Sunday, October 19, 2025
First Congregational Church of Cheshire
© the Rev. Dr. James Campbell
Luke 18:1-8
Then Jesus told them a parable about their need to pray always and not to lose heart. He said, “In a certain city there was a judge who neither feared God nor had respect for people. In that city there was a widow who kept coming to him and saying, ‘Grant me justice against my accuser.’ For a while he refused, but later he said to himself, ‘Though I have no fear of God and no respect for anyone, yet because this widow keeps bothering me, I will grant her justice, so that she may not wear me out by continually coming.’ ” And the Lord said, “Listen to what the unjust judge says. And will not God grant justice to his chosen ones who cry to him day and night? Will he delay long in helping them? I tell you, he will quickly grant justice to them. And yet, when the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on earth?”
Back in the 1970s, there was a very popular bumper sticker that read: “God said it. I believe it. That settles it!” And yes, my grandmother did have one of those proudly emblazoned on her convertible Cadillac Eldorado.
That bumper sticker, like all bumper stickers, was meant to imply a great deal more than what it actually said. That bumper sticker was a declaration of a rather conservative expression of Christian faith. It was about so-called biblical literalism, that idea that that every word of this book means what it says, without any real need for nuance.
But that’s a hard case to make for many of us. Because while this book is filled with some easy to understand and wonderful words of life, this book is also filled with some terrible words of judgment and violence that need the context of history and culture and language. In addition, this is not one book with a singular coherent narrative. This is 66 different books, bound in one volume, and composed over the course of about 1500 years. And these 66 books are made up of all kinds of literature: history and law, poetry and narrative, apocalypse and the often-misunderstood parable.
Now, at first glance, the parable seems to be one of the easiest parts of the Bible to understand. Jesus told simple stories based in the agrarian culture of his time. And these stories are meant to reveal glimpses of the Kingdom of God. But the problem with parables is that they are not just straight forward narratives. They do not have just one conclusion. Parables defy simple explanations and convenient character assignments. And they invite us into a conversation that helps us to find their truth for ourselves. In that way, a parable has the potential to reveal many different angles on the truth.
The poet Emily Dickenson didn’t mean to describe a parable, but she once did. She wrote: “Tell all the truth but tell it slant, success in circuit lies. Too bright for our infirm delight, the truth’s suburb surprise. As lightning to the children eased with explanation kind, the truth must dazzle gradually, or every man be blind.”
And that is exactly what parables do. They reveal the dazzling truth of the Kingdom of God, but gradually, and over time, and from a variety of slants or angles.
Once upon a time, there was an awful judge who should have never received a life-time appointment. This judge had no fear of God, and therefore, had no respect for anyone made in God’s image.
In his jurisdiction, there was a widow, who kept coming to ask for justice. And this, in and of itself, was remarkable. Because in Hebrew, the word for widow actually means “silent one” or “one unable to speak.” Males alone had a public voice. And once her husband was dead, unless another male relative chose to speak for her, a widow was, literally, voiceless.
But not this widow. Somehow, this widow found her voice. She had a strong sense that what she had to say ought to be heard. And so, against convention she went to the judge to ask for justice against her accuser. It took him a long time to even let her in the room, but once he did, he rebutted her. And so, she went back the next day. And the day after that, and the day after that, and the day after that.
She went so often, that it really started to bug the judge. In fact, she was a real pain. A literally reading of the Greek has the judge saying: “Because this widow keeps giving me a black eye, I will give her justice.” And so, eventually, that’s what he did. But it wasn’t out of the goodness of his heart, but out of expediency that he finally did the right thing. And so, Jesus said, we should persist in prayer and not lose heart.
Now, the most obvious slant on this parable is to say that God is the judge and that we are the widow and that, like her, we should persist in prayer until we get an answer. But that interpretation, while perhaps the most obvious, is not without its problems. First of all, it leaves us with a troubling image of God; a God who rebuffs us; a God who has no respect for us; who actually enjoys making us grovel. This God finally relents to our endless begging, not out of love or generosity, but because we’re a pain in the behind.
Other folks put this slant on the story. They suggest that the judge is meant to be a negative comparison to God. Meaning, that if this wicked judge grants justice only after being badgered, how much more will a good God give us justice and give it quickly. But that slant is troubling too, because it has been my experience that justice rarely comes quickly. It has been my experience that prayer can seem to be unanswered or, at the very least, severely delayed.
But there’s another slant on this parable, and one that I had never considered before this week. What if we flipped the character assignments? What if the unjust judge is actually us and God is the widow who keeps coming to ask us to finally do the right thing?
Now maybe that sounds far-fetched to you. But remember that once the disciples asked Jesus: ‘Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison and did not take care of you?’ And Jesus answered them: ‘Truly I tell you, just as you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to me.’
So then, the story might go like this: Once upon a time, there was a judge who lived as if God did not exist. Oh sure, he went to church, but he was unconverted. This judge was hard-edged and cold and had absolutely no respect for anyone not in his tribe.
But here’s the thing: like every other cold hearted so-in-so, he hadn’t always been that way. As a child, he was a soft-hearted little boy. But over the years, the relentless climb of the ladder of success had eventually hardened his heart. He trusted in his power and money far more than he trusted in the Lord. And he took bribes. And he made rulings that protected his powerful friends. And the result of all of this was that most people hated him.
But God, being God, loved him anyway. And God, being God, remembered how soft his heart used to be. And God, being God, knew that somewhere underneath that crusty exterior, there was still something worth saving. And so, God, appeared in the form of a widow. Oh, it was a brilliant disguise. And God was relentless, going back day after day after day looking for any sign of his humanity, any crack in his rough exterior.
Until one day, there was a crack. It was tiny at first. It started out as an annoyance. But eventually, the judge had to look this woman in the eye. Eventually, he had to listen to her story. Eventually, he had to see her worth and dignity. And eventually, his heart warmed. And he remembered who he used to be. And he wept for that soft-hearted boy he once was. He repented of his sins and changed his ways and granted the widow justice.
Jesus ends this parable by asking if there will be any faith left on the earth when he comes. Maybe he was talking about the faith of persistent prayer. Maybe he was talking about the faith of not losing heart. Or maybe he was talking about the kind of faith that is brave enough to remember who we used to be when love and mercy and justice were the most important things to us.
And that makes me wonder what kind of disguise God is wearing today, as he seeks to save us. God once came to us as a dusty rabbi from Nazareth. But I suspect that God is also a mother in Gaza holding her starving child. God is a Ukrainian orphan languishing alone. God is homeless. God is addicted. God is hungry. God is imprisoned. And this God will not leave us in peace until we finally get it right.
Sunday, October 19, 2025
First Congregational Church of Cheshire
© the Rev. Dr. James Campbell
Luke 18:1-8
Then Jesus told them a parable about their need to pray always and not to lose heart. He said, “In a certain city there was a judge who neither feared God nor had respect for people. In that city there was a widow who kept coming to him and saying, ‘Grant me justice against my accuser.’ For a while he refused, but later he said to himself, ‘Though I have no fear of God and no respect for anyone, yet because this widow keeps bothering me, I will grant her justice, so that she may not wear me out by continually coming.’ ” And the Lord said, “Listen to what the unjust judge says. And will not God grant justice to his chosen ones who cry to him day and night? Will he delay long in helping them? I tell you, he will quickly grant justice to them. And yet, when the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on earth?”
Back in the 1970s, there was a very popular bumper sticker that read: “God said it. I believe it. That settles it!” And yes, my grandmother did have one of those proudly emblazoned on her convertible Cadillac Eldorado.
That bumper sticker, like all bumper stickers, was meant to imply a great deal more than what it actually said. That bumper sticker was a declaration of a rather conservative expression of Christian faith. It was about so-called biblical literalism, that idea that that every word of this book means what it says, without any real need for nuance.
But that’s a hard case to make for many of us. Because while this book is filled with some easy to understand and wonderful words of life, this book is also filled with some terrible words of judgment and violence that need the context of history and culture and language. In addition, this is not one book with a singular coherent narrative. This is 66 different books, bound in one volume, and composed over the course of about 1500 years. And these 66 books are made up of all kinds of literature: history and law, poetry and narrative, apocalypse and the often-misunderstood parable.
Now, at first glance, the parable seems to be one of the easiest parts of the Bible to understand. Jesus told simple stories based in the agrarian culture of his time. And these stories are meant to reveal glimpses of the Kingdom of God. But the problem with parables is that they are not just straight forward narratives. They do not have just one conclusion. Parables defy simple explanations and convenient character assignments. And they invite us into a conversation that helps us to find their truth for ourselves. In that way, a parable has the potential to reveal many different angles on the truth.
The poet Emily Dickenson didn’t mean to describe a parable, but she once did. She wrote: “Tell all the truth but tell it slant, success in circuit lies. Too bright for our infirm delight, the truth’s suburb surprise. As lightning to the children eased with explanation kind, the truth must dazzle gradually, or every man be blind.”
And that is exactly what parables do. They reveal the dazzling truth of the Kingdom of God, but gradually, and over time, and from a variety of slants or angles.
Once upon a time, there was an awful judge who should have never received a life-time appointment. This judge had no fear of God, and therefore, had no respect for anyone made in God’s image.
In his jurisdiction, there was a widow, who kept coming to ask for justice. And this, in and of itself, was remarkable. Because in Hebrew, the word for widow actually means “silent one” or “one unable to speak.” Males alone had a public voice. And once her husband was dead, unless another male relative chose to speak for her, a widow was, literally, voiceless.
But not this widow. Somehow, this widow found her voice. She had a strong sense that what she had to say ought to be heard. And so, against convention she went to the judge to ask for justice against her accuser. It took him a long time to even let her in the room, but once he did, he rebutted her. And so, she went back the next day. And the day after that, and the day after that, and the day after that.
She went so often, that it really started to bug the judge. In fact, she was a real pain. A literally reading of the Greek has the judge saying: “Because this widow keeps giving me a black eye, I will give her justice.” And so, eventually, that’s what he did. But it wasn’t out of the goodness of his heart, but out of expediency that he finally did the right thing. And so, Jesus said, we should persist in prayer and not lose heart.
Now, the most obvious slant on this parable is to say that God is the judge and that we are the widow and that, like her, we should persist in prayer until we get an answer. But that interpretation, while perhaps the most obvious, is not without its problems. First of all, it leaves us with a troubling image of God; a God who rebuffs us; a God who has no respect for us; who actually enjoys making us grovel. This God finally relents to our endless begging, not out of love or generosity, but because we’re a pain in the behind.
Other folks put this slant on the story. They suggest that the judge is meant to be a negative comparison to God. Meaning, that if this wicked judge grants justice only after being badgered, how much more will a good God give us justice and give it quickly. But that slant is troubling too, because it has been my experience that justice rarely comes quickly. It has been my experience that prayer can seem to be unanswered or, at the very least, severely delayed.
But there’s another slant on this parable, and one that I had never considered before this week. What if we flipped the character assignments? What if the unjust judge is actually us and God is the widow who keeps coming to ask us to finally do the right thing?
Now maybe that sounds far-fetched to you. But remember that once the disciples asked Jesus: ‘Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison and did not take care of you?’ And Jesus answered them: ‘Truly I tell you, just as you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to me.’
So then, the story might go like this: Once upon a time, there was a judge who lived as if God did not exist. Oh sure, he went to church, but he was unconverted. This judge was hard-edged and cold and had absolutely no respect for anyone not in his tribe.
But here’s the thing: like every other cold hearted so-in-so, he hadn’t always been that way. As a child, he was a soft-hearted little boy. But over the years, the relentless climb of the ladder of success had eventually hardened his heart. He trusted in his power and money far more than he trusted in the Lord. And he took bribes. And he made rulings that protected his powerful friends. And the result of all of this was that most people hated him.
But God, being God, loved him anyway. And God, being God, remembered how soft his heart used to be. And God, being God, knew that somewhere underneath that crusty exterior, there was still something worth saving. And so, God, appeared in the form of a widow. Oh, it was a brilliant disguise. And God was relentless, going back day after day after day looking for any sign of his humanity, any crack in his rough exterior.
Until one day, there was a crack. It was tiny at first. It started out as an annoyance. But eventually, the judge had to look this woman in the eye. Eventually, he had to listen to her story. Eventually, he had to see her worth and dignity. And eventually, his heart warmed. And he remembered who he used to be. And he wept for that soft-hearted boy he once was. He repented of his sins and changed his ways and granted the widow justice.
Jesus ends this parable by asking if there will be any faith left on the earth when he comes. Maybe he was talking about the faith of persistent prayer. Maybe he was talking about the faith of not losing heart. Or maybe he was talking about the kind of faith that is brave enough to remember who we used to be when love and mercy and justice were the most important things to us.
And that makes me wonder what kind of disguise God is wearing today, as he seeks to save us. God once came to us as a dusty rabbi from Nazareth. But I suspect that God is also a mother in Gaza holding her starving child. God is a Ukrainian orphan languishing alone. God is homeless. God is addicted. God is hungry. God is imprisoned. And this God will not leave us in peace until we finally get it right.
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