Hearts Not Lost

Luke 18:1-8; 2 Timothy 3:14-4:5; Jeremiah 31:27-34

I wonder how she keeps it up, this widow on a one-woman crusade for vindication?

Anyone else would know it’s hopeless, demanding response from a heartless, irresponsible and self-interested judge.

What kind of passion must be driving her, so that she not only keeps coming day after day after month after… maybe year? Years? But she’s also fierce.

 

The English translators went for the bland version, but the judge in Jesus’ story is using very colorful metaphoric language for not wanting the widow to keep this up.

I’m going to do what she asks so she doesn’t beat me up / knock me out by constantly coming, he says.

 

There’s so much power in this widow’s persistence, and I myself feel a little exhausted just thinking about it.

Where does she get this energy to keep her fired up in her quest for vindication?

I’m a little envious of her drive, endurance, passion – whatever it is. 

And getting worn out thinking about it.

 

I’d like – I think – to be one of those people with a powerful vision, a cause that carries you forward, the ability to stay powerfully focused, to be fired up and fierce even when success seems very unlikely.

And I’m also terrified that that’s what Jesus might be asking of us, telling us that this is a story about us, about how we should be persistent in prayer, not losing heart.

Because, well, I’m not sure I ever have that kind of passion. (I do have certain…opinions about, say, the designated hitter and daylight savings time, but) I’m exhausted just thinking about firing myself up over and over again.

 

And I bet I’m not the only one.

Some of you, listening to Jesus tell us to be persistent in faith and prayer, might be feeling like it’s a long, steep hill to climb to get to that excitement and energy about our faith.

 

I think Timothy might be feeling that weariness, too.

That steep hill ahead of him when he tries to live up to the expectations of his mentor in the faith, to the example of Paul.  And nobody gets as fired up as Paul. It’s an impossible example to follow.

The whole theme of this letter to Timothy that we’ve been dipping in and out of this month is about stick-to-it-iveness, about persisting in the work of telling Jesus’ story, encouraging and inspiring and helping others. And there are hints in today’s excerpt that it may feel pretty futile, that no one wants to listen.

 

(I love this image about people with itching ears going out and finding people who will tell them what they want to hear. It’s like a 1900-year-old prediction of the cable news and social media environment. And if you’ve tried to convince someone in that environment of a truth – or good news – they aren’t already looking for, well, you can probably empathize if Timothy’s worn out by it.)

 

Now, maybe you’re pretty fired up right now, and your energy and your prayer life are riding high and you’re ready to knock on unyielding doors for however long it takes.

Jesus loves this in you. I love this for you.

 

Others of us, though, might wonder what Jesus thinks about our weariness. About a … lack of excitement about persistence in evangelism or vindication or encouragement or prayer, when we’ve spent two and a half years and more already trying to persist in hanging on to and supporting our faith, and caring for others, when pretty much nothing in the pandemic, the economy, the social and political climates is making it easy. 

 

Honestly, it’s a lot easier for some – maybe many – of us to get tired. To lose heart. Or at least get less enthusiastic about knocking and knocking on heaven’s door, about trying to pray like that particular fierce widow claiming vindication, persisting in good news like Paul running around the Mediterranean, on fire for Jesus. 

I’m pretty sure, reading between the lines, that Timothy is tired, losing enthusiasm, like that.

 

And Paul (or whatever Paul-like person was writing advice to Timothy) has a prescription for this. Root yourself in scripture, he tells Timothy. Remember – re-enter – the writings of other people who’ve known God, been inspired by God, and have been there for you your whole life. That’s what equips you to persist.

 

And, you know, it’s true. 

Reading – and re-reading and re-reading – stories and poetry and history that have conveyed the presence and power and love of God to you once can strengthen us over and over and over and over again, so that we can keep praying, keep loving, keep singing, keep encouraging and supporting others. Timothy and his mentor knew that from experience. You and I can rely on some modern data-driven studies for that truth, along with experience from our own lives, or our friends’. 

Immersing ourselves in scripture – in the stories of God, the stories of Jesus, that have helped us feel God’s presence and love already – absolutely helps us persist. Helps us pray. Helps us encourage and endure and share and hope. 

 

(And no, you do not have to read all of Leviticus or Numbers or Revelation to get this benefit.)

 

Because when we read scripture; when we (in that way, or in conversation or song or sacrament or other ways) return ourselves to the shared story, the experiences that carry the presence of God, the love of God, the power of Jesus, we find our hearts.

The hearts God has promised us. 

Hearts in which the experience of God’s love, power, guidance, hope and faithfulness is “written” – is so deeply integrated into the core of our being that it’s just who we are. A heart that can never be separated from the heart of God.

 

The prophet Jeremiah tells us today of God promising that heart to weary exiles who had seen their homes and lives devastated, who’d felt separated from God, even abandoned by God, in long, tedious, painful years.

To them – and through them, to us – God promises to place within us that absolutely connected heart we’ve lost, or almost lost. 

Promises the exiles of Israel will find that heart within them as certainly as they’ve already seen loss and destruction and heartbreak. Promises that we can be as certain we’ll find that well-beloved, deeply nourished heart within us as we are certain of the losses or work or weariness we’ve personally already experienced.

 

The secret of persistence, I suspect, is not the personal excitement and passion you or I can bring to a cause. Not our individual fierceness or righteousness or strength of will. Not any of those things I envy in others, and struggle to find the energy to work up in myself.

 

The secret to persistence – the secret that widow held, that Timothy needed, that the exiles required, that you and I might long to share – the secret, maybe only, ingredient of persistent faith is a heart united with God, deeply integrated with God’s presence and power and love.  The heart God has already promised us, that cannot be separated from love. A heart that cannot be lost.

 

That heart, that connection, sticks with us while we are weary, and are wondering if we can stick it out, or start again… and we persist. 
When you or I don’t have excitement or energy to stir up for ourselves, that unbreakable love is elated to be with us … and we persist.
When we don’t know if we have what it takes to show up for ourselves, that deep presence of God encourages and prays and vindicates and keeps showing up in us and through us … and we persist in prayer and trust and presence and love.

 

The persistence our faith needs is the heart that God has already guaranteed to give us. A promise of unbreakable connection and trust that God persists in working to complete, even when it seems least likely to succeed.

 

We persist, because God persists in this promise of a heart which cannot be lost.

God’s own heart, found in us.