Still Waiting
SCRIPTURE TEXT: Luke 12:35-40
Rev. Monte Marshall
Several Sundays ago, I noted that it took 246 years to abolish slavery in America.1 That’s a long time to wait for freedom. I also noted that it took another 100 years for America to adopt civil rights legislation to advance the cause of racial equality in this nation. That’s a long time to wait for justice. I said that following a convention in Seneca Falls, New York in 1848 “to discuss the social, civil, and religious condition and rights of women,” it took another 72 years for women to gain the vote in the United States of America.2 That’s a long time to wait for the franchise in a democracy. I remarked that following the formation of The Society for Human Rights in 1924 to advocate for gay rights, it took 91 years before the United States Supreme Court finally recognized marriage equality as a constitutional right for LGBTQ persons in America.3 That’s a long time to wait for an oppressed people to receive equal protection under the law.
So with a history like this, we know something about waiting, don’t we? In fact, in so many ways, we’re still waiting! We’ve been promised that when God comes, justice rolls down like waters and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream. But injustices remain for people of color in our nation, in the church and around the world; injustices persist for women in our nation, in our church and around the world; injustices endure for LGBTQ persons in our nation, in our church and around the world. So we’re still waiting!
And we’re still waiting for the rolling waters of justice to sweep away the blight of poverty, the scourge of hunger, the plague of homelessness, and the moral rot of bigotry.
Come to think of it, we’ve been promised that when God comes, swords are beaten into plowshares and spears into pruning hooks so that war is learned no more. But we’re still waiting and we’re still wondering: When will violence within the human family finally end?
And come to think of it, we’ve been promised that when God comes, the creation will flourish. But we’re still waiting and we’re still wondering: When will our degradation of God’s good creation finally end?
So we’re still waiting and to be honest with you, I’m tired of waiting—I’m discouraged—I’m even angry. So I add my voice to this prayer: “We cry out to you, O God, praying with anguish in our souls and sorrow in our hearts silently screaming tears of pain and rage of disbelief and sadness. How long, O God?”4
Now I don’t know about you, but I could use some encouragement. So Luke’s gospel offers a parable from Jesus. He speaks to a people who have heard all the promises before—promises of God’s coming—promises of God’s reign. And many of them have said “yes” to living by these promises.
But many others have said “no.” So there’s resistance to contend with. And the resistance creates obstacles and delays. In fact, the resistance is so great that the lives of those committed to living by the promises are on the line. In fact, people will die still waiting and hoping for the promises to be kept. And the longer the wait, the greater the danger that the promises themselves will wear thin and the people will simply grow tired of waiting.
So Jesus tells a story about the owner of a house and the household staff. The owner is away getting married and has left no timetable for a return. The household staff is left waiting. The question is: How shall they wait? Will they grow weary, slip into their pajamas, give up the watch, turn out the lights and sleep the time away?
Jesus urges a different response. Jesus says: Stay dressed. Stay awake. Be ready. Keep the lamp lit. The owner will come and turn the world upside down by putting on an apron and serving the household staff around the table.
I dare say, that in all of the long years of waiting that preceded the abolition of slavery, the granting of voting rights to women, and the advances made to secure LGBTQ rights—countless people in their suffering and despite the resistance against them—stayed dressed, stayed awake, stayed ready and kept the lamp lit to keep hope alive from one generation to the next until tangible progress could be made on the promises.
For me, a shining example of this kind of waiting comes from South Africa. On November 7, 1962,5 Nelson Mandela began serving a life sentence in a prison in Pretoria, South Africa for his role to working to end the racist system of apartheid in his country.
In 1964, he was transferred to the notorious Robben Island prison—the place where he would spend the next 18 years of his life. As Mandela and others from the leadership of the African National Congress arrived on Robben Island, these were the first words they heard from their jailers: “This is the Island. This is where you will die.”6
Mandela lived in a small, single cell with a bed roll for sleeping on the floor, and a slop bucket. Each day he crushed stones to make gravel. He was allowed no reading materials. He could receive one visit and one letter every six months.
While he was in prison, his mother died and his oldest son was killed in a car accident. Mandela was not allowed to attend either funeral.
Mandela also spent much time in isolation. He writes: “In those early years, isolation became a habit. We were routinely charged for the smallest infractions and sentenced to isolation…. I found solitary confinement the most forbidding aspect of prison life. There was no end and no beginning; there is only one’s mind, which can begin to play tricks.”7
Through this long and trying time of waiting, with the future appearing bleak, Mandela stayed dressed, stayed awake, stayed ready and kept the lamp lit. His imprisonment actually became a time of transformation. His friend, Archbishop Desmond Tutu, notes that when Mandela entered prison, he was a “fire-eater,” bent on violence. But then, Mandela matured and changed. Tutu says that he “[he] was growing in depth…It was a time of incredible growth.” Tutu observes “that suffering can do one of two things to a person. It can make you bitter and hard and really resentful of things. Or as it seems to do with very many people—it is like fires of adversity that toughen someone. They make you strong but paradoxically also they make you compassionate, and gentle. I think that that is what happened to him.”8
As Mandela kept the lamp lit through his imprisonment, he became a symbol of liberation throughout the world. He inspired hope in others who saw the light from his ever-burning lamp.
On February 11, 1990, Nelson Mandela was released from prison after spending 27 years in captivity. On May 10, 1994, he became the first black president of South Africa. Among his first acts as president was “to invite the wives and widows of apartheid presidents and prime ministers and ministers to tea.”9
Someone wrote of him: “I think his main legacy will be instilling confidence among all people in South Africa, instilling the knowledge that people are equal, all people regardless of colour; that people can live in peace and harmony and love.”10
In so many ways, we’re still waiting. We’re still waiting for God’s promises to be kept. And the waiting wears thin. It wears us out, discourages us and makes us mad.
But this morning, at least, I’m encouraged! Thanks to a parable from Jesus, I’m encouraged to stay dressed, stay awake, stay ready and keep the lamp lit. For who knows what God will do to keep God’s promises? Thanks be to God! Amen.