Psalm 121:1-4, from a Hebrew-class worksheet at Virginia Theological Seminary, 2017.
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Don’t lose heart.
Be of good courage.
Buck up, now.
Dig in and stick with it.
Focus on your feet. Take another step. Hold on. Hold onto yourself. (You have yourself to hold onto.) Stay. Stay steady. Breathe.
Now take another step.
If you look up, you could see how far away the mountains still are, out there at the very edge of this wilderness you’re crossing, and you could despair. But don’t worry: you’re not supposed to be all the way to the mountains today. You belong here today. It’s okay. Focus on your feet again. Take another step.
If you look to the side, to the left or right, you could see others in the distance going faster, or you could see threats — predators, maybe, or darkening clouds. And you could give in to your frustration, and listen to your fears. But don’t worry: your pace is the right pace for you. And you are strong enough to wrestle with and overcome the predators, and you are resilient enough to weather the storm. It’s okay. Focus on your feet again. Take another step.
But maybe you need a story to keep taking your steps. Maybe you need inspiration. Well, have you heard about the man who was all by himself and had to wrestle all night with a stranger? The stranger injured his hip. But the man persevered, and finally won the wrestling match. This man was pushy, an in-your-face kind of person, a crafty and shrewd person. He demanded to know the stranger’s name, but the stranger evaded the question. But the stranger did then bless the man, and the blessed man limped off into the sunrise, into his future – into his people’s future.
A blessing could help you as you walk. This week I met with a priest who asked for my blessing, and I gave him one. Then I asked him for his, and he gave me one. I felt better. I’ve had a challenging week, coping with exhaustion and grief, though what else is new. The blessing helped me feel better. I felt like that blessed man with the injured hip who limped into the sunrise, step by step into his future, with a new name – Israel, a name that means “strives with God.” I’ve been striving with God for a long time now. So have you, I’ll bet. If you like, I’ll bless you today. You’ll feel better. I’ll offer it a bit later, after we get something to eat at this Table, something to strengthen us for our journey. (That meal is also a blessing.) When I bless you, let yourself take it in. Breathe. Let the strength flow into you.
You can bless me, too. In fact you already do: just by being here, taking one step after another — you bless me. I feel stronger. I can take my next step a little more easily, knowing you’re here.
But maybe another story would help you. It’s hard to keep walking. It’s hard to stay with it, to persevere. Stories help.
And so there is the story of a persistent woman who did not give up in her efforts to receive justice under the law. She was known as a widow, but that did not only mean that her husband had died. It meant that as far as the legal system was concerned, she not only had no rights, but she didn’t even have a name. She was not a legal citizen of the realm. She had no claims on property or power. She only had her own personal determination to keep putting one foot in front of the other, to stay steady, to breathe, to focus. Everything was set against her: the odds that she would get what she needed were nearly zero. “Nevertheless, she persisted.”
Finally, a judge granted her request, if only to get her out of his hair, off his docket, away from his court. She got what she needed: she got justice.
Here is what this story teaches us. First, it teaches us that perseverance works. But we already knew that – we learned that in the story about the man wrestling all night long. But this woman also teaches us that even without a job or a role, without a bank account, without a home, without a village or even a name, each one of us has power – each one of us has the capacity to make things happen.
But the story teaches us one more thing: it teaches us that God favors widows, defined again not only as women whose husbands have died, but any person who suffers systemic injustice. God aligns with them; God empowers them; and God moves us to draw alongside them in solidarity.
So as you continue to persevere, remember this widow, and all widows – all people who suffer systemic injustice. Know that your way forward is clear: you are here to persevere on their behalf. We are, together, as we walk forward, God’s people, the people God empowers to defend the widow and lift up the orphan.
These are nice stories.
But we won’t last too long if they remain just that – just nice stories. They are more than stories. Much more.
First, the wrestling man is all the children of Abraham, past and present, and we are all thriving now, millennia later, still striving with God, still wrestling all night long, sometimes wrestling with our lesser selves and the temptation to harm our neighbors, still persevering, injured but blessed, in a world that has made the path perilous indeed. And yes, God will strike us on the hip socket – all this striving carries a deep cost. The work of ministry injures the ego, you see. I want to encourage you and even bless you, but the work we do in God’s dominion is not all about us. God pushes us to look beyond ourselves.
And so you see, this is not just a nice story. Israel is still limping toward the sunrise. Today’s sunrise. And tomorrow’s.
And that widow – she’s not just a charming character in an ancient parable. She lives in our prisons; she can’t afford to live anywhere close to here; she is never far from having to spend the night in her car; she anxiously watches gas prices and can’t get to work when they get too high for her to afford. Everything is a challenge for her. She is most often a person of color, because our society is organized in a racialized way, to her disadvantage. Sometimes the unjust judge gives her a break – just last week, a “widow” named Adnan Syed was released after 23 years in prison for a crime he did not commit – but even then, this “widow” can’t get those 23 years back. He can’t just delete the traumatic memories. He is forever changed by the injustice that has irrevocably formed him.
Yet God remains on the side of that widow, of all widows. We are surrounded by widows, whether or not we can see them, whether or not they will self-disclose in our presence, whether or not they can – or want to – walk into this room. And God calls us to recognize and stand alongside them. God gives us this mission. And God in Jesus shows us how to do it.
So you, too, can find strength for your next step by walking alongside a widow. You can share strength and encouragement with them. You – we – will help them, surely. But they will help us, too. They will remind us what’s most important; they will correct our mistakes and open our minds; they will teach us about the heart of God.
Don’t lose heart.
Be of good courage.
Buck up, now.
Dig in and stick with it.
Focus on your feet. Take another step. Hold on. Hold onto yourself. (You have yourself to hold onto.) Stay. Stay steady. Breathe.
Now take another step.
Look around you: Israel is limping alongside you. The widow is persistently taking her next step, right there on your other side. You are in excellent company.
Together, we are all marching – sometimes limping – toward the sunrise.
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Preached on the Nineteenth Sunday after Pentecost (Proper 24C), October 16, 2022, at Grace Episcopal Church, Bainbridge Island, Washington.
Genesis 32:22-31
Psalm 121
2 Timothy 3:14-4:5
Luke 18:1-8