Skip to main content

The Very Persistent Widow, or, We're Going on a Judge Hunt

Image by Pexels from Pixabay

 

At church this morning I was leading the kids group for the five- to seven-year olds. We are studying parables at the moment - the short and punchy stories that Jesus told. Today's was about the persistent widow, who kept on going to the judge's house to demand justice.

As I read it, echoes of The Very Hungry Caterpillar came into my head: "...and he was STILL hungry!" as well as images from We're Going on a Bear Hunt: "Mud! Thick, oozy mud!"

So here is the version of The Persistent Widow that Jesus would, I am sure, have told, if his audience had been a group of infant school kids. They seemed to enjoy it. I hope you do too. 

If you have a small child to help with the knocks and the "No!"s, so much the better.

The Very Persistent Widow

Lydia was a widow. That means her husband had died. She didn’t have any children, so she lived all by herself.

Now someone had done something wrong to Lydia. Maybe someone had stolen Lydia’s money. Maybe they were threatening to make Lydia leave her house. Whatever it was, Lydia knew it was wrong. And she wanted to make it right. She wanted justice.

Lydia knew where the local judge lived. Surely he would make it right. 

Although he was known to be a bit grumpy. 

Still, Lydia was brave. She went and knocked on his door. “I need justice,” she said. 

“No,” said the judge. “I won’t help you.”

But there was no one else who could help Lydia. “Right,” she thought. “Whatever it takes, I’m going to make that judge listen to me.”

On Monday, it was raining. Lydia splashed through the puddles and knocked on the door one time. 

But the judge said: “No!”

On Tuesday, it was hailing. Lydia put a pillow over her head to keep the hail off and knocked on the door two times.  

But the judge said: “No!”

On Wednesday, it was snowing. Lydia got out her big boots to stomp through the snow and knocked on the door three times. 

But the judge said: “No!”

On Thursday, the snow had turned to ice. Lydia put on her ice skates and skated to the judge’s house. She knocked on the door four times. 

But the judge said: “No!” 

On Friday, the ice melted, and there was a flood! Lydia got out her old canoe and paddled to the judge's house. She knocked on the door five times. 

But the judge said: “No!” 

On Saturday, the floods had gone down. Lydia knocked on the door at 7:00, and 8:00, and 9:00, and 10:00, and 11:00, and 12:00 … all the way through to the evening. 

But the judge still said: “No!” 

On Sunday morning, it was a beautiful sunny day. Lydia went over to the judge’s house one more time. She raised her hand to knock on the door… 

“All right! All right!” cried the judge. I’ll do whatever you ask. Just please stop knocking on my door!”

So Lydia got everything made right, just because she wouldn’t stop knocking at the judge’s door.

Jesus said, “Aren’t you glad God’s not like that? He’s a loving father, not a grumpy old judge. We know that he loves to answer his children’s prayers. So when your prayers aren’t answered as quickly as you’d like, remember Lydia. If she could keep knocking at that grumpy old judge’s door, you can keep praying to your heavenly Father until he does what you ask.”

Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Mr White Watson of Bakewell

Once upon a time, back in 1795 or so, lived a man who was always asking questions.  The kind of questions like, "Why is glass transparent?" or "Why do fruit trees grow better in that place than in this place?" or "What does the earth look like underneath the surface?"  This last question was one that he was particularly interested in, and he went so far as to work out what the rock layers looked like where he lived, and draw little pictures of them.  Now he was a marble sculptor by trade (as well as fossil hunter, mineral seller, and a few other things) so he thought it would be even better to make his little pictures in stone.  That way he could represent the layers using the actual rocks they were composed of.  Over the course of his lifetime he made almost 100 of these tablets, as he called them. Then he died.  And no one else was quite as interested in all those rocks and minerals as he was.  His collection was sold off, bit by bit, and the table...
Post a Comment
Read more

Laid-back Lille and Bustling Brussels

After a night in a tiny AirBnB in Canterbury , where there were chocolates on the table and artwork on every inch of the walls, we boarded a ferry with an absolute minimum of fuss, enjoyed a smooth crossing of the channel, and were deposited in the decidedly unscenic surroundings of the port of Dunkirk two hours later. Once we got past the cranes and shipping containers, though, the countryside was flat but pleasant. We stopped at a small town called Cassel, reached by cobbled roads winding up a hill. On the summit was an old windmill and a topograph telling you the distances to various improbable places; St Omer may have been visible in the haze, but Manchester was surely over the horizon.  In Lille, we found our apartment, unpacked the luggage (one rucksack apiece), and set out to find food. Our first choice was fully booked, so we embarked on that kind of aimless wandering where everyone is hungry and no one wants to actually choose a restaurant. We reached a Lebanese place call...
Post a Comment
Read more

Canterbury Cathedral

We were booking a trip to France, and I persuaded the family that it was madness to drive four hours to Dover and get straight on the ferry. "We should definitely stay overnight somewhere," I said. "Oh look, Canterbury is very handy - just twenty minutes from Dover." Of course, my suggestion was not influenced in the slightest by the fact that Canterbury contains England's most famous cathedral. On the way down, we stretched our legs on Dunstable Downs, an area of chalk grassland owned by the National Trust. I was pleased to spot a scarlet pimpernel for my 100 Plants Challenge . We also enjoyed watching gliders ascending and descending. We turned onto the M25 and made our way through busy traffic to the Dartford Crossing. This is one of those mythical points on the UK road network, like Scotch Corner and Watford Gap: the name familiar from traffic reports on the radio; the reality - for someone who grew up west of London - a hazy blur of imagination. It turns ou...
Post a Comment
Read more