Free Indeed - Reformation 2025

John 8:31-36

Jesus said to some of the Jews who had believed in him, “If you continue in my word, you are truly my disciples, and you will know the truth and the truth will make you free.” They said to him, “We are descendant of Abraham, and have never been slaves to anyone. What do you mean by saying, ‘You will be made free.’?”

He answered them, “Very truly I tell you, anyone who commits sin is a slave to sin. The slave does not have a permanent place in the household, but the son has a place there forever. So, if the son makes you free, you will be free indeed.”

Did you hear the breaking news this week about King Charles praying with Pope Leo in the Sistine Chapel on Thursday? It was breaking news because a Pope hadn’t shared space in worship with an English monarch since Henry VIII broke up with Rome in 1534 because, among other things, the Pope at the time refused to annul Henry’s first marriage to Catherine of Aragon.

Anyway, on Thursday, King Charles, who’s considered the supreme governor of the Church of England, sat near the altar in the Vatican as Pope Leo led worship that included two English royal choirs sharing space and song with the Sistine Chapel Choir. It was apparently, quite an occasion.

The fact that this was “breaking news” at all – in light of everything else going on in the world these days – was as fantastic as it was frustrating for me to hear in the week leading up to Reformation Sunday, which I never heard mentioned, by the way.

For one thing, it’s a good reminder that Martin Luther never meant for his beef with the Roman Catholic Church to split or divide or start new denominations of Christianity. Luther’s hope was to merely, but profoundly, change – to REFORM – the church he loved by expanding the way it practiced, proclaimed, and promised God’s grace to believers. It’s good to know that 508 years later, some the Pope and the King seem to be getting on board. Fantastic.

But it’s frustrating, too, because, if I weren’t a believer – let alone a Lutheran-flavored believer – I’d wonder what the heck was up with those Christians?

They believe in this Jesus who gave his life for the sake of the world, but it’s breaking-freaking news when two of his followers share space in worship? They preach a Gospel of grace, but they disagree about who’s allowed to receive it at the communion table? They say we’re all God’s children, but they have different sets of rules about which men or women are allowed to preach that Good News – or not? They say and sing “they will know we are Christians by our love” but they police that love when marriage isn’t “traditional?”

All of this is to say, things haven’t changed much – and certainly not enough – since that day Jesus reminded some of the Jews who believed in him about what it meant to be slaves to sin. The willful ignorance or spiritual amnesia evident in their response to him is shocking – “We’re descendants of Abraham and have never been slaves to anyone…”

Their Jewish identity as descendants of Abraham … and Isaac … and Jacob … and MOSES, too, was wrapped up in, and very much defined, by their historical slavery in Egypt, under Pharaoh. Sure maybe THEY, THEMSELVES, generations later, had never been slaves in the same way. But for them to forget about or to deny that piece of their history and – even more – to deny the freedom that was also theirs because of God’s deliverance, was part of Jesus’ point.

If it was that easy for them to forget or to deny the historical status of their ancestors as enslaved people, how easy was it for them to forget or to deny their own spiritual enslavement to the sin Jesus came to redeem? And, are we the same … or better … or any different?

On days like today – and very often as progressively Lutheran-flavored people on the planet – we like to see ourselves as being on the right side of history, as ones who “get it,” as the faithful ones who do grace with no strings attached, in ways others don’t. And I think that’s true a lot of the time, when we get it right.

But when we get too comfortable in that skin… when we blow our own proverbial horn too proudly… when we forget to look in the mirror and to the cross every now and then… we risk forgetting – like our ancestors in this morning’s Gospel – that, just like everybody else, we are slaves to sin, and need to be set free by the same mercy, grace, and love we know in Jesus.

This is Martin Luther’s understanding of grace that the Reformation set loose in the world … that we are all sinners, all beggars, all broken, all in need of forgiveness and redemption … in order to experience the fullness of life on this side of heaven and the next. But too many haven’t heard this good news. Too many deny the fullness of it for all people. And too many refuse to accept it for themselves and to share it quite so fully with others.

President Trump seems to be wrestling with a spiritual, existential crisis of sorts these days. More than once, recently, I’ve seen him imply that he’s not sure he’s getting into heaven. I’ve heard him ask reporters if they thought he was getting into heaven. I’m aware of what a lot of people might say, or desire, or even pray for in that regard. But I think Jesus would say, simply, “If the Son makes you free, you will be free, indeed.” Free from the sins you think will keep you from heaven. Free from the Sin that keeps you bound by fear and concern, right where you live. And free from the sins so many believe to be insurmountable and unforgiveable.

I had a couple of conversations this week about whether someone who dies by suicide is worthy of God’s heaven. Someone I care a great deal about was curious and concerned about a friend. Another person I know is sure that suicide is an unforgiveable sin. I’m certain Jesus would say, “If the Son makes you free, you will be free indeed.” Free – on this side of heaven – not to be bound or afraid or ashamed or enslaved – outside of clinical depression, of course – by whatever might tempt a person to such a fate. And free – on the other side of eternity, too – if all else fails – free to be redeemed, saved, and showered with a love you couldn’t find or feel on this side of it all.

And I’m convinced, if we could embrace and buy the good news of this kind of grace – in all of its fullness for all of God’s people – our concerns and conversations could change the world.

I mean, if we could see in all people the common ground we share where our sinfulness is concerned – EVERYONE WHO COMMITS SIN IS A SLAVE TO SIN, remember – then we would live and move and breathe and support policy and promote laws and do justice and share the Gospel and do God’s bidding – with more of a WE and US mission, than a THEY and THEM mentality.

And if we could see in all people the common ground we share where our promised redemption is concerned – IF THE SON SETS YOU FREE, YOU WILL BE FREE INDEED (yes, you and him and her and them, too) – than we might live with such astonishment and so much gratitude at the abundance of this gift, that we would live more generosity, more humility, more selflessness, more of the same kind of grace that has first been given to us. And wouldn’t that be a change, a transformation, a reformation the world could use right about now?

As part of the festivities at the Vatican last week, King Charles was gifted a special chair – for him to use during his visit and that will be reserved for use only by British monarchs in the future. It’s decorated with the king’s coat of arms and a phrase in Latin which means, “That they may be one,” which is a lovely gesture of hospitality, welcome, and Christian unity.

May we all imagine – not just popes and kings – but ourselves and each other – our neighbors and the strangers who surround us – sinners, all – sharing such a seat of welcome, hospitality, mercy, and forgiveness.

And may that change us for the better, change us for the sake of the world, and transform us into the saints God calls each of us to be in response to the savior we know in Jesus – the Son who has a permanent place in the household, who sets the table for the sake of the world, and who saves us all a seat, by way of his amazing grace.

Amen

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God the Persistent Widow

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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?”

“We don’t take no for an answer.” That was the motto of Sisters of Mercy JoAnn Persch and Pat Murphy — the two women I affectionately call my nuns. I’ve talked about these holy troublemakers before, you may remember, but with today’s story of a persistent widow, I can’t help returning to the two most persistent people I’ve ever met.

In 2007, on a cold, rainy Friday — the day buses rolled out of the Broadview Deportation Center bound for the airport — the sisters stood on the sidewalk and prayed. They prayed for the men being deported and the families left behind, for the judges who signed the orders, the ICE agents who carried them out, and the lawmakers who wrote the policies. Then they went home.

But the next Friday, they came back. And the next. Rain or shine, they kept showing up. When they asked to go inside and accompany the families as they said goodbye, the answer was no. When they asked again, the answer was still no.

Finally, the top ICE official in Chicago — who knew them by name at this point — said, “You can’t come in here. But you might try McHenry County Jail. They could use some pastoral care.” So they called. Again the answer was no.

So they lobbied, wrote letters, met with legislators — and got a new law passed that allowed spiritual care in detention centers. Eventually they were even permitted to board the buses and offer a final blessing as they pulled away.

Sister Pat used to tell me:

“You see, Cogan, we get told no all the time. People, especially those in power, underestimate us because of how old we are and what we look like. But we don’t get discouraged. We work peacefully and persistently. We do what needs doing. And we don’t take no for an answer.”

The sisters remind me that we’ve had the wrong image of widows all along: in Scripture and in this parable. When we hear the word widow, all the old stereotypes rush in: a poor, frail, vulnerable woman begging for help. But that’s not the picture the Bible paints, and it’s not the woman Jesus describes today.

Think of Tamar, who risked everything to secure justice when others denied it to her.

Or Ruth, who crossed borders and broke norms to provide for herself and Naomi. The widow of Zarephath, who spoke truth to the prophet and demanded that God make good on divine promises. The widow of Nain, whose grief moved Jesus to act and whose life was restored along with her son’s.

As one scholar put it, Biblical widows aren’t weak. “They move mountains; they’re expected to be poor, but prove savvy stewards; expected to be exploited, they take advantage where they find it.” Truth be told, most churches today run not because of pastors but because of faithful women, on the front lines and behind the scenes, who keep showing up, praying, organizing, and holding it all together.

Most of us have heard this parable preached the same way: if even an unjust judge will finally give in to a widow’s cry, how much more will God hear and answer when we cry out? In that reading, God is the opposite of the judge — fair, responsive, merciful. And that’s a good and faithful way to read it.

But lately I’ve wondered: what if the story turns the other way? What if God isn’t the opposite of the unjust judge, but rather the persistent, justice-demanding widow herself? What if we are the ones sitting in the judge’s seat, reluctant, distracted, slow to listen, until finally, through prayer, through people, through grace, we give in?

Because that’s how I’ve come to recognize God’s work in Scripture and in my own life. God calls, nudges, insists, pushes people to do what God wants done — until we finally yield.

Think of Abraham and Moses, Jonah and Jeremiah, Paul and even Pharaoh. God persists, sometimes pesters, always prevails.

In this moment, I think we look a lot more like the judge. With all the division and distrust around us, it’s easy to say, I’ve lost all respect for those people. I’ve lost respect for those who vote differently than me. For those protesting and for those who don’t.

For Democrats. For Republicans.For anyone who dares to enjoy the Super Bowl halftime show.

We laugh, but it’s true. Like the judge, we’ve grown tired and cynical. We’ve lost trust — not only in one another, but sometimes in God’s work and timing in the world. And I don’t say that to shame anyone. I understand it. Things feel difficult, dangerous, and disheartening. War still rages in Ukraine. A ceasefire hangs by a thread in Gaza. Inequality deepens across the globe.

And closer to home, many of us are still waiting: for healing that doesn’t come, for a relationship to mend, for a prayer to be answered but only seems to echo in the abyss.

After enough of that, you start praying less, not because you’ve stopped believing, but because you’re tired of being disappointed. Eventually, no prayer feels safer than another unanswered one. And before long, like the judge, you stop looking for God altogether. You decide it’s up to you to figure it out.

Maybe that’s how the judge became who he was — not heartless, but hardened. Not evil, just exhausted.

But the story doesn’t end there, because, like my nuns, God doesn’t give up that easily.

When we least expect it, God, like the widow, starts pursuing us. And that’s what happens in prayer. Often we think prayer is us pursuing God. But what if it’s the opposite.

What if prayer isn’t just our words reaching to heaven; it’s God reaching toward us. In the quiet moments of our days, in the stillness when we try to rest, God is there: tugging at our hearts, stirring us awake, urging us not to give up hope, to forgive and seek forgiveness, to hold on to the relationships that matter, to see the dignity and humanity in every person.

As the great Danish theologian Søren Kierkegaard once said, “Prayer does not change God, but it changes the one who offers it.”

The judge finally relents, but not out of compassion. The text says he does it “so she won’t bother me.” That’s the polite, cleaned-up translation. A truer rendering of the Greek is something like, “so she doesn’t give me a black eye,” or, as one commentator puts it, “so she doesn’t slap me in the face.” Now that’s a granny with some grit!

And before we get too quick to dismiss that image, the idea that God might wrestle or wear us down, remember Jacob. He wrestled with God all night long until daybreak, refusing to let go until he received a blessing. He didn’t walk away untouched; he limped for the rest of his life.

Because that’s what real encounters with God do, they leave a mark.

Richard Foster once wrote, “Our prayer efforts are a genuine give-and-take, a true dialogue with God, and a true struggle.”

Prayer, at its deepest, isn’t about soothing words or easy answers. It’s a holy struggle; one that leaves us changed: sometimes limping, sometimes bruised, but always blessed and better because of it.

Pat Murphy passed away this past July at the young age of ninety-six. At her bedside, the last thing JoAnn said to her was, “Pat, remember, we don’t take no for an answer. When you get to heaven, you go to God, and you don’t take no for an answer. We need help down here — help for our immigrants, help for our country.”

Prayer is the process by which God makes us less like the judge and more like Sister Pat:

one whose whole life is a prayer, offering respect for all people, trusting that God is at work in the world and through her, and demanding justice and peace in a world that needs so much of both.

So, in the words of Jesus, pray always. Don’t lose heart. And, in the words of the Nuns, don’t take no for an answer.

If we do that, God will indeed find faith: the faith of a widow.

Amen.