Date: October 19, 2025
Festival: 19th Sunday after Pentecost
Text: Luke 18:1-8
Preaching Occasion: Bethlehem Lutheran Church, Lewiston, MI
Appointed Scriptures: Genesis 32:22-30; 2 Timothy 3:14-4:5; Luke 18:1-8
Sermon Hymn: LSB #719 I Leave All Things to God’s Direction
In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Beloved in Christ, there comes a time for every Christian when God seems silent—perhaps more than once in life. Your prayers rise like incense, yet He gives no answer. Your lips grow weary, your knees ache from kneeling, and your heart whispers in the dark, “Why does God delay? Is He even listening?” In such moments, the Parable of the Persistent Widow becomes not just instruction but both a mirror and mercy. It shows us our frailty, our hope, our doubts, and the God who—unlike the unjust judge—does not grow weary of hearing us.
St. Luke tells us Jesus taught this parable so “that men always ought to pray and not lose heart” [v. 1]. Jesus knows how fragile faith becomes in waiting. He knows the weariness that grips your soul when justice is deferred, when suffering lingers, and when your cry for mercy seems to echo into emptiness. The widow stands alone before an unjust judge—one “who did not fear God nor regard man” [v. 2]. She has no husband to defend her, no wealth to persuade the judge, and no reputation to command respect. Yet she comes again and again, pleading, “Get justice for me from my adversary” [v. 3]. She refuses to be silent. She wrestles, and she clings.
Here, we begin to see a holy parallel—a reflection of Jacob by the Jabbok river’s edge. Genesis tells us “Jacob was left alone; and a Man wrestled with him until the breaking of day” [Gen. 32:24]. He wouldn’t let go, even when his hip was dislocated, and even when he limped from the struggle. He said, “I will not let You go unless You bless me!” [v. 26]. That’s the widow’s heart—the heart of faith that will not let go of her trust in God, even when His hand seems heavy. Like Jacob, she wrestles through the night of delay, and she receives a new name—not Israel by word, but daughter by grace. Her persistence is not a demand; it is faith’s refusal to believe God is as indifferent as the world imagines Him to be.
But even if the unjust judge finally acts—if he, who neither fears God nor loves his neighbor, relents out of sheer weariness—how much more will the righteous Judge, who is Himself Love, answer His elect who cry out to Him day and night [Luke 18:7]? The contrast is the comfort. We don’t cry into a void; we cry into the heart of One who was Himself forsaken, that we might never be.
And yet, the delay remains. The question of every heart remains: Why must we wait? Scripture doesn’t hide from this question. It helps us confess it and deal with it. Jacob waited till dawn. Paul waited in prison, longing for the appearing of Christ. Thus, the Church waits as well. The Lord delays not from cruelty but from compassion, that faith might be purified, that endurance might take root, and that the Church might not lose heart amidst the long shadows of a fading world. The patience of God is not neglect, dear saints; it is mercy stretched across time, teaching us to hope for what we cannot yet see.
So, Paul exhorts the young pastor in his letter: “You must continue in the things which you have learned and been assured of, knowing from whom you have learned them” [2 Tim. 3:14]. In a world filled with deceivers, false comforts, and easy answers, the apostle calls Timothy—and you and me—to persist in the Word. For “all Scripture is breathed out by God and profitable for teaching, for reproof, for correction, and for training in righteousness” [v. 16]. The persistent widow prays; the persistent Christian clings to the Word. Both are acts of wrestling faith. To pray when God is silent and to hold to the Word when the world mocks it are the same wrestling match. And just as Jacob’s night ended in dawn, so the Church’s long night of waiting will end in the rising of the Son of Man when He returns in glory among the clouds.
The widow’s persistence is not mere stubbornness; it is faith in God’s character. When she stands before the judge, she stands not on her worth, but on his office—his duty to do right by her. When you pray, you stand not on your merit but on Christ’s; for our Advocate is not like that unjust judge. The One who now reigns at the right hand of the Father has already won justice for you against your Adversary, the devil. He is the Judge who has stood condemned in your place. The hands that once bore your sin now lift in intercession for you.
Still, we grow weary. We limp, as Jacob did. Our faith feels fragile. Our prayers falter. The temptation rises to give up. Yet Paul urges, “Preach the Word! Be ready in season and out of season. Convince, rebuke, exhort, with all longsuffering and teaching” [2 Tim. 4:2]. The same call echoes in every Christian’s soul: keep praying, keep wrestling, keep believing. “For the time will come when they will not endure sound doctrine” [v. 3]—when the world will mock prayer and despise truth. Indeed, that time is already here, as it has been for millennia. But the Church does not live by sight; she lives by promise. Our hope is not in the quick vindication of this world, but in the sure return of our Lord.
So Jesus asks, “When the Son of Man comes, will He really find faith on the Earth?” [Luke 18:8]. Now, this isn’t an accusation, but a lament—a yearning. He doesn’t ask if He’ll find worship services or ornate buildings. He asks if He’ll find hearts still clinging, still wrestling, and still praying through the silence. He asks if there will be faith that believes even when the hip is out of joint, and the night seems endless. That’s the faith of Jacob. That’s the persistence of the widow. That’s the endurance Paul calls Timothy to keep. And that’s the faith the Spirit sustains in us through the Word and Sacraments until the dawn breaks and the night of waiting is ended.
Dear saints, you yourselves have already lived this parable as a congregation, for I’ve heard the news that you will now receive a pastor. Like the persistent widow, you did not cease to pray when the wait grew long and the future uncertain. For about four years, I was told, you cried out to God for a shepherd to lead and feed you with His Word and Sacraments. Though at times God may have seemed silent, you continued to gather, to worship, to hope, and to trust that the Lord who heard the widow’s plea would hear yours. And now, by His mercy, He has answered, not because you wore Him down, but because He delights to give good gifts to His Church just when the time is right. Your perseverance in prayer is a living witness to faith that will not let go of Christ, and your joy today is the dawn after the long night of waiting.
So now you know to keep praying, wrestling, and clinging to Christ even when you want to stop. Be patient in affliction and steadfast in hope, for suffering is a crucible in which the heart is not burned to a crisp but refined and purified. Who knows how long the pressure will last? Only the Lord knows, who is faithful even when we are faithless [2 Tim. 2:13]. And we persist until the Last Day, for the Judge who seems unjust has already ruled in your favor from the cross. The dawn will come. The Son of Man will return. And when He does, those who clung through the night of this great tribulation will rise to hear His voice say, “Well done, good and faithful servant… Enter into the joy of your Lord” [Matt. 25:21].
Until that morning, do as Paul charged Timothy: continue. Do not lose heart. Preach, pray, endure, wrestle, and hold fast to the Word of Truth; for the same Christ who wrestled Jacob by the Jabbok and who bore your judgement on Golgotha now wrestles with you in mercy, shaping your faith through every delay.
And when at last the heavens break open, and faith gives way to sight, you’ll understand what the widow knew, what Jacob learned, and what Paul proclaimed—that persistence was never about your strength, but about Christ’s. You’ll see that every unanswered prayer was heard, every tear was counted, and every cry of “How long, O Lord” was already answered in Christ crucified and risen. So cling to Him who first clung to you. Pray, even when you limp. Hope, even when you grow weary. For the dawn of the Sun of Righteousness is near.
In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
The Lutheran Column 