October 19, 2025 Archdeacon Steve Seely, EDOW

Good morning, St. Anne's. Oh, you're going to have to do better than that. I mean, it's 10:20. You should be awake by now. Good morning, St. Anne's. Excellent. It's a joy to be with you today and bring you greetings from Bishop Mary Ann and all the staff at Church House. We give thanks for the faithful ministry of this parish and the way you live out the gospel here in Damascus.

Bishop Marianne joins me in holding this community and especially your Deacon Janice in our prayers today. For the past three-plus years, Deacon Janice has served among you with a servant's heart, listening deeply, walking alongside you in prayer, and helping this congregation keep its eyes turned outward towards the needs of the wider community. Her ministry has been a living reminder of what the diaconate is meant to be, a bridge between the church gathered and the world God loves. Today we give thanks for her faithful service, for the countless quiet ways she has shared Christ's love among you, and for the seeds of compassion and justice she has planted that will continue to bear fruit here at St. Anne's. And so on behalf of Bishop Mary Ann and the Diocese of Washington, I want to say thank you to Janice and to all of you. You have embodied that partnership between priest, deacon, and laity that makes the gospel visible in this place.

Let us pray. Holy God, open our ears to hear, open our minds to understand, and open our hearts to love. In the name of one God, creator, redeemer, and sustainer. Amen.

Years ago, I actually got to thinking about it, and it's been over 20 years ago. I was the youth director at the Episcopal Church of the Resurrection in Oklahoma City. Every Sunday evening, teenagers would gather, as teenagers do, and there were about 20 or so in our group. And we'd been talking about prayer for a couple of weeks, and after church was finished in the morning on a particular Sunday when we were going to finish up our series on prayer, I opened up the soda machine. And I moved all the cans of soda to different slots so that when you pushed a button, you didn't get what you were expecting. Now, you might think I was doing that to be a practical joker, and there would be some truth to that, but I had a method to my madness.

So that evening all the kids showed up and I had a roll of quarters and I gave them each 50 cents. Cokes were cheaper then. Gave them 50 cents and I said, go get yourself something to drink, my treat. And so off they went to the Coke machine that was in the hallway down from the youth room. And the first kid put two quarters in and hit the button. And they didn't get what they expected. And of course then a conversation started among the kids. And so the next one said well I'll try and put two quarters in thinking maybe it was just a fluke and they didn't get what they wanted either. In fact only one kid got what he wanted because there was only one slot that I didn't change. That was grape soda. Not knowing that there would be one kid who wanted grape soda. So if you pressed Coke, you got Sprite. If you pressed Diet Coke, you got a Dr. Pepper, and so on. And so you can imagine the conversation amongst these teenagers about the messiness of the Coke machine. And I said, well, you're just going to have to live with what you got, because I don't have the key, which was true. It was locked up in the office.

Small technicality. And I said, so you know, and I was known for odd lessons. You know, sometimes prayer feels like tonight's Coke machine. You ask God for one thing, and something completely different shows up. You press the button for peace, and perhaps you get patience instead. Or you ask for clarity, and you get confusion that somehow leads you to trust. The thing is, you still get a drink. You're still sustained. You're still being answered, but perhaps not in the way you were expecting or desired. This Coke machine God we imagine, the one where you put your coins in and press the button and get exactly what you ordered just doesn't exist. Prayer isn't mechanical and God isn't predictable.

That's what Jesus is teaching in today's gospel. Prayer isn't about pressing buttons or getting results. Prayer is about relationship. In this passage from Luke, Jesus tells his disciples a parable about their need to pray always and not to lose heart. In a certain city, he says there's a judge who doesn't fear God or respect people. There's a widow, one of the most powerless people in her society, who keeps coming to him saying, grant me justice against my opponent.

For a while, he refuses. But finally, I suspect just to stop her from bothering him, he gives in. It's tempting to hear this story about nagging God until God gives in. But that's not who God is. God is not the unjust judge. God doesn't get worn down by our persistence. This parable isn't about results. It is about relationship.

You see, the widow keeps showing up. That's the heart of it. She keeps showing up. She doesn't have power or privilege. What she has is persistence. She keeps coming because she refuses to give up hope that justice is possible. And that's what prayer really is. Not magic words or divine transactions, but companionship with God. The practice of showing up again and again, even when it feels like nothing is happening. It's like any deep friendship or marriage perhaps or any other kind of close relationship. Some days bring laughter and connection. Other days bring silence or frustration. But the relationship endures because we keep showing up. Prayer is the same way. It's not about shaking the Coke machine. It's about maybe sitting at the kitchen table with each other. Sometimes talking, sometimes listening, and sometimes just being together in the quiet. That's the difference between transaction and relationship.

This parable reminds me of a neighbor I had in the first house I bought, Mrs. Harper. The house was an old home in an old neighborhood, what's known today as a craftsman. steps up to the landing, and then more steps up to the front porch and then inside. And Mrs. Harper, who lived across the street, kept mostly to herself until her husband died. After that, she found every possible reason to knock on my door or to wave me down while I was mowing the grass. Or even to yell across the street when I was sitting on the porch, "Are you having trouble with your mail like I am?" Or some other excuse to have a conversation. It was always something with her, always something that nagged at her, but not at me. I'll admit there were days I thought, oh, Mrs. Harper, Mrs. Harper. It's kind of like Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman. Mrs. Harper, please just one quiet evening. She could be relentless.

But one night after she walked back across the street, it hit me. This wasn't about the mail or any other reason she had voiced in recent weeks. It was about relationship. She was lonely. After Mr. Harper died, she was reaching out in the only way she knew how. Her persistence wasn't a nuisance. It was a plea for connection, for companionship, and for someone to notice her presence and her pain. Through Mrs. Harper, I can't help but see something of the widow in today's gospel, and something of us too. When we keep coming to God in prayer, we're not pestering God for results. We're reaching out for relationship. We're saying, don't forget me, Lord. Stay near.

Earlier this week, as I met with my spiritual director, we were both talking about preaching today, and we were sharing with each other that we were still waiting for the Spirit to speak to us. These two behind me are probably nodding their head at that. They've had weeks like that of what are we going to say about this gospel reading or this passage of scripture. I was sharing with Brett sometimes how in conversations I have with people in our parishes or in the lobby of my apartment building, people talk about the relentless and persistent people on the street. I shared with him how years ago somebody said to me, you can't ignore the people on the street. That might be Jesus testing you. Brett associated that with that line from Matthew 25, what you do to the least of these you do to me. And I said to Brett, what if that's not a test? What if instead of looking at that as a test of having that interaction with that person on the street, that unhoused person that's asking for help, what if instead that's an opportunity? Not a test, but an opportunity. An opportunity to actually see the face of Jesus in our fellow human being.

That changes everything, doesn't it? Acts of compassion aren't about earning points with God. They're about deepening our companionship with God. And that ties right back to the widow. She's the one of the least of these. The poor, voiceless, even dismissed. But she's also the one Jesus lifts up as a model of faith. When we meet the modern widows of our time, those who are ignored or pushed aside, we're not performing charity for God's approval. We're meeting Christ himself and participating in God's justice and love.

But we need to be careful. It's easy for peace or prayer or justice to become performative. When leaders speak of peace while normalizing cruelty, the peace becomes hollow. And likewise, when faith becomes about image or reward, it becomes an empty ritual. That's what happens when we turn sacred things into transactions.

Jesus calls us back to something deeper, the kind of peace and prayer that flow from relationship, restoration, and justice. Or to put it plainly, dignity and love. Then comes that probing question. If Jesus were to talk with you about your faith, what would he find? What does faith even look like? Maybe faith isn't about having all the right answers. Instead, maybe it's about whether we keep showing up. Whether we will sit at the kitchen table to have a conversation. Whether we keep praying even when the Coke machine seems jammed. Or when the drink that drops isn't the one we wanted. Whether we keep serving and loving even when the world grows cynical or weary. Faith isn't measured by how often our prayers are answered. It's measured by how faithfully and persistently we stay in relationship. How we let prayer form us into people of compassion and courage.

Friends, I believe that Jesus is inviting us through our faith into a deeper kind of prayer. A prayer that's less about asking and more about abiding. Less about results. More about relationship. Less about vending machines and more about kitchen tables. And that invitation extends beyond prayer because when we live in companionship with God, we can't help but be drawn into companionship with others. The widows, the weary, the unseen, the hurting, even the Mrs. Harpers of the world. That's the call of discipleship. That's the diaconal heart of the gospel. Not a test, but a privilege to serve God and Christ and those who need love the most.

So maybe the question for us this week is simple. Where is God inviting you to keep showing up? Is it in prayer? Is it in service? Is it in compassion? Don't lose heart. Keep showing up. Because that's where relationship grows. That's where God's justice begins to take root. And that's where faith is found on earth. So the next time you pray, resist the urge to shake the Coke machine. Instead, pull up a chair at the kitchen table, sit down with God, talk, listen, laugh, cry, even argue if you need to. And when you rise from prayer, carry that companionship into the world. Because you just might meet Jesus in the face of someone who has been waiting for you to show up. May we be people who keep showing up. In prayer. In hope. And in love. Amen.