(Homily on Luke 18:1–8)
Our Lord teaches us this parable “that we ought always to pray, and not to faint.” Prayer must never be isolated to an occasional resort in crisis but the continual breath of the soul. It is the atmosphere of faith, the daily turning of the heart toward the Face of God, and the patient consent to His timing. The Church does not treat prayer as an optional discipline; she receives it as the way in which we live before the Holy Trinity.
The widow stands before us as a teacher. She is poor and without earthly recourse, yet she possesses what the Fathers prize—steadfastness. She comes again and again, not because she trusts the judge, but because she refuses to renounce hope. Here we see an icon of the Church’s intercession—perpetual, unembarrassed, confident that the Judge of all the earth shall do right. Her persistence is not noise; it is fidelity.
Christ places the widow in contrast with “a judge … who feared not God, nor regarded man.” If even such a one yields in the end, how much more shall our merciful Lord incline His ear to His elect? The parable deliberately heightens the contrast to convince our faltering hearts. Our God is not moved by irritation, as the judge was; He is moved by love and compassion. We approach, then, not a closed door but a Father whose compassion does not fail.
Yet the Lord also lays a question at the threshold of our hearts. “But yet the Son of man, when he cometh, shall he find, think you, faith on earth?” The issue is not whether God hears; it is whether we will continue to pray in faith. The temptation is to faint, to let the hands of the soul fall slack. The answer of the Church is the long obedience of prayer—today, tomorrow, and until He comes.
We refer to this vigilant perseverance as “nepsis”—watchfulness. Watchfulness guards the mind, repels wandering thoughts, and recollects the heart in God. It is allied with perseverance. We keep returning to the Presence, even when the senses are dry and the intellect is tired. To pray thus is to confess that God is God and we are His servants. The habit forms the heart, and the heart formed in prayer becomes a dwelling for grace.
This is why our tradition gives us the Jesus Prayer—“Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner”—to be said ceaselessly. It steadies the soul like a plumb-line. In the repetition of a humble cry, we resemble the widow who would not be turned aside. The words are simple; the stance is royal. Each invocation is a step toward the kingdom, a refusal to depart from the Gate who is Christ.
Liturgical prayer shapes this perseverance. At Vespers and Matins, at the Divine Liturgy and the Hours, the Church stands as that widow, lifting the world to Almighty God. The petitions are not abstractions; they are the concrete needs of the living and the departed, the cries of cities and villages, of the sick and the sorrowing. In every divine service, we participate in the Church’s ceaseless appeal for mercy and justice, and we learn to carry this appeal into our private prayer.
We must also practice patience in God’s timing. The parable acknowledges delay—“he would not for a long time”—yet delay is not denial. In the Fathers we hear this counsel … when God postpones, He purifies; when He seems silent, He enlarges the heart to receive what He will give. Perseverance is therefore not stubbornness; it is trust in the wisdom that orders all things well.
To persevere we must fight the subtle enemies of prayer which often include distraction, resentment, and despair. Distraction scatters; resentment hardens; despair whispers that prayer avails nothing. The remedy is simple and demanding—begin again. Make the Sign of the Cross, bow the head, speak the holy Name, and return to the task. The Lord does not despise small beginnings repeated a thousand times; He crowns them.
The Mother of God teaches this way. The Theotokos kept all things and pondered them in her heart; she stands as the Church’s first intercessor, steadfast at Cana and steadfast at the Cross. When we grow weary, we entrust our prayer to her maternal care, asking her to gather our broken words and present them to her Son. In her constancy we see the widow’s persistence transfigured by grace.
The communion of the saints strengthens us also. The martyrs, confessors, and monastics show that persevering prayer produces a persevering life. They prayed, and they did not faint; they believed, and they did not turn back. Their witness assures us that fidelity is possible in our own generation. We do not stand alone; we are surrounded by a great cloud of intercessors.
The Lord’s question summons each of us to an examination of conscience. Will He find faith when He comes? Let us answer, not with words only, but with the practice of daily prayer—morning and evening, with thanksgiving at table, with the Psalms on our lips, with mercy in our dealings, with the Jesus Prayer in our breath. Thus we shall be found as that steadfast widow—poor in ourselves, rich in hope.
Therefore, brethren, let us “always … pray, and not … faint.” Let us cry day and night, not to weary a reluctant judge, but to commune with the God who loves mankind. He will act, and He will act rightly; His justice is sure, His mercy endures, and His coming will not disappoint. May our lamps be kept burning, our hearts guarded, and our prayer unceasing, until the Son of Man appears in glory.
May God bless you +
Fr. Charles
19 October 2025
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