|
First
Reading
|
Psalm |
Epistle |
Gospel |
| Genesis 18:20–32 |
Psalm 138 |
Colossians
2:6–15,
|
Luke
11:1–13
|
In the first lesson, Abraham is openly arguing with God. Abraham is pleading for mercy and for the forgiveness of all the inhabitants of the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah and not just for the innocent. He actually has the gall to chide God, “shall not the judge of all the earth do what is right?” in his appeal for an extraordinary and comprehensive forgiveness. God does not condemn what would certainly be viewed in the ancient world as Abraham’s flagrant impertinence, but instead listens to Abraham’s petitions. God does not silence Abraham’s protests, but begins to negotiate. Very early on in the Biblical saga, people of faith learn that God expects people not only to acknowledge a sense of what is right and wrong and what is just and unjust, but also to be sensitive and to plead for forgiveness and be active advocates of mercy. Moreover, people of faith are usually called to protest the way things often are, even in the face of great power and overwhelming odds.
It is easy to be very pessimistic and disillusioned with humanity. Contrary to the assumptions in today’s Gospel, the world too often gives our children scorpions instead of fish and rocks instead of loaves of bread. A thoughtful examination of the news leaves no other conclusion. Economically, socially, and morally there is a definite crisis developing and I suspect the general tenor of many people in our land, while perhaps not able to openly articulate it, senses an uneasy foreboding, as in a change of wind and distant clouds before a terrible thunderstorm. Like Abraham and Sarah, people of faith live and pray in the face of widening incongruity between what they see and the world that they pray for. It almost seems as if we live in a different universe than Jesus. Jesus emphasizes how much more God desires mercy, reconciliation than we can imagine. Jesus stresses such a radical change of direction and change of heart in humanity than is possible to conceive.
Those at our youth choir camp two weeks ago were introduced to Elijah, a prophet and social critic who persisted against the prevailing political powers and culture milieu of his time. He fought a hard struggle and knew both failure and success. Yet nearly three thousand years afterward, Elijah is the one prophet remembered every Passover. The cup of wine that is poured and left for him symbolizes the hope, the persistence and the protest of the faithful against all odds. Elijah is the enduring and liberating symbol of how things are supposed to be in God’s creation.
The prayer that Jesus taught us is one of few things the overwhelming majority of Christians do together. When we take its words seriously, we are affirming the ancient lesson of the first Book of the Bible. Shall not the judge of all the earth do right? Of course! Are we not expected to forgive as we expect to be forgiven? Of course! Does not God wish us well and care about our welfare? Of course! Every time we say the Lord’s Prayer, we are choosing the side of life, like Abraham and Sarah. We are affirming an unwavering sense of justice and abiding hope, like the prophet Elijah. We are remembering that God’s supply of compassion is deeper and wider than we can ever imagine. When we pray the Lord’s Prayer we begin to subvert the strong forces of retribution and the hunger of aggrandizement. Jesus assures us that He has come to give us all an abundant life. God wishes us whole and well. That is the reality people of faith insist on keeping alive, rather than accepting the long brutish nightmare the world so often spawns.
And I offer this to you in the name of the Living God, Amen.
