The Question Within the Question- A Sermon

The Question Within the Question
Rev. James Hawley 7/25/2010

Luke 11:1-13

Which of you, when asked one question, listen for another?

It happens often with children. They ask many questions, questions like “what happens when a meteor comes through the roof?” Or, “If an alligator came into the dining room could we keep it?” Or maybe they wonder what happens if the sun fails to rise one day or how far it is to McCook if you have to walk. Whatever the case may be, often we are asked questions that have answers, but the answer is not really the point. The alligator question might just be natural curiosity, or it may reflect a yearning for a pet of some kind. The meteor question is easy to answer, but the real issue may be a sense of insecurity around the forces of nature. The question about McCook may have something to do with the loud crash you heard a short time ago. Whatever it is, however, the immediate question is seldom at the heart of the matter. What is really at issue is the question within the question.

The disciples watched Jesus pray. Watching Jesus pray must be like watching Phil Mickelson play golf or Arthur Rubinstein play the piano. The Carly Simon song comes to mind. Nobody Does it Better. So the disciples are understandably in awe of Jesus and his relationship with God. The text does not tell us—was Jesus praying aloud? If so, were the disciples in earshot? Or was he in silent prayer? An interesting question, I think, which the scripture does not answer. But the fact that the disciples then asked Jesus to “teach them to pray” as John taught his disciples suggests that they were not able simply to mimic Jesus’ prayers. They wanted lessons. Advice. And Jesus answers their request directly.

The “Lord’s Prayer”, as tradition has termed it, can be found in two places in the Bible. Here and as part of Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount in Matthew. The text is different in each of these places and neither is the text that we commonly recite in church. Matthew is the closest, in the Revised Standard Version, but it lacks the doxology—“for Thine is the Kingdom and the Power of the Glory forever.” Luke’s version is a bit more spare.

There are essentially five petitions in Luke’s version of the Lord’s Prayer and, in keeping with Luke’s interest in linking both the former and the newer covenants together, the prayer can be understood as a distillation of the Ten Commandments. The five petitions are: 1) The holiness of God’s name. 2) the primacy of God’s kingdom. 3) The dependency of the creation on the creator 4) the necessity of forgiveness 5) the necessity of recognizing evil and steering clear of it. The first three petitions bring to mind the first four commandments and their emphasis on the absoluteness of God and the need to not have other gods or to take the Lord’s name in vain. The remaining petitions invoke the various “thou shalt nots” of the commandments. Essentially, forgiveness is the foundation of the community and the various “evils” which are itemized in the Old Testament are here lumped together as “Temptation” and “evil” which God shall help us to avoid. As Jesus’ followers were all Jews, at this point in the story, we may safely assume that there is nothing new here. No ground breaking insight. The prayer simply reiterates to Jesus’ followers the Jewish law in which they have been living all along.

But most of this Lukan text is not concerned with the prayer itself. It is concerned with the extended story about the neighbors. Therefore, we may conclude that Jesus’ principle interest is not in the words of the prayer itself, but in the question within the question that the disciples ask. This is a common practice for Jesus in Luke as we have seen. Jesus’ stories are not generally designed to introduce a new idea into people’s heads. Jesus’ stories draw out of people the things they already know to be true but may have conveniently forgotten. The young ruler knows the greatest commandment. The Pharisee is able to identify who was neighbor to the beaten man. Simon the Pharisee understands which debtor would be more loving. So perhaps the disciples already know how to pray, if by that we mean they can open their mouths and words will come out. What they may not know is whether their prayers are worth anything. They know how to pray, but they do not know what prayers work. What, they ultimately want to know, must they do to get God’s attention? I imagine a scene in which the disciples ask Jesus to teach them to pray, he answers with this prayer, and then goes back to his book or whatever he is doing. I see the disciples standing around, looking each other, kicking the dirt. “Jesus,” they say. “So…that’s it then? That will do it?” They are asking Jesus how to pray because they are afraid that their prayers are not any good. They are afraid that God does not hear their prayers. They are afraid of what will happen to them if they pray poorly. Under it all, the disciples are afraid that God may not actually care about them.

So Jesus tells them a story about a grumpy old man who has gone to bed and does not want to be bothered. With this character I can totally relate. But he is bothered—he is bothered by a neighbor who needs some food. The neighbor does not exactly say I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blow your house down, but he does persist. And so, just to get rid of him, the neighbor gets out of bed and gives the man what he is asking for.

As Amy Jo talked about two weeks ago with the story of the Good Samaritan, it was quite popular in the early centuries of the Church to allegorize Jesus’ stories. An allegory is a story within which the characters and events have a one to one relationship with real life counterparts. Have you read “Pilgrim’s Progress” by John Bunyan? This story was written in 1678 and is an allegory of the Christian’s life (The main character is named “Christian”) through hardship and peril to end finally at eternity. Perhaps the most famous allegory is one that the Greek philosopher Plato tells in his dialogue The Republic. It is called the allegory of the cave. Plato tells the story of persons chained in a cave unable to see anything but shadows of things passing by behind them. A light casts the shadows. As the people in the cave know no better, they presume the shadows are real when they are, of course, just shadows. Plato uses this story as an allegory to make the point that the people of Athens also confuse their knowledge (shadows) with what is real (Truth and Philosophy and things Plato likes). Now you don’t need to understand any of that I hope to see what allegory is. An allegory is story in which the characters and events are intended to represent actual real world people or events.

And Jesus did tell an allegory or two. At least the evangelists treat some of his stories as allegories. But mostly Jesus told parables, and parables are different from allegories. A parable is more slippery. In a parable, unlike an allegory, the target seems to be always moving. They are hard to pin down, hard to exhaust. Parables certainly are meant to illustrate ideas, ethics, morals. But they are often open ended, inviting us to enter into them in many ways and at different times. The story of the Prodigal Son is a common example. Sometimes when we hear that story we think we are like the father, other times the younger son, and other times the behavior of the older brother reminds us of our own feelings. Or the story of the Good Samaritan. There are times when we relate to the priest or Levite. Other times we feel like the victim on the road. Heaven forbid we not relate to the robbers, and at our best we resonate with the Samaritan. The point is this: with a parable there can never be a direct one to one relationship between the story and the world because the story and the world are too ambiguous to permit that.

The reason I descended into that discussion was to point out the risk of making an allegory out of this story. For if we do, we will understand God to be a grouchy old man who answers prayer to get rid of us. Now that is not what Jesus had in mind. Jesus’ story works instead by contrasting two things. Two things which are not at all alike. His point, ultimately is this: If grumpy old men get out of bed and give the neighbor what he is asking for---then how can you doubt that God---who is the opposite of the grumpy old man—will not care for you?

In a couple of weeks the lectionary has scheduled a passage wherein Jesus tells his disciples and others not to worry. Fear not, little flock, for it is your father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom. Let us transport that text into our own this day for it is important to see the continuity of expression on this subject. Time and time again Jesus comforts his followers with the assurance that God’s love is a given. It is part and parcel to the Kingdom of God. I am a little miffed at Jesus for saying that I, who am evil, know what good things to give my children. But I am willing to take the high road on this one. For the larger point is this---we must stop worrying about God’s love, either for us or our neighbor. The heart of the Kingdom of God is love. And love is reflected in forgiveness. And forgiveness opens the way to pursue the goals of God’s Kingdom. Which is pretty much the Lord’s Prayer. It is also at the heart of a lot of questions our children ask us---or others. The questions that have, at their heart, do you love me? Am I safe? Can I trust? Dare I risk? Jesus says yes. And yes. And yes. Love, forgive, pray, and live. Ask, knock and receive. Receive the Holy Spirit which your Father is every ready to give.