Worship > Sermon Archive

Viktoria Gotting, MDivIII
July 29, 2007 - 12C
(Gen 18:20-33; Luke 11:1-13)

Viktoria Gotting, a senior at Harvard Divinity School was our guest preacher on Sunday, July 29. She is pictured on the right with our rector, The Rev. Beth Fain.

Having just observed Jesus in prayer, one of the disciples asks him to teach them to pray. In the Lukan account, Jesus offers a prayer with bullet-pointed concision-
* A greeting
* Praise
And, a rather bold set of requests-
* Give us…that which feeds our whole selves, today and every day-continually;
* Forgive us…because we turn that forgiveness around;
* Don't lead us…to the fearsome test.

But, Jesus does not simply offer the words of prayer; he instructs as to the dynamics of prayer itself-how it works. In Jesus fashion, that lesson comes in a parable-the one known well as The Friend at Midnight. The midnight caller is a familiar motif throughout the Hebrew Bible and Christian Testament. It cautions us to keep our eyes peeled in the dark for characters from bridegrooms to thieves-keeping the strong coffee brewed and the Ever-Readies in the flashlight.

So, it is at this point in the Gospel that I get goose bumps-remembering those deep night disturbances I have experienced. One goes like this:

About 10 years ago, at something close to 2 a.m., an insistent banging at my front door pounded me out of sleep, yet pinned me to the pillow, wondering had I been dreaming.
Then, a second set of knocks, followed by a middle-of-the-night hush.
I, like the resident of the home in the parable, mentally counted my children as, yes, tucked into their beds.
A third set of knocks, and I knew that there was no mistake-the visitor believed he or she had the right house, and wanted something. Badly.
I waited for the time of trial to pass, staring into a darkness that Barbara Brown Taylor has referred to as "futureless." One in which "tomorrow is as far away as the moon."
When tomorrow finally came, I called the dear ones who might have felt that it was OK to hammer on my door at such an hour.
Each one said they would have used of the phone-of course.
So, I will never know the stranger, or the unfulfilled need that came to my door that night.

We have to notice, however, that Jesus' story is different in a significant way. The deep night caller at the door and the householder are FRIENDS. The relationship between the friends-a guest and a host by virtue of the door between them-allows us to imagine the story as going a bit this way:

The scene is a house in the ancient near east. As in many still today, the householder is curled up with his family on a common mat. The sun went down a long time ago, so mid-night is just that.
Knock-knock. The householder startles awake.
Who's there? Joe, is that you?
Yeah, it's me. Hey listen, you got some bread in the house?
Are you kidding me?! The kids are finally asleep-if I get up now, it'll be another hour of fetching water and reading stories. What is wrong with you?!
Look, Buddy, if you have them, I'll take three choice measures-seeded rye, sourdough, and a whole grain. I have had a friend drop by kinda unexpectedly-and well, I gotta feed him, you know.
The friend inside replies, You too? Must be an epidemic!

Jesus does not provide us with an image of the eventual giving of bread, or a following scene in which the guest will go home, give the bread to his own guest, and thereby become a host himself. His listeners expect this will happen. The call to hospitality is integral to their history as nomads and exiles. Strangers in strange places are to be given welcome, the provision of choice food, and comfort without the threats of snakes and scorpions. Rather, Jesus says that the host provides the guest with bread not because of obligation, but because of the persistence of his petition. The shamelessness of his asking! Abraham in the Genesis reading models this persistence. Sure in his relationship with THE LORD, he states, "Let me take it upon myself to speak…" and in the repeated petitions that follow, Abraham knocks away at the minimum requirement of the righteous in the hope of saving a community.

Because they are friends, there is mutuality between the parties on either side of the door in the parable. This relationship assures that if all else fails, the requests will be granted due to persistence alone. The familiarity of their association blurs the lines of guest and host-enabling a greeting closely followed by a bold measure of requests. In Scripture, both God and Christ might assume the role of host or guest, depending upon the story. Whether a stranger appearing in the heat of the day, or a householder answering the knock of a seeker-the Divine visits us and welcomes us, asks of us-and expects to be asked.

Now the Greek word for guest, xenos, literally means foreigner, stranger-even enemy. Yet, in the derived sense encountered in the New Testament, the word refers to both the guest and host interchangeably-suggesting that the roles are in flux and interdependent. When I had trouble unpacking this concept, I observed that my mother's neighbor built a beautiful gate between their gardens.

When the gate was finally opened for the first time, the neighbors celebrated by inviting each other from one dominion to the other, and back again-delighted at this new portal of association. Within my sight, the waters of guest and host mingled, and a form of trust dissolved the conceptual roles that I thought distinguished them.

In the parable, the door functions as the liminal space between distinguishable situations, between calls to asking and answering without grudging, and without shame. Response to a call to ask or answer requires confidence in the capacities to receive and to give. Confidence in a relationship enables brazen asking from the perspective of need, and answering from ability to provide. This confidence is rooted in the recognition that the power to give is as shifting as the situation. In this dynamic, it is understood that every host will be a guest. It is a dynamic that plays out, every day-continually, as long as there is need for bread. This is the astonishing and disarming nature of hospitality: every guest, running home with loaves under his arms, will become a host upon arrival.

What about this bread, which is so central to Jesus' Prayer and to his teaching? The Friend at Midnight does not ask for a cup of sugar, or a bottle of cooking wine. He asks for bread. Lahkma, in Aramaic, is the choice bread of the Scriptures. It is the food of the whole person. The word implies a form of nourishment that meets the need wherever it exists. It feeds, and in so doing, it comforts and more-it completes. When Jesus, the Host, offers himself as the Bread of Life, he offers complete nutrition.

Jesus uses this parable to illustrate the function of prayer in the relationship of a Householder God to a Knocking People. Through it, he teach us how prayer works:
* When we pray, Jesus tells us, we are to seek the sustenance that meets the need-the bread that addresses our weakness.
* And, he adds that not only will our persistent knocking be answered, but also that the measures of bread will be abundant enough to compel us as generous hosts in turn!

Our relationship with God obligates us to be shameless in asking repeatedly for that which makes us whole. This wholeness enables asking and getting and giving. It short-circuits power in the mutuality of Divine friendship.

So, given today's lesson, what are our vocational tasks?
* We are called have the confidence to pray shamelessly.
* We are called to knock on doors persistently--and to answer them.
* We are called to be nourished and to be made whole with the Bread of Heaven, and to feed others with that perfect food.
* We are asked to remember that the shamelessness of "give us so that we may give" paves the way to the completeness of "forgive us so that we may forgive."
And,
* We are called to intentionally blur the lines of guest and host.

What of the knocking stranger long gone from my door? Well, I have prayed for that person, Christ the Guest. I have prayed for forgiveness for myself-and the ability to know the right response to offer in safety. I repeatedly ask for the completeness to put aside fear, every day-continually. I attempt to knock on doors more persistently, and to open my own when I hear a caller-especially in the "midnights" of frightening trials. And, I am learning to boldly ask for plenty of bread to keep on hand for distribution. These days: lavash, challah, and Texas Toast.
Friends, may God in Christ bless your own persistent knocking and opening, your nourishing searching and finding-and by Grace, may you be shameless in giving and in asking.
AMEN

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