifts and personalities were complementary. It was a God deal.

Martin cried as much as I did when each of my parents died, and it was the same with me when his parents went to heaven. I think it was then that we became aware that one of us would eventually go first. We held each other in the dark in front of some embers in the fireplace. I told him he was my home. He cried and said he couldn't live without me. Well, he never had to, did he? You could have waited a few more years. You could have let us both go together!

When we couldn't have children, it devastated us. Neither of us wanted to know why. I guess we were afraid that maybe we would end up blaming each other. Once we faced that this was our life, well, it made us closer than we already were. In time, we could finish each other's sentences. After a while, we would just look at each other and laugh. We knew what the other was thinking. No, we were not perfect. We aggravated each other. One time we went to see a pastoral counselor to get over a rough patch. He said we were like sandpaper rubbing each other's rough edges away. I thought that was ridiculous then. Not anymore. It was true.

Would it have hurt to have left him with me a few more years, God? Did he have to go the way that he did...slowly and painfully? That's what you ought to do with drug dealers and wife beaters and terrorists and conmen that cheat the vulnerable. Martin used to come home from the hospital angry that the sweet people died and the bottom feeders lived to cause more pain. I'm angry with you, God. You've taken Martin and left me here to deal with everything!

What am I supposed to do now? Martin took care of air filters and got the oil changed and the tires rotated. He always knew when it was time to change cars or who to call whenever something went wrong. He kept track of things I know nothing about. And whenever I just needed to be held, Martin didn't have to be asked. He could just tell. He was my best friend.

I go to the doctor now and hear that I'm in good health. Great. I get to live a long time alone. Is that the plan, God? What could you possibly want from me now? Is it all just some big cosmic joke? You give me Martin when I'm five and then take him from me and leave me alone!

I'm struggling here, God. Are you paying attention? Your Son said in Matthew 6 that you know our needs before we ask. Well? What do you have to say now? I need Martin. Did you think of that at any time when you let that terrible disease steal his health? We were always there for each other...almost as far back as my memories go. Kindergarten kids taking a nap side by side. Two little kids without sisters or brothers in the house becoming inseparable over the years. But now what you joined together, God, you separated. Man didn't separate us. You did!

You know my neighbor, Betty Sue. She always says, "God has a plan for your life, Felicity." Of course, that's easy for her to say. Betty Sue isn't all alone. She has two kids and a husband. Sometimes I just want to tell her to shut up until she's been left all alone, and then I'll check back with her about God's plan for her life. My Mom would just tell me to bite my tongue. That's what I do. I thank her for sharing, and then I go home and cry and feel even more alone.

Betty Sue reminds me of Job's so-called friends. Why are so many Christians so quick to try to say something when they haven't got a damned clue in the world what to say?

I want to thank you for my Stephen Minister, God. I don't know if it was the pastor's idea or the Stephen Leader's idea or your idea to match me up with another widow, but she is the only person who seems to know how to be with me. She is such a good listener. Sometimes when I'm crying, I look over at her and she has tears running down her face. And I know she knows. She never says something stupid like, "It's all God's plan, Felicity." Sometimes she reads a psalm. Sometimes she just sits there listening without saying anything. And she always says a prayer before she leaves. And somehow she says just the right words for that moment. So, yes, God, you did something right, after all. And, as my Dad always said, we should thank you at all times. So that's my thank you. But don't think I'm letting you off easy. I'm still angry with you!

Pastor always says that we practice the faith so it will be there when we need it. Now, for the first time, I know what he means although I don't like that I know it. I can't stay home even when I want to out of spite because that would only make things worse. And so I sit down while the organist plays, and I stare at the cross and think about how you know what it feels like to suffer and die. And then I don't think of you as heartless or an ogre. I guess for the first time I understand why a suffering God in human flesh is worth following and listening to. I pay attention to the words "Thy will be done" and think of Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane, and Jesus on the cross saying, "Into Thy hands I command my spirit." And when I hear the words "given and shed for you," I don't feel quite so alone. And I guess this will forever change how I keep Holy Week and why on Easter I will need to shout "He is risen indeed! Alleluia!"

I really think you should have done it differently, God. No, I wouldn't have made Martin stay behind even though I would gladly have taken away his pain and suffering. But couldn't we have gone together? What possible reason could you have for me to be left behind like this?

Love,
Felicity

In the name of the Father, and of the +Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

The Rev. Dr. Samuel D. Zumwalt
Wilmington, North Carolina, USA
E-Mail: szumwalt@bellsouth.net

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