Sermon
Luke 18:1–8
“Don’t Lose Heart”
There’s a story told about a small-town church that found itself in a bit of trouble. Across the street, a new bar had opened—noisy, open late, not exactly the kind of neighbor they wanted. So the church members did what good church people do—they started to pray. Every night they gathered and prayed that God would do something about that bar.
A few weeks later, a lightning storm rolled through town. The bar was struck and burned to the ground. The owner of the bar was furious. He sued the church, claiming their prayers had destroyed his business. The church, of course, denied it: “We had nothing to do with it!” The judge looked over his glasses and said, “Well, one thing’s clear: the bar owner believes in the power of prayer—but the church doesn’t.”
That story makes us chuckle—but it also hits close to home, doesn’t it? Because the truth is, we all believe in prayer… until we don’t see results. We pray for healing that doesn’t come, for peace that feels far off, for loved ones who seem unmoved. We begin to wonder, is God listening?
It’s right into that kind of struggle that Jesus tells the parable we hear this morning—a story, Luke tells us, “about the need to pray always and not to lose heart.” Jesus tells us about a widow and a judge. The widow, in that time, had almost no power—no husband, no status, no one to defend her rights. And the judge—well, Jesus says he “neither feared God nor respected people.” That’s his polite way of saying the man was dishonest.
Yet this widow refuses to give up. She comes before the judge again and again, saying, “Grant me justice against my opponent.” He ignores her. He delays. But she will not be silenced. She keeps coming. When he walks to court—she’s there. When he sits to eat—there she is again. When he thinks he’s finally rid of her—she’s waiting at his door.
Finally, the judge gives in. He says to himself, “I don’t fear God or respect anyone, but this woman keeps bothering me! I’ll grant her justice just so she’ll leave me alone.” And Jesus says, “Listen to what the unjust judge says. Will not God grant justice to his chosen ones who cry out day and night? Will He delay long in helping them?” If even this unfair judge finally responds to this woman who refuses to give up, how much more will our loving, just, and faithful God listen to the cries of His people?
I like this story, because the widow is not fearful or polite. She’s bold. She’s stubborn. She refuses to accept that her situation cannot change. She’s the image of faith Jesus holds up for us—the faith that refuses to give up on God. And then Jesus ends with that unsettling question: “When the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on earth?” Will he find people still praying? Still trusting? Still believing that God is working, even when they can’t see it?
Prayer, you see, is not about convincing God to care. It’s about learning to trust that God already does. When we pray with persistence, we are not trying to wear God down; we are allowing God to shape us. Each time we pray, we are drawn back into relationship, back into trust, back into the awareness that we are not alone. Sometimes persistence in prayer doesn’t change our circumstances right away—but it does change us. Sometimes the most powerful answer to prayer is not a miracle out there, but a transformation in here.
Prayer softens us, stretches us, opens us to see how God may already be answering in ways we didn’t expect or don’t even realize. It’s like when a child runs to their parent again and again—not because the parent doesn’t hear, but because the child needs to stay close. Prayer keeps us close.
A chaplain friend of mine once shared a beautiful quote from Mother Teresa with me. She said, “Take the trouble to pray. Prayer makes the heart large enough until it can contain God’s gift of Himself. Ask and seek, and your heart will grow big enough to receive Him and keep Him as your own.” I’ve thought about those words a great deal. They remind me that prayer is not just about asking God for things—it’s about allowing God to shape us from the inside out. Every time we turn to God in prayer, something in us expands. Our hearts grow a little wider, our patience grows a little deeper, our capacity to love increases.
Over time, we begin to notice that prayer isn’t only changing what we’re praying for—it’s changing us. Prayer makes space for God’s presence to dwell within us, until our hearts can hold more of His peace, His compassion, and His strength. And that, perhaps, is the real miracle of prayer.
So what does all this mean for us? It means that when the world feels unjust, we pray for justice. When life feels heavy, we pray for strength. When our hearts are weary, we pray for peace. And when we don’t know what to pray at all, we just sit with God—and that itself is prayer. Persistence—faithfulness—in prayer is not about the quantity of words; it’s about opening our hearts. It’s saying, “Lord, I’m still here. I’m still trusting. I haven’t given up on You, because You haven’t given up on me.”
In the Episcopal worship, we are reminded of this faithfulness every week. We pray the same prayers—the Lord’s Prayer, the Prayers of the People, the Collect for the Day. Sometimes those familiar words might feel repetitive. But there’s a quiet strength in them. They form us into people who keep showing up before God, even when the answers aren’t clear. They teach us to be like that widow—faithful, determined, and hopeful. Every time we gather in worship, we’re saying: “We still believe. We still trust. We still come.”
Maybe today some of us are carrying something we’ve been praying about for a long time. I know that I am. We might be tired. We might even be wondering if it’s worth it. Let this story remind us: God hears us. Even when heaven seems silent, God is working. Even when we see no change, God is moving. And even when our faith feels small, God’s faithfulness is not. One day, perhaps when we least expect it, the door will open. The prayer will be answered. The peace will come. Until then, Jesus says, “Pray always, and do not lose heart.”
Let us pray.
Faithful God,
You hear the cries of your people and you know the needs of our hearts before we speak them. When we grow weary in prayer, renew our strength. When we are tempted to give up, remind us of the widow’s courage. Teach us to trust your timing and your mercy. And make us steadfast in faith, that when the Son of Man comes, he will find faith even here—among us. Through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
Sunday Sermon |
