Prayer and Love [Psalm 79 & 1 Timothy 2:1-7 - Proper 20C]

The Rev. Jeremiah Williamson

Psalm 79 & 1 Timothy 2:1-7

Prayer and Love

The Bible is a strangely complex book.  And occasionally the lectionary makes sure that we do not forget that fact.  Today is one of those days.  The contrast between the abrasive emotion of today’s psalm and the gentle inclusivity we heard in the letter to Timothy, for example, is significant; there is an emotional range displayed there.  It is kind of like the range of emotions in our nation the day after a presidential election, when half of the country, those for the whom the election did not go as they had hoped, is crying out with the psalmist, “Pour out your wrath upon the heathen” and the other half is like my grandma, posting facebook memes reminding those in anguish that the Bible does tell us to say our prayers for “kings and all who are in high positions.”  The Bible has range.

What is perhaps most interesting about these divergent scriptural expressions, is that the writers, the writer of the psalm and the writer of the epistle, are living under similar political situations, just centuries apart.  Both are living as powerless religious minorities in hostile empires run by emperors who were in the martyrdom business.  Both have recently experienced the destruction of the Temple, the psalmist the first Temple, the writer of 1 Timothy the second.  Both are trying to figure out how to hold on to their faith in a place in which that very faith is both their only source of strength and also a mortal liability. 

And how the psalmist responds to this existential crisis is by expressing aloud an unbridled rage that is as honest as it is uncomfortable.  His rage does not end with verse six, that is just all we get this morning.  Today the lectionary clips the final few verses of this psalm probably because one raw cry for vengeance is about as much as nice Christians can really handle.  Some Christian groups even edit out verse six, which makes the psalmist appear only sad and not angry which is, I suppose, a more comfortable emotion to have sitting in our churches.

We, in the Episcopal Church, don’t preach a lot of wrath.  And we have our reasons, many of them very good.  And so, we might feel compelled to challenge this psalmist with our Christian theological ethic that tells us to love our enemies and pray for those who persecute us.  We can shake our heads at his prayers for divine vengeance; prayers so emotional that they cannot be contained in just one verse; the anger spills over into the omitted verses closer to the end of the psalm. 

Or we can sit with them, understanding that the emotions we find in the psalm are true and justified.  This psalmist, and his nation, witnessed the destruction of Jerusalem, their holy city, and of their Temple, the symbol of God’s presence in their lives.  This psalmist and his nation watched helplessly as their children were slaughtered, their homes burned to the ground.  Their dreams faded into nightmares before their very eyes.  The promise of the future was shattered, broken.  And so the tears were true.  And so was the anger.  And so were the prayers that carried that anger to God like an envelope around a letter.

Sometimes an angry prayer is necessary because it is the only honest thing there is.  Sometimes sharing that anger with God is what keeps a desperate believer alive, what keeps a broken community from falling into total despair.

And while the raw emotion of the Psalm can seem at odds with what we find in 1 Timothy, I’m not convinced that is entirely the case.  Certainly on the surface, the writer of the epistle seems to possess a sunnier disposition.  He just wants his sisters and brothers to pray for everyone.  Although in the psalmist’s defense, he does, in that psalm, pray for everyone – even the heathens.   

There is scholarly debate concerning the authorship of this letter to Timothy.  Some scholars believe it was written by Paul while he was in prison, just before his execution.  Some scholars think it was written by a later disciple of Paul, in Paul’s name, which was not terribly unusual in the ancient world, before publishing deals and copyright laws.  And really it doesn’t matter much; either way it is still Scripture for us.  But it does mean that this letter was written in one of two terrible circumstances.  It was either written by a man who was imprisoned, and later killed, by the political authorities – the very people he asks the Church to pray for.  Or it was written by one of Paul’s closest friends, after Paul was martyred by the political authorities – the very people the writer asks the Church to pray for.  Surely the writer of this letter could understand something of the pain expressed by the psalmist. 

The universalism of the letter (“I urge that prayers be made for everyone.” God desires everyone to be saved.”  “Jesus gave himself for all people.”  Basically, “God loves everybody.”)  is not some trite sentimental drivel that nice Christians say.  It is a heart-breaking reality that these persecuted Christians came to believe in their bones.  They didn’t pray for the king because he was the candidate for whom they voted; they prayed for him because, despite the hatred he showed them, despite the terrible injustices he supported, despite the violence of his reign, they were convinced that that Emperor too was a child of God; they were convinced that Jesus loved even him. 

And they were convinced that because Jesus loved him, they were called to love him too.  Not agree with him.  Not even like him.  But love him.  And there is no way that felt good. 

It is not easy being Christian.  The love required of us, according to our baptismal promises, is for "all people", for "every human being".  It is the hard work to which we are called.  It is the example Jesus gives us when he prays for his murders from the cross.  It would much easier if we were given a list of exceptions.  But we are not.      

Now this is not a call to simply be nice.  Love is not always nice; neither does nice require love.  Love does not mean we ignore sinful behaviors and attitudes - in individuals or communities, in leaders or in nations.  Timothy’s community was not naïve or oblivious.  They felt pain.  They experienced anger.  They watched as their brothers and sisters were crucified by the very kings and politicians they prayed for through gritted teeth, hands folded into clenched fists.  Love does not ignore evil and injustice.  Quite the opposite.  Our duty as Christians is to overcome evil and hatred with love.  Our duty is to see others, all the others, even the worst others, through the merciful eyes of Jesus – even if those eyes are clouded with tears.  Our duty is to love the kingdom of God into this world – a kingdom of justice and peace.

Prayer is a bold act of that love.  Prayer is not an act of collusion with the powers and principalities of this world.  A prayer is not some misguided endorsement.  The members of Timothy’s church did not pray for the king because they agreed with his violent policies that threatened their very existence.  They prayed for the king because even he was created in the image of God.  They prayed for the king because God loved those who suffered under his ruthless reign.  And they prayed for him because they knew only the love of God could change his heart.

Prayer is trusting that “thy Kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven” is coming true despite all evidence to the contrary.  Prayer is what happens when someone is bold enough to hold onto hope, bold enough to believe that lament is not the final word.  The boldness of prayer is funneling a lifetime worth of pain and frustration into a psalm and then ending that emotionally raw prayer as the psalmist does.  The last verse of today’s psalm, a verse that was omitted from our reading, is “We your people, the flock of your pasture, will give you thanks forever, O God; from generation to generation we will recount your praise.”  This psalm is honest about the reality of the world; it is honest about the heartbreak.  It is honest because the psalmist still believes, despite all evidence to the contrary, that the injustice will one day give way to God’s reign of justice, that violence will one day be swallowed up by peace.  Prayer is what happens when someone is foolish enough to believe in the Good News, foolish enough to believe in the life-changing, world-saving power of love.

  

And so we pray.  For everyone.  Not because everyone deserves our prayers.  But because we are just foolish enough to believe in the power of love, the power of love to transform hearts, to overcome evil and hatred, to usher in God’s reign of justice and peace.  We pray because we are convinced in our bones that God’s radically inclusive love is much more than just a nice idea; it is the heartbreaking reality that forces us to love even our enemies and pray even for those who persecute and oppose us.  Even though that doesn’t feel good.  

We are Christians and this is what we do.  We are people of prayer because that is what love demands.  We don’t have to like that.  We don’t even have to like the people for whom we pray.  But with God, all means all; God’s love knows no exceptions. And because we are convinced that God’s love is the only force in the universe that can change lives and change this world for the better, we pray, for everyone.  And yes, I know, everyone is a lot of people to pray for – which I guess is why the Bible also tells us to pray without ceasing.