The Silence That Teaches Us to Pray

Luke 18:1–8 5:31 am
This morning I returned to the parable of the persistent widow. That final question lingers: “When the Son of Man comes, will He find faith on the earth?” It doesn’t feel rhetorical. It feels like a dare. A wound. A whisper.
I’ve been sitting with the image of the widow—alone, unheard, yet unwilling to be dismissed. She reminds me of the church, of myself, of those who keep showing up in prayer not because it’s easy, but because silence is unbearable. In a way, we are all widows in this age. Christ, our Bridegroom, is not absent in truth, but He feels absent in the ache. And the ache is real.
The parable names what I often hesitate to say aloud: we have an adversary. Not just systems or people, but something darker—Satan, the accuser, the one who stirs persecution and doubt. And God, the righteous Judge, seems to wait. Too long. Too quietly.
I think of John the Baptist, Peter, Paul, and John. Their stories weren’t wrapped in triumph. They were pierced by injustice. And still, they bore witness. I think of the unnamed thousands who have suffered faithfully, and I wonder how they prayed. Did they feel abandoned? Did they ever stop asking?
Jesus compares God to an unjust judge. That unsettles me. Not because I believe God is unjust, but because I’ve felt the weight of that silence. The delay. The unanswered cries. And yet, the widow keeps coming. She doesn’t lose heart. She bothers the judge until he relents.
I’m learning to be that kind of widow. Not polished. Not patient. But persistent. I’m learning to pray not because I feel heard, but because I refuse to be silenced. I’m learning that faith is not certainty—it’s endurance. It’s the decision to show up again, even when heaven feels closed.
So today, I pray. Not with eloquence, but with insistence. I bother God. I ask for justice. I ask for presence. I ask for the courage to keep asking.
And I wonder: when He comes, will He find this kind of faith in me?