The Widow’s Knock

Then He spoke a parable to them, that men always ought to pray and not lose heart, saying: “There was in a certain city a judge who did not fear God nor regard man. Now there was a widow in that city; and she came to him, saying, ‘Get justice for me from my adversary.’ And he would not for a while; but afterward he said within himself, ‘Though I do not fear God nor regard man, yet because this widow troubles me I will avenge her, lest by her continual coming she weary me.'” Then the Lord said, “Hear what the unjust judge said. And shall God not avenge His own elect who cry out day and night to Him, though He bears long with them? I tell you that He will avenge them speedily. Nevertheless, when the Son of Man comes, will He really find faith on the Earth?”

Luke 18:1-8

There is a sound Heaven never grows tired of hearing. It is not the sound of perfect singing in key, or eloquent sermons woven with just the right words. It is not the well-structured litany or the precise theological formula. The sound that echoes through the courts of Heaven and delights the Father’s heart is far simpler and far more desperate. It is the sound of a knock.

It is the knock of a hand that trembles from exhaustion. It is the knock of a soul pressed beneath sorrow, of a heart too burdened to speak clearly. It is the knock of a child who believes someone stands on the other side of the door and cares enough to open it. It is, as our Lord tells us, the knock of a widow.

Jesus tells this parable so that we might not lose heart. He knows how easily hearts grow weary. He knows how often we’re tempted to stop praying—not because we have nothing to say, but because we begin to believe no one is listening. Trust me, I’ve been there. And so, He gives us the picture of a widow in a certain city—a woman with nothing in her hands but persistence. She comes to a judge—a man who neither fears God nor cares for people. This is not a man shaped by righteousness; this is a man ruled by convenience and self-interest.

Yet even this hardened judge eventually grants the woman’s request. He doesn’t do it because her cause is just or because he suddenly develops compassion. He does it because she will not go away. She keeps coming, she keeps pleading, and she keeps knocking. Eventually, he says to himself, “Though I do not fear God or regard man, yet because this widow troubles me, I will avenge her, lest by her continual coming she weary me” (vv. 4b-5). In other words, “This woman is annoying. I’ll just give her what she wants so she’ll stop bugging me.”

And then Jesus turns our eyes from the shadow of the unjust judge to the radiance of our righteous God. He asks, “Shall not God avenge His own elect who cry out day and night to Him, though He bears long with them?” (v. 7). He’s not comparing God to the judge as if they’re alike—He is contrasting them. If even a corrupt, indifferent man finally listens to the cry of the persistent widow, how much more will your Father in Heaven—who is righteous, compassionate, and full of mercy—hear the cries of His children?

This parable does not teach us that we must badger God or pester Him into action, as most sermons would preach. Rather, it teaches us that the God to whom we pray is already inclined to help us, already full of compassion, already holding the answer in His sovereign hands. He may delay, but does not deny. He may appear silent, but He is never absent. He bears long with us not because He doesn’t care, but because His timing is wise and perfect, and His purposes are higher than we can see. So, keep praying persistently, not because you’ll somehow annoy Him into action, but so you don’t lose heart—because He is already listening eagerly, and He will avenge you in His perfect timing.

Still, though, waiting is hard. You may have been knocking for years. You’ve prayed through sleepless nights, through hospital visits, through aching silences. You’ve prayed for justice, healing, reconciliation, and peace… and Heaven seems silent. The answer has not come. The situation has worsened. The adversary grows stronger. The door remains closed.

So, the temptation grows: to lose heart. To stop knocking—to stop praying. To believe the silence means indifference, or worse—rejection. That is why Jesus tells this parable—to speak directly into that silence and remind you that your prayers are not in vain. That’s the reason Luke gives us for this parable, “that men always ought to pray and not lose heart” (v. 1). Your persistence is not pointless. The door of Heaven is already open, so your cries are heard. Your knock echoes through the halls of eternity, and your Father leans close to listen.

Do not forget Jesus Himself once knocked—not at the door of a courtroom, but at the gate of death. He stood not before an indifferent judge, but before the full judgement of the Law. He was innocent, yet condemned. He bore the burden of every injustice, every unanswered prayer, and every tear-stained plea of His people. He carried our griefs and sorrows, and He stretched out His hands to be pierced by the very nails that would make our petitions possible.

On the cross, Jesus made the plea that opened Heaven for us, “My God, My God, why have You forsaken Me?” With these words, He prayed Psalm 22, and the prayer went unanswered for three days. That might not seem like much, but remember, Jesus descended into Hell—the eternal death we deserve. Three days might as well have been eternity to the third power. But then He rose, and the veil was torn. Now, because of Him, you do not knock at a courtroom ruled by power and politics. You knock at the throne of grace, and the One who sits upon it is your Father, the One who intercedes beside Him is your Brother, and the One who lives within you teaches your heart to pray even when words fail—indeed, the Spirit intercedes on your behalf when words fail you (Romans 8:26).

So, don’t stop knocking. “Pray without ceasing,” as Paul writes (1 Thessalonians 5:17). When your prayers feel weak and wandering, knock boldly. When your heart is heavy with shame, knock boldly. When you are so tired that you cannot even lift up your voice, knock with your tears, knowing the Holy Spirit is praying on your behalf. And if all you can muster is, “Lord, have mercy,” He hears and He knows.

And believe this: your knock is not unheard. Your prayers are like incense before the throne. The delay is not the death of your hope; it is the refining of your faith. Trust me on this, too. For over a year, I’ve been on CRM status, waiting to receive a Call to another congregation. I’ve been praying for a Call nearly every day. So far, it remains unanswered. For much of that time, I’ve despaired that God isn’t listening. That’s why this parable is so beautiful, because Jesus Himself assures us His Father is listening, despite how we may feel. You would not be reading these words if there were no truth to what Jesus says here.

And as if out of nowhere, He ends the parable with a piercing question: “When the Son of Man comes, will He really find faith on the Earth?” (v. 8). He’s not asking whether He will find churches or hymns or religious ceremonies; He’s asking whether He will find the widow’s faith—that knocking, stubborn, hope-filled faith that will not stop asking because it trusts the heart of the One who hears.

Let that be the faith you carry. Let that be the knock you offer. Not because you’re strong, but because God is faithful. Not because you know the outcome, but because you know the One who holds the outcome in His hands.

And He will come. He will answer. He will not delay forever. The Righteous Judge of all the Earth will do what is right. And when He comes, may He find in you the faith that kept on knocking.