Ask, Search, Knock

Luke 11:1-13

Jesus was in a certain place praying and when he was finished, one of his disciples came to him and said to him, “Lord, teach us to pray as John taught his disciples.” Jesus said to him, “When you pray, say, ‘Father, hallowed be your name. Your kingdom come. Give us each day our daily bread. Forgive us our sins as we, ourselves, forgive everyone indebted to us. And do not bring us to the time of trial.”

And he said to them, “Suppose one of you has a friend and you came to him at midnight saying, ‘Friend, lend me three loaves of bread, for a friend of mine has arrived and I have nothing to set before him.’ And the reply comes, ‘Do not bother me, for the doors are already locked and my children are in bed with me, I cannot get up and give you anything.’ I tell you, even if he will not give him anything because he is his friend, at least because of his persistence will he get up and give him whatever he needs”

Therefore, ask and you will receive. Search and you will find. Knock and the door will be opened for you. For everyone who asks receives and everyone who searches finds and for whoever knocks the door will be opened. For who among you, if your child asked for a fish would give a snake? Or if he asked for an egg would give a stone? If you, then, who are evil, know how to give good things to your children when they ask, how much more will your heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him?”

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I always wonder all the same things about this passage whenever I read it – the same things wondered over and over again by faithful people for generations. Like about how certain Jesus seems to be about God’s willingness and ability to answer prayers. Like, about how everyone who asks receives, and everyone who searches finds, and how for everyone who knocks the door will be opened. And I wondered, again, about how I don’t really buy that, if I’m honest.

Not everyone receives what they want. Everyone doesn’t find what they’re looking for. The doors don’t always open for everyone all of the time.

But I wondered this time around, too, about what those disciples were after in the first place, in that moment when they ask Jesus to teach them to pray.

And if you were here last week, you know that just before today’s conversation, Jesus was at his friend Martha’s house. And, while Martha was busy running around with all sorts of things to do, Mary sat still, and quiet, and listening at the feet of Jesus. And, when Martha – the busy-body – asked Jesus to make Mary – the slacker – give her a hand, Jesus surprises them all by praising Mary for getting it right, suggesting there was something to this whole still, silent, humble, listening “thing” she was up to.

And then, today, we hear Jesus was in a certain place praying – probably being still, silent, humble, and listening to God, just like Mary had done not long before. And we’re told, this is when one of the disciples comes to Jesus and say, “Lord, teach us to pray.”

So I wonder if maybe they don’t just want in on this prayer thing. I wonder if they noticed the kudos Mary received for getting it right. And we know this wasn’t the first and only time they’d seen Jesus go off somewhere “to a certain place,” set apart, all by his lonesome, to pray. And I imagine they were quite aware of the difference it made in his life.

What if all of that wisdom came from his ability to listen, first, to what God had to say to him?

What if all of his power came from his willingness, first, to sit humbly in the presence of his creator?

What if all of his stamina came from his ability to sit down, shut up, and be still, in the first place?

What if all of his wisdom and understanding; all of his counsel and might; all of his presence of mind; his patience and grace; his power to forgive; what if all of that grew out of those moments he spent receiving whatever he got during his time spent in prayer?

Who wouldn’t want in on that? Jesus, teach us to pray!

But, I think the Church in the world – and “professional prayers,” like me, if you will – and the liturgical police (those men and women who put too many rules around what can or can’t or should or shouldn’t be done or said or sung or spoken in worship) – I think all of that has turned the practice of prayer into something like a magic trick that won’t bear fruit or yield results or have meaning, even, if it’s not done in just the right way, with just the right words, for only the right reasons by only the right people.

And what I hear Jesus saying is that none of that’s true. Yeah, he suggests some words and ways to go about it, like those suggestions we’ve turned into the Lord’s Prayer:

“Father, hallowed be thy name,” which is just a matter of posture and perspective, if you ask me. It’s a way of lowering ourselves, humbling ourselves, placing ourselves in the proper place at the feet of, at the mercy of our maker.

And “Your kingdom come.” That seems like a catch-all and a time-saver to me, because if God’s kingdom were to come, the need for the rest of whatever we could pray for wouldn’t be necessary. It covers everything we might miss and it makes up for everything we might get wrong.

But being that the kingdom hasn’t come in all its fullness just yet, we’re encouraged to pray “Give us each day our daily bread.” In other words, in the meantime, while we’re still waiting, give us what we need to get by and teach us to trust that you will.

“And forgive us our sins, as we forgive those around us.” Or, “Help us to do unto others what we pray you’ll do for us.”

And finally, when we don’t live up to your expectations – when we can’t forgive, when we can’t love our neighbors as ourselves – spare us the consequences. “Save us from the time of trial,” because not one of us could bear it.

But, other than all of that, rather than make up a list of rules; rather than hand out a script or a hymnal or a bulletin; rather than do the praying on their behalf, Jesus says, “Ask.” “Search.” “Knock.” And then he promises that it will work!

And I learned something new and enlightening and very refreshing from Rachel Held Evans when a group of us read her book Inspired earlier this year. Because this “Ask… Search… Knock,” bit is hard to swallow, right? It seems too simple, too easy, too pie-in-the-sky, and like something every single one of us has evidence to disprove.

Who among us hasn’t asked for something, in prayer, that never came? Who among us hasn’t searched and scoured and sought an answer we never found? Who among us hasn’t knocked on a door that never opened? (… and that never turned into an open window, either, as that platitude goes.)

Well, bear with me here, because Rachel Held Evans wasn’t talking about prayer, but she wrote this about that whole “ask, search, knock” stuff:

“If you are looking for [Bible] verses with which to oppress women, you will find them. If you are looking for verses with which to honor and celebrate women, you will find them. If you are looking for reasons to wage war, there are plenty. If you are looking for reasons to promote peace, there are plenty more. If you are looking for an outdated and irrelevant ancient text, that’s exactly what you will see. If you are looking for truth, that’s exactly what you will find.”

And then she says:

“This is why there are times when the most instructive question to bring to the text is not ‘What does this say?’ but, ‘What am I looking for?’ I suspect Jesus knew this when he said, ‘Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you.”

Again, Rachel Held Evans isn’t talking about prayer. She’s talking about our approach to scripture, in general: that how we begin … our perspective … our desired outcome … what it is we’re looking for … determines what we will find in the Bible.

And I think this might be Jesus’ point where prayer is concerned, too – and why he says all of that really important stuff first, before the “ask, knock, search” bit. Maybe he’s saying that if and when we begin our prayers with the proper posture of reverence for God (“Our Father in heaven…”), when we start with humility about ourselves (“hallowed by your name…”), when we begin with the truth about what and how much we actually need (“give us this day our daily bread…”); not more, not less, but enough for today, when we start by acknowledging our own sins and our great potential for more of them (“forgive us our trespasses and lead us not into temptation”), and when we start with our hope for redemption and salvation in the end (“thine is the kingdom, the power and the glory, forever) …

…when that is our state of mind, when that is our heart’s posture, when we approach our conversations with God with that sort of humility and hope, then what we’re asking for evolves, the doors we’re knocking on are different, and the stuff we’re seeking for ourselves and in this world will change in holy ways, unselfish ways, hopeful, faithful, merciful ways…

… ways that make God smile and allow us to see God respond – not with the stuff of this world, like fish or snakes, eggs or stones – but with the everlasting, life-giving, eternal things of God’s holy spirit.

Amen

Voices in the Wilderness

Luke 3:1-6

In the fifteenth year of the Emperor Tiberius, while Pontius Pilate was governor of Judea, while Herod was ruler over Galilee, and his brother Philip was ruler over the region of Iturea and Trachonitis, Lysanius was ruler over Abilene, during the high priesthood of Annas and Caiaphas, the word of God came to John, son of Zechariah, in the wilderness.

He went out around the region of the Jordan, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins, as it is written in the book of the words of the prophet Isaiah, the voice of one crying out in the wilderness: “Prepare the way of the Lord and make his paths straight. Every valley shall be filled, every mountain and high place shall be made low, the crooked will be made straight, and the rough ways made smooth, and all flesh will see the salvation of God.”

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Some of you know this, because you’ve been part of them, but when I lead discussions on race relations, racism, and diversity, I often suggest that participants, in order to get familiar with a perspective different from their own, they be more deliberate about reading, listening to, even following on social media, voices from different walks of life.

For me – a straight, white, middle-class man in the United States, it has meant that I do simple things like follow People of Color on social media and read Black authors like Ibram X. Kendi, Colson Whitehead, and Isabel Wilkerson. (I can’t recommend her latest book, Caste, highly enough.)

It’s why I learn so much from female theologians like Rachel Held Evans, Nadia Bolz Weber, and colleagues who are women, too.

It’s why I am as entertained as I am informed by the music of gay and lesbian artists like the Indigo Girls and Brandi Carlile.

And it’s why I’m so blessed and better for the perspective I gain about poverty and wealth from my friends in Haiti.

And thinking about this with today’s Gospel on the brain made me think about John the Baptist in a new way, too.

See, for a long time, I believed all those names listed in this chunk of Luke’s Gospel, were nothing more than date stamps; historical markers; ways to establish the place in time that all of this took place; “all of this” being the beginning of what we know of John the Baptist’s ministry. And it is that to some degree. It’s interesting and telling – especially for people who know their history – to know that all of this happened when Tiberius and Pontius Pilate and Herod and Philip and Lysanius and Annas and Caiaphas were doing their thing, all of which happened sometime in the late 20’s or early 30’s of the first century, according to smarter people than me. I was never great with dates and timelines.

But it’s even more interesting to me to understand that Luke’s Gospel is up to something much more meaningful than recording history by time-stamping his Gospel with the names of political and religious leaders; emperors, governors, high priests, and whatnot. Luke was also pointing out that God’s word and God’s ways were not always proclaimed to – or by the likes of – the people in high places.

Instead, the word of God came to and came through the likes of this camel-fur-wearing, honey-and-locust-eating, crying-out-in-the-wilderness, down-by-the-river-baptizing, repentance-and-forgiveness-preaching Jesus freak, named – not Tiberius or Lysanius, not Pontius Pilate or Herod, but John. Just John, the son of Zechariah. And he wasn’t from anywhere that mattered or that you could find on a map, like Judea or Galilee or Iturea or Trachonitis or Abilene, either. He was out in the wilderness … down by the river somewhere … if you could find him.

It might go something like this today: in the first year of the presidency of Joseph R. Biden, when Eric Holcomb was governor of Indiana, and Joe Hogsett was mayor of Indianapolis, during the papacy of Pope Francis and the bishopry of Bill Gafkjen and Elizabeth Eaton, the word of God came to Steve … or Stacy … or Jamaal … or Jesula – over the river and through the woods; on the other side of the tracks; or under the bridge; or maybe “down at the B.A.R. with the B.U.M.’s,” as Christa’s favorite aunt used to say.

Because what John was saying was the same thing the prophet Isaiah proclaimed: that God would show up first, for those who needed God most. That Jesus would be a welcome guest for those who were suffering and struggling and sick and in need. And that Jesus would be a fly in the ointment, a thorn in the side, a pain in the behind for those in power; for those in high places; for those with titles before – and with letters after – their names.

Which is to say, those in low places will be lifted up; those in high places will be knocked down; those doing wrong will be righted; those who are rich will be made poor; those who are poor will have enough; and any other way you can think to promise that the status quo would, could, and should be upset for the benefit of those who rarely benefit from the status quo, such as it is.

And all of that is why we do so much of what we do as God’s people in the Church – especially during these holiday days. It’s why we give gifts to foster kids. It’s why we pack Thanksgiving dinners for our food pantry families. It’s why we send a little something extra to our Agape Alliance friends and give so generously to the Grace Quest students to buy all of those animals from the ELCA Good Gifts program. And every bit of that is good and gracious and holy. Don’t get me wrong. But let’s not break our arms patting ourselves on the back about it.

Because I think the reason John named – and the reason Jesus challenged – the likes of emperors, governors, rulers and religious leaders of all shapes and sizes, is because the kind of confession and repentance John called for, the kind of challenge and change Jesus championed, was meant to be deeper and wider and structural and systemic in such a way that it would last longer than the holiday season and have impacts so far-reaching, so culture-shifting, so world-rocking that heaven and nature might sing at the results and ramifications of it all.

“Every valley shall be filled,” remember. “The mountains and the high places shall be made low.” “The crooked made straight and the rough ways made smooth,” after all. And, you realize, none of this “prepare the way of the Lord” stuff is about landscaping or road work or the new round-about over at Gem Road and 300 South. John is talking about the repairing and restoring and reinventing the broken social, cultural, political, religious systems of the world as we know it.

He’s talking about God’s desire to create a level playing field of justice and mercy… of healing and hope… of peace and prosperity that would, could, should be available to all of God’s children – especially for those relegated to the valleys; especially for those who get screwed by the crookedness of corruption and injustice; especially for those who can’t ever seem to get over the rough road of their station in life.

Like, what if, among other things, we could smooth out the rough, rocky roads in the Holy Land by having great compassion for our Jewish brothers and sisters there, yes, but without also condoning or ignoring the plight of the Palestinians, too.

Like, what if, among other things, the glass ceiling of sexism in this country could be brought low, so that women don’t make a mere 82 cents for every dollar that a man makes?

What if the crooked ways of systemic racism could be hammered flat so that, among so many other things, people of color weren’t incarcerated for longer sentences than white people for the exact same crimes?

What if the low places of homophobia were raised up so that, among other things, gay and lesbian people didn’t have to call me, before showing up for worship here, just to be sure they’ll be safe and feel welcomed, if they muster the courage to give it a go?

See, God knows it’s so often the emperors and governors, the rulers and religious leaders, the people of power and privilege, who rest easy in the status quo and who resist change for the sake of others because of it. It’s why God’s word comes to the likes of John down by the river, and sends people like him to cry out in the wilderness, to prepare the way of the Lord, and to make his paths straight.

Tupac Shakur, a Black rapper from my generation – a voice in the wilderness of his day, for sure – wrote something that made me think about all of this:

So let’s stop long enough to listen, you and I, during these Advent days, and beyond. Let’s hear the cry of John’s voice and others like it these days: voices different from our own; voices different from the powers that be; voices that tell of struggle and oppression and suffering and a life’s experience many of us can’t fathom or fully grasp. And let’s respond to God’s invitation to confess, repent, and do something to change what’s broken in this world until all flesh – all flesh – shall see, receive, and experience the salvation God brings in Jesus Christ, our Lord.

Amen.