Don't Lose Heart

 Luke 18: 1-8  October 19, 2025

 

So is this parable of Jesus saying is that anything I pray for,

if I pray long enough and hard enough, I’ll get it?

So if I pray to win the lottery or,

If I pray to have the body I had at 25,

Or if I pray with Janis Joplin

for the Lord to buy me a Mercedes Benz,

It will happen if I just ask often enough.

Some people think that’s what this parable is saying.

 

But that just doesn’t sound right does it?

That makes God sound like a vending machine.

If we put the right amount a prayers in, God gives out our request.

That does not sound like something that Jesus would say.

And it just doesn’t sound like the truth either.

 

So maybe Jesus means something different.

And this time, Jesus actually tells us what that is: Justice.

 

Jesus says when we cry out for justice

we can be assured that God will give it.

We know that whenever we pray, God listens to us.

But when we ask for justice,

we can live in confidence that one day, we will see it.

Justice. We throw the word around a lot,

but what does the word mean?

There are actually several definitions to it.

Commercials with personal injury lawyers seem to use it a lot.

And maybe that might be a part of it.

But when the bible mentions it,

Justice is a concept of moral rightness or fairness.

The right of all people  to be treated fairly under the law

in this world, without discrimination or preference.

It’s a moral principle that requires upholding

what is right and equitable.

 

Basically for us, justice means reforming the world in God’s image

where there is no prejudice, neither male nor female, slave nor free,

Greek nor Jew, justice is making the world

more like the kingdom of God

 

When we pray for God’s will every week in the Lord’s prayer

we are praying for justice:

for food for the hungry and for the oppressed to be set free,

for people to be treated fairly and rightly.

 

But sometimes I think having powers of this world 

do the right thing for all people seems like a pipe dream now. 

It seems like an impossibility.

 

Even though we pray for justice every week,

I’m not really sure we believe it will come.

We dream about it, and we ask for it.

But almost immediately we give up on it.

We kind of say, “Yeah, right.”

ad with that, it’s like we’re giving up in advance almost.

Like we’re convinced that injustice will win.

 

I get it. Things don’t look very hopeful now for righteousness.

Everything we’re experiencing in the world is “unprecedented”

we are living with a lot of unknowns right now

we seem to be going down dangerous paths

that we haven’t been down before.

 

Lots of regular people are worried about their

healthcare going away at the end of the year,

or becoming too outrageously priced they can’t afford it.

The poor are getting poorer and the rich are absurdly rich

and they seem to be flagrantly ignoring the law all the time.

Our country was one of the least corrupt in the world,

but now it seems like it became one of the most.

Our National Guard is being turned against our own cities.

People are being taken off our streets by ICE because

they fit a particular racial profile.

Justice just doesn’t seem in the cards right now.

Brian Mclaren, the great theologian, in his book

Everything Must Change called our society in the US and

elsewhere the “Suicide Machine”.  I think that seems apt.

He says that the stories that frame our world are out of control,

profit comes before people,

and violence has been found to be a shortcut for

people to get what they want.

And the result is that everything we do has become

a destructive force in this world.

Society is basically killing itself.

 

He wrote this almost 8 years ago, but it seems

like we might be further in it now than before.

I mean I do feel like I’m being pulled into a machine of injustice

things that I can’t stand and can’t abide by,

but I can’t seem to stop either.

 

His book says that we need to change those narratives

or we will all be sucked up into the machine.

 

Asking for justice in the middle of this machine

seems futile, it almost seems ridiculous.

Even if we get our immediate, current issues dealt with

we’re still got the normal, everyday, run of the mill injustice

that we’ve experienced since the beginning of this country

and the beginning of time.

 

This mountain seems ridiculously high and we don’t know the way

up it, and we’ve lost our shoes, and we’re out of water.

Asking for justice feels like we’re screaming into the wind.

 

I know that it seems like the possibility of justice is remote at best.

But Jesus tells his disciples not to lose heart.

And Jesus was talking to his disciples in his time.

And in Jesus time, justice must have seemed not just a stretch,

but absolutely impossible.

  

Equality was not really even a concept,

the income gap between the rich and the poor was more

enormous than we could imagine.

Most of the people were poor, many were starving.

And the small number of rich and powerful

had no qualms about manipulating things to their benefit

and didn’t even give the impression that they cared.

Due process was not even a term, property was taken,

and people were removed and killed by the government

without any hearings or trials.

 

AND at that time there was no constitution to refer to or ask

leaders to adhere to. No Magna Carta.

There were no checks and balances.

There were no elections to look ahead to.

 

I know we seem a little thin on justice right now.

But our world is far more fair than it was then.

There was no idealistic system of representation to rely on,

no premise of personal freedom

or individual rights or equality to appeal to.

At least we have words and ideals to refer to and to

demand that leaders to aspire to.

 

Then it all depended on who was in power at the time

and what their whim was and what they decided.

The idea that a regular person would see justice:

that they would be treated fairly without discrimination

probably seemed utterly hopeless.

 

But still Jesus tells his disciples not to lose heart.

Not to give up hope. To keep praying for justice.

And that is what this parable is about

as Luke so kindly tells us right at the beginning.

Keep praying for justice.

 

Imagine being that woman in the parable.

She comes to a judge she knows is unjust.

But yet she comes to him repeatedly

asking for the right thing to be done.

Asking for justice. She doesn’t throw up her hands

and give up prematurely, she keeps going back,.

 

Knowing that the decks are stacked against her

to begin with, as a woman in that time,

and as a widow without a husband to represent her,

and then to have her case in the hands of an unjust judge.

It would actually have been easier to give up.

Easier to just walk away exasperated and cynical and move on.

 

But she does not live a life of resignation even in the face of

this desperation. She lives a life of hope and expectation

a belief that the right thing will happen, justice will be done.

Her whole life is hopeful, ready for this judge to act right.

 

That is what Jesus is asking of us.

To always be ready for God’s will to be done.

 

I think that the most hopeful character in this parable

is that unjust judge.

And I don’t think this unjust judge is God by the way.

This judge has no love of people, no interest in helping the widow,

he has no respect for God at all. He’s not a man of faith or integrity,

He is on the side of injustice.

And yet he’s hopeful for us because he still becomes part of God’s plan.

At the end of the day, even he ends up working for God’s justice.

 

God’s vision will be done. Nothing will stop it.

We are asked to make our lives a living prayer of hope.

Not just that we keep asking, but that we actually

believe that justice will happen.

 

I mean, what if we actually lived the prayers we prayed?

What if we expected it so much that we formed our lives

as if it would happen?

 

Think of it like this: it’s a silly illustration but still -

If I asked for jelly beans to come from the sky

and I really believed that request would be answered.

What would I be doing?  Would I sit in my living room,

With my arms folded and my head down? No.

 

If I really believed that my prayer would be answered,

I would go out in my yard, with my hands out

and my eyes looking up. I might get a box or a paper bag.

But yet, our stance when we ask for justice is more

like sitting in our living room with our arms folded

and the blinds closed.

 

Right now when we think of any of these good outcomes

for those cogs in the wheel of the Suicide Machine to stop churning–

things like healthcare, income equality, environmental solutions, 

peace, reasonable gun control, and end to hate and racism –

the response we get and give mostly is exhausted cynicism.

Sitting in our living room with our arms folded.

We say things like:

 “There’s no way. I won’t hold my breath. Right. Eye rolls.”

We give in before we’ve even started doing anything.

Persistent Widow
James Janknegt

 

But if I really believed that those 

prayers would be answered,

my stance and my life would be different.

What if we lived in absolute

expectation and hope that God will find a way,

and what if we shaped our lives around that hope?

How can we live our lives as a prayer,

ready for God’s will?

 

As if the kingdom of God were in our midst and

going to happen at any moment.

With our arms open and our faces looking with hope

toward what we’ve prayed for.

Jesus wants our lives to be a living prayer.

Not Pollyanna positivity, denying the realities of the world,

but with determined optimism.

 

I feel like I’ve told this story before,

and I’ll probably tell it again, because it’s a good one.

Bishop Tutu was an Episcopal bishop in South Africa during apartheid

and one of the main figures in getting apartheid revoked in the 90s

 

He was very outspoken he encouraged protests and boycotts

and in return he received many threats from that

unjust government.

 

In 1988, one of the most contentious eras of those days,

on an Easter Sunday morning,

hundreds of worshippers of many different races

gathered for service at St. George Cathedral in Cape Town,

where Bishop Tutu was presiding.

 

In the middle of the service a group of the

notorious South African Security Police

came into the service and gathered in the aisles of the church

around the walls some with machine guns

and some with writing pads and tape recorders,

waiting to record what Bishop Tutu would say.

Tutu had already been arrested a few weeks earlier.

The parishioners were nervous, there was a pall over them.

If Bishop Tutu said something radical,

he might be arrested or even shot on sight.

But if he didn’t say anything then the apartheid regime

would have won by intimidation.

 

Bishop Tutu came out to the pulpit to preach,

and he started bouncing up on his heels and laughing.

And everyone started laughing with him.

Which lifted the crowd.

 

And then he addressed the police directly.

He said to them in the warmest, but firmest and clearest tone,

“You are powerful. You are very powerful, but you are not gods.

And I serve a God who cannot be mocked.

So, since you have already lost,

I invite you today to come and join the winning side!”

 

And at that, the worried crowd, leapt to their feet

and praised God and started dancing in the cathedral,

and danced into the streets

and danced right up to the armed security forces

that were surrounding the cathedral,

who just backed up and let the people dance.

Bishop Tutu was right. Justice would prevail.

God would help them see the end

of that terrible system of government.

The side to be on was God’s side.

 

God’s vision will be done. Nothing will stop it.

It may take a while. It may take way longer than we want.

But we are asked to live our lives

in hope and prayer and even excitement, waiting for that day.

Arms outstretched, readying our lives for that day

when we will see God’s kingdom fully revealed.

We are asked to make our lives a living prayer of hope

Interrupted by Gratitude

 Luke 7: 11-19

Ten Lepers Healed
William West

October 12, 2025

 

In Leviticus, there are several pages of rules for

what people should do when they have leprosy.

 

Now, when the Bible says “leprosy”,

 it doesn’t necessarily mean what

we call Hansen’s disease today.

Biblical leprosy was sort of a catch-all term

for a wide range of visible skin diseases.

 

Some were contagious, some were not—

but because no one could tell which was which,

people treated all of them as dangerous.

And so there was fear. A lot of fear.

 

To deal with that fear, rules were made

religious rules, and community rules

about how people with these diseases were supposed to live.

In Leviticus, it says:

 

“The person who has the leprous^* disease shall

wear torn clothes and let the hair of their head be disheveled;

and they shall cover their upper lip and cry out, ‘Unclean, unclean.’

They shall remain unclean as long as they have the disease;

they are unclean. They shall live alone;

their dwelling shall be outside the camp.”

 

They are to live outside the camp. Away from everyone.

Imagine what that must have felt like, 

cut off from your family, your community, your place of worship.

The assumption in those days was 

that you must have done something wrong to deserve it.

You must be being punished.

So not only were you physically ill,

you were also socially and spiritually exiled.

 

And this fear an isolation were not rare, because

comes up time and again in the New Testament,

including this story today and in the Hebrew

Scriptures as we see in the first story today.

 

Even important people were not immune to leprosy--

Namaan was a commander of the kings army. Very important.

But even his power and money couldn’t even buy him relief.

Now Namaan didn’t spend much time “outside the camp”

on the streets, but he was still isolated “inside his camp” in his palace,

and there was nothing he could do to find a cure,

like everyone else, he just had to wait it out and hope and endure.

A miserable life.

 

But obviously, some people did find relief

from some of these skin diseases,

because there are also extensive instructions for what to do

when a person’s skin clears up.

And the first thing they do is to show themselves to the priest.

Here’s more from Leviticus:

When there is on the skin of one’s body a boil that has healed, 

and in the place of the boil there appears a white swelling

or a reddish-white spot, it shall be shown to the priest. . .

 

The descriptions go on and on into excruciating detail.

This is why when people are doing a read-through in the bible,

I recommend jumping right over Leviticus and

reading some other books with stories.

 

Now, I can’t say that I’m disappointed that the duties of

religious leaders seem to have changed considerably

over the past few thousand years.

Not that people haven’t felt comfortable

showing me their share of surgery scars

or ask my opinion on a rash or two,

but I’m grateful I don’t have to inspect anyone’s

skin to decide if they can come back to church.

 

But this was one of the roles of the religious leaders back then.

And the first thing a person should do after being cured

was to go and show themselves to a priest,

then go take a bath.

It’s all written in Leviticus for you to see,

if you still decide to read it against my recommendation.

 

So that’s the world Jesus is walking through in today’s story.

Jesus is traveling along the border

between Samaria and Galilee when

ten people with leprosy approach him.

 

Because they’re unclean, they keep their distance,

just as Leviticus commanded..

But they call out to him—

“Jesus, Master, have mercy on us!”

And Jesus does.

 

He doesn’t wave his hand or say a long prayer

or even touch them. He just says,

“Go and show yourselves to the priests.”

 

That’s it.

He’s telling them to take

the next step in the process—

to begin the re-entry ritual.

They are already healed, though they may not even realize it yet.

 

So off they go, all ten of them,

doing exactly what they were supposed to do.

They follow the religious law, go to the priests,

prepare to rejoin their communities.

 

Except one.

One man, seeing that he’s been healed, stops. Turns around.

Returns to Jesus, praising God with a loud voice.

He throws himself at Jesus’ feet and thanks him.

 

And Luke tells us, “He was a Samaritan.”

Once again, the person who stops to do the right thing,

the compassionate thing, the grateful thing,

is part of the group everyone else was looking down on.

Jesus even sounds a little surprised:

“Were not ten cleansed? Where are the other nine?”

Ten were healed, but only one was interrupted by gratitude.

 

That’s really what this story is about. Gratitude.

Sometimes I try to find a new angle

or a hidden meaning in a gospel story

but this one doesn’t hide anything.

It’s right there on the surface. Give thanks.

That’s it.

 

And yet—how often do we forget to do it?

We move from one task to the next,

from one email to the next, from one obligation to the next.

Someone helps us, someone shows us kindness,

and we forget to say thank you.

Not because we’re ungrateful people

but because we’re busy, distracted, preoccupied with the next thing.

 

But gratitude is holy interruption.

It’s stopping on the road

to our next destination to recognize

the goodness that has already met us.

 

This Samaritan man had every reason to keep walking.

He was about to get his life back

his home, his family, his future.

But he stopped. He turned around. He gave thanks.

And in that moment, Jesus tells him,

“Your faith has made you well.”

All ten were healed physically, but one was made whole.

 

Being thanked feels good, doesn’t it?

It’s nice when someone notices your effort.

But gratitude does even more for the one who gives it.

Gratitude changes the way we live.

 

We live in a time when outrage is the air we breathe.

Turn on the TV, scroll through your phone

there’s always something to be angry about.

And some of those things are worth being angry about.

There is injustice, suffering, violence, and pain.

But if we only live in anger and outrage,

we become part of the sickness in the world.

It’s hard to feel gratitude and outrage at the same time.

 

Gratitude doesn’t ignore the pain

it just widens the lens to see

that there’s also goodness, beauty, mercy, love, and grace

still at work around us.

 

Science even agrees:

gratitude improves people’s lives,

our personal lives, our mental health,

it relieves anxiety and depression,

it improves relationships,

gratitude lowers stress hormones,

builds resilience, and improves self-esteem.

 

Gratitude strengthens us; it heals us.

But beyond science,

for people of faith, gratitude is a spiritual practice.

It is a way of seeing God’s hand in the ordinary.

It’s a way of saying and admitting:

I did not get here on my own.

I am not self-made.

God has met me with grace.

 

So maybe that’s the invitation today

to let gratitude interrupt us.

To stop for a moment, turn around, and give thanks:

For the people who have walked with us.

For the healing that has come in ways we didn’t expect.

For the daily mercies that are easy to miss.

 

And one last thing I noticed

in this little story, the whole of Jesus life and ministry is

encapsulated:

Jesus is traveling,

meeting people where they are,

he encounters the forgotten and outcast of society,

he is not afraid to engage with them,

while doing that, he follows the tradition of his religion,

but he’s also not afraid to step outside of the

lines of what most people do and expect,

and he heals the people,

and releases them from their captivity.

 

And all we can do in response –

in the face of such grace and mercy –

is to give thanks.