Sue gets a call from our neighbor Maggie who is crying on the phone. It seems one of her cats, Surprise is dying. Sue observes that Surprise was rangy and ribbed and barely moving. Maggie says that Surprise has not eaten. The vet clinic is full and they make an appointment for the following day. Surprise is in her ninth year and she stopped maintaining her weight. Her soft coat started to thin; her bright eyes to dim. In desperation, Maggie tried to feed her, but she wanted nothing.
The following morning when Sue arrives to take Surprise and Maggie along to the vet, she learned that Surprise had died overnight. That night before she died, Maggie lay beside her on the floor, stroking her soft fur, whispering in her ear, “Do you hurt, Surprise? Are you sad? What do you need? Please tell me.” Surprise was silent. She cried.
We can be forgiven for failing to recognize the pain of another when they can neither recognize nor speak their own sadness. But there is no forgiving us when we choose not to hear, when we turn away from another’s pain.
Luke tells a story about a persistent widow who pesters a judge day and night, but the judge refuses to hear her pain, refuses to acknowledge her request, pretends she doesn’t exist.
Luke doesn’t reveal the specifics of her complaint, only that she has been treated unjustly. Kudos to the widow for her persistence, but what, exactly, was the injustice?
Perhaps her son has been wrongly imprisoned or maybe she herself has suffered age discrimination. It might be that her brother is being detained at the border or her deceased husband’s lawyer is dragging his heels in settling the estate. Perhaps she has been driven into bankruptcy by exorbitant medical bills.
Injustice comes with so many alibis and aliases. We want to look in her eyes and ask, “Do you hurt? What do you need?” But both she and Luke remain silent. Why does Jesus teach this lesson? Are we to pester God with our needs, as the widow pesters the justice? Is the goal of our prayers to receive compensation for injustice, or simply to wear out an exasperated God? I’m not comfortable with any of those interpretations.
So what is the greatest injustice? That the woman was mistreated? That the justice is slow to respond to her claims? Or that, ultimately, he acts with mercy, regardless of the merits of her case? Without reviewing her claims, the justice grants her request. Is it merely justice that she receives, or an even greater gift?
Perhaps Luke is hinting that Jesus is also unjust, because Jesus hears the prayers of righteous and unrighteous alike. Perhaps Luke is implying that Jesus’ justice is based not on the merits of the case but on his inexplicable love and mercy for sinners. Is it just to forgive sinners who will sin again, to feed those who will hunger again, to heal those who will be sick again, to bring back to life those who will overdose again, to raise those who will die again? In some quarters, Jesus’ kindnesses would be deemed not only unjust, but foolish.
At the end of the parable, Jesus promises that all who cry will be heard, all in need will be helped. Jesus promises that justice—Jesus’ justice—will be served without delay.
Lord, I pray for all my Sonshine Friends who are hurting and no one hears their cry. Finally, like the persistent widow, Surprise was held in loving arms before she died. She received the justice of a gentle, peaceful death. Finally, Jesus is that unjust justice—delivering kindness and mercy to all who cry out, regardless of the merits of our case.
