Farmer, teacher, judge
Commentary
I have always thought that it is more accurate to say what God isn't than what God is. Any attempt to define God specifically runs the risk of limiting that which by definition is limitless. This is the problem with those old philosophical puzzles about what God can or cannot do, like, "Can God create a rock so big that God could not move it?" The question assumes that we can define God, limiting the divine to our human understanding. It puts God in a box.
I think the best remedy to the human tendency to limit God is to embrace a multitude of images of God. The less we identify God with one attribute or metaphor -- be it "Father," "Creator," "Sustainer," or whatever -- the less likely we are to fall into the trap of making our God too small. Theology is a human endeavor, and it would be a mistake to identify our human conceptions of God with the reality of God. At best, we see in a mirror, dimly.
Fortunately, the Bible provides us with a variety of interesting images of God. This morning's lections give us God as farmer, teacher, and judge. In Jeremiah, God is the farmer who plants a new garden in old soil. In 2 Timothy, God teaches through the scriptures which God has inspired. In Luke, God is presented as a judge, with a wicked twist.
Jeremiah 31:27-34
Jeremiah presents God as a farmer in his "Book of the Covenant" (chs. 30-31). In these chapters, Jeremiah takes a break from his usually gloomy prophecy to speak of the hope of eventual restoration for a disobedient people. This mostly poetic section (our lection has a bit of prose) spells out the hopeful side of the prophet: that foreign domination of Israel and Judah will end, that despite oppression and exile there will be a return to the land and a revival for God's people. As it turns out, the judgment of which Jeremiah spoke so eloquently in the first part of his book turns out to be a mere prelude to his vision of the eventual repopulation of the land and re-establishment of the people. His original commission to "pluck up and pull down, to destroy and to overthrow, to build and to plant" (1:10) is repeated, with emphasis on the last two, more positive tasks. "I will sow the house of Israel and the house of Judah with the seed of humans and the seed of animals," says the Lord (31:27).
God's farming will involve a reversal of the usual concept of personal responsibility. The general view in his day was that the problems of Israel and Judah were brought on by the faithlessness of previous generations. Jeremiah 31:29 quotes the popular view, borrowed from Ezekiel 18:2, that "the parents have eaten sour grapes, and the children's teeth are set on edge" (or "have bloody gums," or "become numb"; the exact meaning of the Hebrew is unclear, though the metaphor is clear enough -- bad grapes are a dental hygienist's nightmare). Jeremiah does not dispute the notion so much as declare its imminent demise. The time is coming, says the Lord, when children will no longer be punished for the sins of their parents. Instead, says Jeremiah, "all shall die for their own sins," not those of their forebears (31:30).
The Sower God will plant a new covenant in the hearts of Israel and Judah (31:31-34). This must have been a shocking statement, since it implies that there was something wrong with the old covenant with Moses, and that God must have learned something from its failure. But note that Jeremiah does not say that a new law will be instituted, but only a new covenant. The Mosaic covenant has been broken, it is true -- but not by God, who remains faithful. The imposition of a new covenant is in fact a favor to the people, who, along with their parents before them (v. 32), have proved unable to live up to the old one. God plants the new covenant in hopes that it will produce something besides sour grapes.
The Sower God needs no schoolhouse on this new farm. This is the difference between the old covenant and the new: the old one had to be taught, imposed from the outside. The new covenant will be written from the inside out. It will be "within them, and I will write it on their hearts" (31:33). The NRSV obscures the communal focus here by translating the singular word "heart" as a plural; the interior spoken of here is a corporate one, not individualistic. With the granting of the new covenant, teachers of the law will be superfluous, and forgiveness the norm (v. 34). The entire community will know the Lord as a matter of nature rather than nurture.
2 Timothy 3:14--4:5
In contrast to Jeremiah and his prophecy of the new covenant, the Second Letter to Timothy considers teachers and schoolhouses to be very much in need. Perhaps the difference is one of time: where Jeremiah looks far ahead to an ideal future, the epistle sees just over the horizon a situation little different from the present, when "people will not put up with sound doctrine, but having itching ears, they will accumulate for themselves teachers to suit their own desires, and will turn away from listening to the truth and wander away to myths" (4:3-4). The problem of false teaching is prominent in the epistle (cf. 2:24--3:9); by contrast, Timothy is to be a teacher of "sound doctrine" who will nurse the people back to spiritual health. The concern, of course, is to encourage Timothy himself to carry out his appointed mission as a teacher of the gospel. Having exhorted him to continue in the living tradition embodied by his own teacher, Paul (3:10-17), the letter gives Timothy his final charge to consistently and persistently proclaim the good news of God (4:1-8).
The central focus of our lection is found in its first verse: "But as for you, continue in what you have learned and firmly believed, knowing from whom you learned it" (3:14). The exhortation is for Timothy to teach that which he has been taught. The language is slightly ironic, since Timothy is to "continue" or "remain" (meno) in good teaching, while "fleeing" the apparent "progress" of the false teachers (2:16, 22-23; 3:5, 13). The opponents' novelty proves their inadequacy. By contrast, Timothy stands firm in a tradition, handed down to him by his mother and grandmother, Eunice and Lois, as well as Paul himself (1:5, 10-11).
Ultimately, Timothy's teacher has been God (3:15-16). The Hebrew Scriptures (and/or their Greek translation, in the Diaspora) would have been the foundation of the school curriculum for any Jewish boy, and thus he would have known them literally "from an infant" (apo brephous, v. 15). These writings "are able to instruct you about the salvation that comes through the faith that is in Christ Jesus" (author's translation, taking the construction to refer to the human Jesus' own faithfulness toward God, both in life and death). The ultimate point and goal of these sacred writings is Jesus himself, who faithfully carried out God's mission to the point of death, thus effecting our salvation. This teaching about the faith of Jesus is verified truth, because these writings were "inspired by God," literally "God-breathed" (theopneustos, v. 16). The expression is not defined precisely, nor can the concept behind it be limited to scripture. The New Testament and early Christian writings see the inspiration of God behind the utterances of contemporary prophets and teachers, as well as the writings of the Hebrew Bible (cf. for example, 1 Corinthians 12-14).
The letter's theory of inspiration is not primarily theoretical, however, but utterly practical. The inspiration of these writings makes them "useful"; as so often in ancient philosophy, the question is whether the doctrine makes any difference to one's life. The focus is on scripture's function, not its nature or authority. Scripture's practical function proves to dovetail with Timothy's own mission: teaching, reproof, correction, and moral training, with the ultimate purpose of making Christians "proficient" or "qualified" (artios) for being Christian, "equipped for every good work" (v. 17).
The exhortation to Timothy is ultimately grounded in the reality and inevitability of God's eventual judgment. The final charge is delivered "in the presence of God and of Christ Jesus, who is to judge the living and the dead, and in view of his appearing and his kingdom" (4:1). Contrary to some commentators, there is no lessening of eschatological expectation in this epistle. The imperatives that follow (4:2, 5) assume that Jesus will soon return to judge the living and the dead. Thus the mission is imperative, to be done "whether the time is favorable or unfavorable" for either teacher or hearers (v. 2).
Luke 18:1-8
The image of God as judge is common enough throughout the scriptures. While we may shrink from some of the wilder, sinners-in-the-hands-of-an-angry-God appropriations of the image, the root of the concept stems directly from the fact of creation. God, as our creator and sustainer, knows us as we truly are. This is the basic function of a judge: to be impartial, to see truly and clearly and uninfluenced by prejudice or outside influences -- unbiased, objective, neutral. To say that God is our judge is simply to say that God sees us as we really are, without illusion. Otherwise, how could it be a comfort to say that God loves us? God's love could be blind to our true faults, and thus based on a false perspective, if God did not see us clearly. The concept of God as judge reassures us that God has no illusions about who we truly are, and thus God's love itself is without illusions. God loves us, despite our inadequacies.
Where Jesus twists the knife is in his appropriation of the analogy. It is one thing to say that a judge should be objective, another to say that he is uncaring -- which is exactly the characterization of the judge in the parable! To say that this judge "neither feared God nor had respect for people" is to say that he was totally unfit for the position. One who did not fear God would lack the wisdom necessary to judge impartially (cf. Proverbs 1:7). One who showed such disrespect for a widow would be showing his ignorance of the law (cf. Exodus 22:22-24; Deuteronomy 10:17-18; 24:17; 27:19). The astounding thing is that Jesus is comparing God to a judge who is not a particularly good judge.
This shock-tactic stems from a traditional form of argument called "lesser-to-greater." The point is not that God is like the unjust judge (God is not), but that if a lesser judge will grant such a favor, how much more the ideal judge? If a judge who is admittedly prejudiced can grant justice, how much more the one judge who by definition treats all equally and impartially? "Will not God grant justice to his chosen ones who cry to him day and night? Will he delay long in helping them?" (v. 7). Jesus' answer is an emphatic "No" (v. 8). What a bad judge must do, a good judge certainly will do. The very imperfection of the analogy proves the point.
The perfidy of the unjust judge is contrasted with the persistence of the widow. As a widow, we would expect her to be a helpless figure, with no visible means of support in a male-dominated world (the commands in Torah to help such widows reflect this unfortunate reality). Instead, we find a ruthless self-advocate. Perhaps her very impotence underlies her tenacity; she really has no other choice but to pursue her case with all diligence. That she proves a formidable foe to the judge is signaled in his reflection that she might "wear me out," literally "give me a black eye" (hypopiazo, v. 5). While the verb could refer simply to slander (and the judge depicted as merely acting to preserve his reputation), we could as easily see this woman banging at his head as banging at his door. Such persistence of faith the one true judge hopes to see on the last day: "And yet, when the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on earth?" (v. 8).
Application
The various biblical images of God swirl around each other, sometimes joining hands, sometimes striking each other like bumper cars in an amusement park. God the farmer, in Jeremiah, is far removed from God the teacher, in 2 Timothy; Jeremiah would hold that God's final sowing obviates the need for teaching, while 2 Timothy views teaching as all the more pressing a need as the world comes closer to God's future plan. Both images resonate with the image of God as judge, though perhaps not with Jesus' striking use of the lesser-to-greater argument. In Jeremiah, the judge can forgive sin, because the farmer has done the work so well. In 2 Timothy, the teacher must do an even better job, in order to accomplish God's purpose. In Luke, the question is not persistent teaching but persistent practice, and the question focuses not on the judge but on the widow: Will the Son of Man find such faith when the time comes?
Can such contrasting images live harmoniously? They can, once we recognize that their purpose is to keep us on our toes. The moment we let ourselves lean toward one image or the other, we are in danger of losing part of the truth about God, and the ultimate truth is that God is beyond our puny human minds and our puny human conceptions. We can never fully grasp the nature of God in this mortal life (nor perhaps in the life to come). If we ever think we have God figured out, we will certainly have left something out. We can try to put God in a box, but opening it up later, we may find that God has slipped out of a hole in the cardboard we didn't even realize was there.
While some people might prefer to live in a more certain world, I rejoice that God is bigger than anything I can conceive. I wouldn't want to worship a God I could completely understand; it would be too much like worshipping myself. So I say, let those bumper car images bounce back and forth off each other. Maybe one or more of them will shock us into faith.
Alternative Applications
1) Jeremiah 31:27-34. Jeremiah walks a fine line between communal and personal responsibility. On the one hand, he rejects a causal line between the sins of the parents and the fate of the children, and we commend him for it -- even as we know, as a practical matter, how often children do suffer for the mistakes of their parents. On the other hand, when he speaks of a covenant written inside the people, he speaks of a singular "interior" and "heart" of that people, not their individual "hearts" (despite the NRSV translation). Jeremiah thus reflects one of the paradoxes of human existence, that we each live independent lives, but none of us lives independently. No one should die for someone else's sins, but how can any of us "know the Lord" apart from a community that embodies such knowledge, "from the least of them to the greatest" (Jeremiah 31:34)?
2) 2 Timothy 3:14--4:5. Part of the charge to Timothy is to "be sober" (4:5). This represents no contradiction to the exhortation, "No longer drink only water, but take a little wine for the sake of your stomach and your frequent ailments!" (1 Timothy 5:23). Sobriety was a common image among Hellenistic philosophers for the moral seriousness that befits a good teacher, and is obviously here meant in a broad as well as a literal sense (cf. 1 Timothy 3:3; Ephesians 5:18). Rationality was a prime virtue among the Greeks and Romans, and for Timothy to gain a hearing, he would have to represent the best qualities of pagan teachers. By contrast, the speculations of the false teachers must have seemed like drunken fantasies (cf. 2 Timothy 3:1-9; 2:23). The sober teacher of the gospel will not engage in such foolish disputes, but will be "patient, correcting opponents with gentleness" (2:23-24). Sober patience is part of what it means to "do the work of an evangelist" (4:5).
3) Luke 18:1-8. The worst thing is to lose hope. The widow provides an example of a faithful approach to prayer. She teaches us to "pray always," that is, consistently. Above all, faithful prayer is persistent. It assumes the goodness of God, and seeks God's assistance with the conviction that God wants to help. As such, it is the antidote to a rootless faith that can believe only for a short while, but in testing falls away (cf. Luke 8:13). Faith continues to pray, even when the only answer seems to be silence.
Fred Craddock quotes an elderly black minister as saying, "Until you have stood for years knocking at a locked door, your knuckles bleeding, you do not really know what prayer is" (Fred B. Craddock, Luke [Louisville: John Knox Press, 1990], 210). In Luke's story, the woman's persistence is captured graphically in the judge's speculation that she might be willing to give him a (perhaps literal) beating (18:5). Might the widow in question have bloodied her knuckles on the judge's face, until she got what she wanted? How many of us come away from prayer with scraped knees, let alone bloody knuckles?
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 119:97-104
Psalm 119 is well-known as the longest chapter in the Bible. The poem is actually an extended, and extensive, meditation on the meaning of the law. Given the sterile connotations often associated with "law" and "legalism," it's hard sometimes to appreciate the lyrical beauty of these reflections. One thing is for certain, the writer of this psalm did not view the law as either sterile or void of vitality.
We help ourselves somewhat if we remember that "law" in this psalm, and its corresponding "your word," have reference to Torah -- the Law of Moses. Torah is more than just legislative matters, case law, injunctions, and statutes, though it includes all of that. Torah is best understood as "instruction." This is what the psalmist celebrates throughout his long poem. Torah is life-giving. Torah, when internalized, creates a meaningful life. Torah frees us from foolishness by instilling wisdom. Torah does not do its work through legislative coercion. Torah does its work by changing the essential character of those who reflect on its meaning.
This principle is amply illustrated in the section of the psalm we consider here. The psalmist does not hold back his emotions: "O how I love your law" (v. 97). This is a passionate relationship with truth and with the hope of personal, as well as community, maturity.
The psalmist employs relational and sensory images to communicate the power of the law to transform us. The law makes us wiser than both our enemies and our teachers. The law has the power to advance our learning in spite of our age. The law is like a safety harness that keeps us from being pulled into evil. Yet the law is sweet, like honey on the tongue.
There is an important point to understand in all of this. Not so much in what the psalmist says about the law, though his words are important and instructive. Equally important, however, is his model of commitment to the law. The example the psalmist offers us regarding how to love the law and how to pursue truth is an excellent model for spiritual formation and Christian education.
We will not make much headway in any endeavor without commitment. The artist who masters the piano or some other musical instrument does not do so without regular attention to the instrument. The athlete who seeks to compete at some high level cannot afford to miss a day of training and conditioning. The writer who would compose a masterpiece must sit with the words everyday if the work is ever to be finished.
Similar comparisons could be made to other endeavors. If a married couple expects their relationship to survive and thrive over a number of years they must be intentional about communication, conflict management, and nurturing affection. Parents who want to see their children grow and mature into fully functioning adults must commit the needed time to train and guide them.
The psalmist shows us the wisdom of the passionate pursuit. Whether it is God's truth or a chance to perform at Carnegie Hall, it is disciplined and intentional attention to the task that brings about the desired result. In the case of the law, the result is wisdom and the doorway to a meaningful relationship with God.
I think the best remedy to the human tendency to limit God is to embrace a multitude of images of God. The less we identify God with one attribute or metaphor -- be it "Father," "Creator," "Sustainer," or whatever -- the less likely we are to fall into the trap of making our God too small. Theology is a human endeavor, and it would be a mistake to identify our human conceptions of God with the reality of God. At best, we see in a mirror, dimly.
Fortunately, the Bible provides us with a variety of interesting images of God. This morning's lections give us God as farmer, teacher, and judge. In Jeremiah, God is the farmer who plants a new garden in old soil. In 2 Timothy, God teaches through the scriptures which God has inspired. In Luke, God is presented as a judge, with a wicked twist.
Jeremiah 31:27-34
Jeremiah presents God as a farmer in his "Book of the Covenant" (chs. 30-31). In these chapters, Jeremiah takes a break from his usually gloomy prophecy to speak of the hope of eventual restoration for a disobedient people. This mostly poetic section (our lection has a bit of prose) spells out the hopeful side of the prophet: that foreign domination of Israel and Judah will end, that despite oppression and exile there will be a return to the land and a revival for God's people. As it turns out, the judgment of which Jeremiah spoke so eloquently in the first part of his book turns out to be a mere prelude to his vision of the eventual repopulation of the land and re-establishment of the people. His original commission to "pluck up and pull down, to destroy and to overthrow, to build and to plant" (1:10) is repeated, with emphasis on the last two, more positive tasks. "I will sow the house of Israel and the house of Judah with the seed of humans and the seed of animals," says the Lord (31:27).
God's farming will involve a reversal of the usual concept of personal responsibility. The general view in his day was that the problems of Israel and Judah were brought on by the faithlessness of previous generations. Jeremiah 31:29 quotes the popular view, borrowed from Ezekiel 18:2, that "the parents have eaten sour grapes, and the children's teeth are set on edge" (or "have bloody gums," or "become numb"; the exact meaning of the Hebrew is unclear, though the metaphor is clear enough -- bad grapes are a dental hygienist's nightmare). Jeremiah does not dispute the notion so much as declare its imminent demise. The time is coming, says the Lord, when children will no longer be punished for the sins of their parents. Instead, says Jeremiah, "all shall die for their own sins," not those of their forebears (31:30).
The Sower God will plant a new covenant in the hearts of Israel and Judah (31:31-34). This must have been a shocking statement, since it implies that there was something wrong with the old covenant with Moses, and that God must have learned something from its failure. But note that Jeremiah does not say that a new law will be instituted, but only a new covenant. The Mosaic covenant has been broken, it is true -- but not by God, who remains faithful. The imposition of a new covenant is in fact a favor to the people, who, along with their parents before them (v. 32), have proved unable to live up to the old one. God plants the new covenant in hopes that it will produce something besides sour grapes.
The Sower God needs no schoolhouse on this new farm. This is the difference between the old covenant and the new: the old one had to be taught, imposed from the outside. The new covenant will be written from the inside out. It will be "within them, and I will write it on their hearts" (31:33). The NRSV obscures the communal focus here by translating the singular word "heart" as a plural; the interior spoken of here is a corporate one, not individualistic. With the granting of the new covenant, teachers of the law will be superfluous, and forgiveness the norm (v. 34). The entire community will know the Lord as a matter of nature rather than nurture.
2 Timothy 3:14--4:5
In contrast to Jeremiah and his prophecy of the new covenant, the Second Letter to Timothy considers teachers and schoolhouses to be very much in need. Perhaps the difference is one of time: where Jeremiah looks far ahead to an ideal future, the epistle sees just over the horizon a situation little different from the present, when "people will not put up with sound doctrine, but having itching ears, they will accumulate for themselves teachers to suit their own desires, and will turn away from listening to the truth and wander away to myths" (4:3-4). The problem of false teaching is prominent in the epistle (cf. 2:24--3:9); by contrast, Timothy is to be a teacher of "sound doctrine" who will nurse the people back to spiritual health. The concern, of course, is to encourage Timothy himself to carry out his appointed mission as a teacher of the gospel. Having exhorted him to continue in the living tradition embodied by his own teacher, Paul (3:10-17), the letter gives Timothy his final charge to consistently and persistently proclaim the good news of God (4:1-8).
The central focus of our lection is found in its first verse: "But as for you, continue in what you have learned and firmly believed, knowing from whom you learned it" (3:14). The exhortation is for Timothy to teach that which he has been taught. The language is slightly ironic, since Timothy is to "continue" or "remain" (meno) in good teaching, while "fleeing" the apparent "progress" of the false teachers (2:16, 22-23; 3:5, 13). The opponents' novelty proves their inadequacy. By contrast, Timothy stands firm in a tradition, handed down to him by his mother and grandmother, Eunice and Lois, as well as Paul himself (1:5, 10-11).
Ultimately, Timothy's teacher has been God (3:15-16). The Hebrew Scriptures (and/or their Greek translation, in the Diaspora) would have been the foundation of the school curriculum for any Jewish boy, and thus he would have known them literally "from an infant" (apo brephous, v. 15). These writings "are able to instruct you about the salvation that comes through the faith that is in Christ Jesus" (author's translation, taking the construction to refer to the human Jesus' own faithfulness toward God, both in life and death). The ultimate point and goal of these sacred writings is Jesus himself, who faithfully carried out God's mission to the point of death, thus effecting our salvation. This teaching about the faith of Jesus is verified truth, because these writings were "inspired by God," literally "God-breathed" (theopneustos, v. 16). The expression is not defined precisely, nor can the concept behind it be limited to scripture. The New Testament and early Christian writings see the inspiration of God behind the utterances of contemporary prophets and teachers, as well as the writings of the Hebrew Bible (cf. for example, 1 Corinthians 12-14).
The letter's theory of inspiration is not primarily theoretical, however, but utterly practical. The inspiration of these writings makes them "useful"; as so often in ancient philosophy, the question is whether the doctrine makes any difference to one's life. The focus is on scripture's function, not its nature or authority. Scripture's practical function proves to dovetail with Timothy's own mission: teaching, reproof, correction, and moral training, with the ultimate purpose of making Christians "proficient" or "qualified" (artios) for being Christian, "equipped for every good work" (v. 17).
The exhortation to Timothy is ultimately grounded in the reality and inevitability of God's eventual judgment. The final charge is delivered "in the presence of God and of Christ Jesus, who is to judge the living and the dead, and in view of his appearing and his kingdom" (4:1). Contrary to some commentators, there is no lessening of eschatological expectation in this epistle. The imperatives that follow (4:2, 5) assume that Jesus will soon return to judge the living and the dead. Thus the mission is imperative, to be done "whether the time is favorable or unfavorable" for either teacher or hearers (v. 2).
Luke 18:1-8
The image of God as judge is common enough throughout the scriptures. While we may shrink from some of the wilder, sinners-in-the-hands-of-an-angry-God appropriations of the image, the root of the concept stems directly from the fact of creation. God, as our creator and sustainer, knows us as we truly are. This is the basic function of a judge: to be impartial, to see truly and clearly and uninfluenced by prejudice or outside influences -- unbiased, objective, neutral. To say that God is our judge is simply to say that God sees us as we really are, without illusion. Otherwise, how could it be a comfort to say that God loves us? God's love could be blind to our true faults, and thus based on a false perspective, if God did not see us clearly. The concept of God as judge reassures us that God has no illusions about who we truly are, and thus God's love itself is without illusions. God loves us, despite our inadequacies.
Where Jesus twists the knife is in his appropriation of the analogy. It is one thing to say that a judge should be objective, another to say that he is uncaring -- which is exactly the characterization of the judge in the parable! To say that this judge "neither feared God nor had respect for people" is to say that he was totally unfit for the position. One who did not fear God would lack the wisdom necessary to judge impartially (cf. Proverbs 1:7). One who showed such disrespect for a widow would be showing his ignorance of the law (cf. Exodus 22:22-24; Deuteronomy 10:17-18; 24:17; 27:19). The astounding thing is that Jesus is comparing God to a judge who is not a particularly good judge.
This shock-tactic stems from a traditional form of argument called "lesser-to-greater." The point is not that God is like the unjust judge (God is not), but that if a lesser judge will grant such a favor, how much more the ideal judge? If a judge who is admittedly prejudiced can grant justice, how much more the one judge who by definition treats all equally and impartially? "Will not God grant justice to his chosen ones who cry to him day and night? Will he delay long in helping them?" (v. 7). Jesus' answer is an emphatic "No" (v. 8). What a bad judge must do, a good judge certainly will do. The very imperfection of the analogy proves the point.
The perfidy of the unjust judge is contrasted with the persistence of the widow. As a widow, we would expect her to be a helpless figure, with no visible means of support in a male-dominated world (the commands in Torah to help such widows reflect this unfortunate reality). Instead, we find a ruthless self-advocate. Perhaps her very impotence underlies her tenacity; she really has no other choice but to pursue her case with all diligence. That she proves a formidable foe to the judge is signaled in his reflection that she might "wear me out," literally "give me a black eye" (hypopiazo, v. 5). While the verb could refer simply to slander (and the judge depicted as merely acting to preserve his reputation), we could as easily see this woman banging at his head as banging at his door. Such persistence of faith the one true judge hopes to see on the last day: "And yet, when the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on earth?" (v. 8).
Application
The various biblical images of God swirl around each other, sometimes joining hands, sometimes striking each other like bumper cars in an amusement park. God the farmer, in Jeremiah, is far removed from God the teacher, in 2 Timothy; Jeremiah would hold that God's final sowing obviates the need for teaching, while 2 Timothy views teaching as all the more pressing a need as the world comes closer to God's future plan. Both images resonate with the image of God as judge, though perhaps not with Jesus' striking use of the lesser-to-greater argument. In Jeremiah, the judge can forgive sin, because the farmer has done the work so well. In 2 Timothy, the teacher must do an even better job, in order to accomplish God's purpose. In Luke, the question is not persistent teaching but persistent practice, and the question focuses not on the judge but on the widow: Will the Son of Man find such faith when the time comes?
Can such contrasting images live harmoniously? They can, once we recognize that their purpose is to keep us on our toes. The moment we let ourselves lean toward one image or the other, we are in danger of losing part of the truth about God, and the ultimate truth is that God is beyond our puny human minds and our puny human conceptions. We can never fully grasp the nature of God in this mortal life (nor perhaps in the life to come). If we ever think we have God figured out, we will certainly have left something out. We can try to put God in a box, but opening it up later, we may find that God has slipped out of a hole in the cardboard we didn't even realize was there.
While some people might prefer to live in a more certain world, I rejoice that God is bigger than anything I can conceive. I wouldn't want to worship a God I could completely understand; it would be too much like worshipping myself. So I say, let those bumper car images bounce back and forth off each other. Maybe one or more of them will shock us into faith.
Alternative Applications
1) Jeremiah 31:27-34. Jeremiah walks a fine line between communal and personal responsibility. On the one hand, he rejects a causal line between the sins of the parents and the fate of the children, and we commend him for it -- even as we know, as a practical matter, how often children do suffer for the mistakes of their parents. On the other hand, when he speaks of a covenant written inside the people, he speaks of a singular "interior" and "heart" of that people, not their individual "hearts" (despite the NRSV translation). Jeremiah thus reflects one of the paradoxes of human existence, that we each live independent lives, but none of us lives independently. No one should die for someone else's sins, but how can any of us "know the Lord" apart from a community that embodies such knowledge, "from the least of them to the greatest" (Jeremiah 31:34)?
2) 2 Timothy 3:14--4:5. Part of the charge to Timothy is to "be sober" (4:5). This represents no contradiction to the exhortation, "No longer drink only water, but take a little wine for the sake of your stomach and your frequent ailments!" (1 Timothy 5:23). Sobriety was a common image among Hellenistic philosophers for the moral seriousness that befits a good teacher, and is obviously here meant in a broad as well as a literal sense (cf. 1 Timothy 3:3; Ephesians 5:18). Rationality was a prime virtue among the Greeks and Romans, and for Timothy to gain a hearing, he would have to represent the best qualities of pagan teachers. By contrast, the speculations of the false teachers must have seemed like drunken fantasies (cf. 2 Timothy 3:1-9; 2:23). The sober teacher of the gospel will not engage in such foolish disputes, but will be "patient, correcting opponents with gentleness" (2:23-24). Sober patience is part of what it means to "do the work of an evangelist" (4:5).
3) Luke 18:1-8. The worst thing is to lose hope. The widow provides an example of a faithful approach to prayer. She teaches us to "pray always," that is, consistently. Above all, faithful prayer is persistent. It assumes the goodness of God, and seeks God's assistance with the conviction that God wants to help. As such, it is the antidote to a rootless faith that can believe only for a short while, but in testing falls away (cf. Luke 8:13). Faith continues to pray, even when the only answer seems to be silence.
Fred Craddock quotes an elderly black minister as saying, "Until you have stood for years knocking at a locked door, your knuckles bleeding, you do not really know what prayer is" (Fred B. Craddock, Luke [Louisville: John Knox Press, 1990], 210). In Luke's story, the woman's persistence is captured graphically in the judge's speculation that she might be willing to give him a (perhaps literal) beating (18:5). Might the widow in question have bloodied her knuckles on the judge's face, until she got what she wanted? How many of us come away from prayer with scraped knees, let alone bloody knuckles?
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 119:97-104
Psalm 119 is well-known as the longest chapter in the Bible. The poem is actually an extended, and extensive, meditation on the meaning of the law. Given the sterile connotations often associated with "law" and "legalism," it's hard sometimes to appreciate the lyrical beauty of these reflections. One thing is for certain, the writer of this psalm did not view the law as either sterile or void of vitality.
We help ourselves somewhat if we remember that "law" in this psalm, and its corresponding "your word," have reference to Torah -- the Law of Moses. Torah is more than just legislative matters, case law, injunctions, and statutes, though it includes all of that. Torah is best understood as "instruction." This is what the psalmist celebrates throughout his long poem. Torah is life-giving. Torah, when internalized, creates a meaningful life. Torah frees us from foolishness by instilling wisdom. Torah does not do its work through legislative coercion. Torah does its work by changing the essential character of those who reflect on its meaning.
This principle is amply illustrated in the section of the psalm we consider here. The psalmist does not hold back his emotions: "O how I love your law" (v. 97). This is a passionate relationship with truth and with the hope of personal, as well as community, maturity.
The psalmist employs relational and sensory images to communicate the power of the law to transform us. The law makes us wiser than both our enemies and our teachers. The law has the power to advance our learning in spite of our age. The law is like a safety harness that keeps us from being pulled into evil. Yet the law is sweet, like honey on the tongue.
There is an important point to understand in all of this. Not so much in what the psalmist says about the law, though his words are important and instructive. Equally important, however, is his model of commitment to the law. The example the psalmist offers us regarding how to love the law and how to pursue truth is an excellent model for spiritual formation and Christian education.
We will not make much headway in any endeavor without commitment. The artist who masters the piano or some other musical instrument does not do so without regular attention to the instrument. The athlete who seeks to compete at some high level cannot afford to miss a day of training and conditioning. The writer who would compose a masterpiece must sit with the words everyday if the work is ever to be finished.
Similar comparisons could be made to other endeavors. If a married couple expects their relationship to survive and thrive over a number of years they must be intentional about communication, conflict management, and nurturing affection. Parents who want to see their children grow and mature into fully functioning adults must commit the needed time to train and guide them.
The psalmist shows us the wisdom of the passionate pursuit. Whether it is God's truth or a chance to perform at Carnegie Hall, it is disciplined and intentional attention to the task that brings about the desired result. In the case of the law, the result is wisdom and the doorway to a meaningful relationship with God.
