A sermon from Father Darren on the importance of perseverance.
Let me begin with a confession, which is not great on the second Sunday back after Sabbatical.
I recently tried to cancel my broadband.
Not a big confession, I know, but I’ve never done it before, and my wife thought it would be character-building for me to give it a go.
A skill to take back from my three-months extended study leave.
Well, I called the helpline. They transferred me, then cut me off. They did this on several occasions.
I then emailed. They ignored me. I called again and threatened to switch providers, and suddenly, they offered me free Netflix for a year and a commemorative mug.
That, my friends, is the spiritual energy of the widow in Luke 18, and also a life lesson learned; ***and something my wife does effortlessly all the time.***
To Never Give Up
Jesus tells this parable not to teach us how to nag God into submission, but to show us what faith looks like when it refuses to give up.
Even when the system is broken, the judge is corrupt, and justice feels delayed.
It’s a story for anyone who’s ever prayed and heard nothing back.
For anyone who’s ever stood at the edge of hope and wondered if it was worth showing up again.
This is not polite prayer. This is protest prayer.
This is prayer that bangs on heaven’s door with a saucepan and a wooden spoon.
The Widow
The widow in this story has no husband, no power, no legal standing.
In today’s terms, she’s the person who gets told, “Sorry, you don’t meet the criteria for assistance.”
She’s the one who doesn’t have the right postcode, the right paperwork, or the right connections.
But she keeps showing up. She is the holy embodiment of “I’m not leaving until you listen to me.”
And let’s be clear: she’s not asking for a favour;
She’s demanding justice. She’s not begging for crumbs; she’s claiming her dignity.
She’s not whispering in the back pew, she’s shouting from the pulpit.
She is every person who’s ever been told to wait their turn.
Every voice that’s been dismissed as inconvenient.
Every Christian who’s been told they’re “not quite leadership material.”
And yet, she is still knocking.
The Judge
He doesn’t fear God. He doesn’t respect people. He’s basically the worst Churchwarden you’ve ever met.
And yet, even he caves in.
Not because he’s had a change of heart, but because he’s tired of being spiritually stalked.
If this judge had a voicemail, it would say:
“Hi, you’ve reached the office of Judge Grumpy.
If you’re the widow, Press 1 to be ignored. Press 2 to be ignored again. Press 3 to leave a message that will never be returned.”
Jesus isn’t saying God is like this judge
He’s saying: if even this man gives in, how much more will your loving Father respond?
This is not a parable about divine reluctance. It’s a parable about divine readiness.
It’s about a God who doesn’t need convincing, but who delights in our persistence because it reveals our trust.
It’s about a God who doesn’t say “go away,” but “come closer.”
Jesus ends with a question:
When the Son of Man comes, will He Find Faith on Earth?
Not faith that’s tidy. Not faith that’s well-behaved. But faith that’s tenacious.
Faith that shows up. Faith that keeps praying even when the answer is “not yet.”
This is the kind of faith that refuses to be domesticated.
It’s the kind of faith that doesn’t fit neatly into committee minutes or diocesan strategy documents.
It’s the kind of faith that lives in the margins, in the waiting rooms, in the long corridors of unanswered prayer.
Faith in Persistance
What if our churches became known not for their silence, but for their persistence?
What if we prayed like the widow, advocated like the widow, and stood with the widows of our time, those without power, without a platform, but full of holy fire?
What if our liturgies carried the urgency of protest?
What if our pastoral care included spiritual stubbornness?
What if our leadership was shaped not by efficiency, but by endurance?
Transformation Through Prayer
There’s a story of a small church that kept praying for a local housing estate to be transformed.
Nothing happened for years.
The estate was neglected, the council was unresponsive, and the community felt forgotten.
But the church kept praying. They kept showing up. They kept knocking.
One day, a council worker asked, “Why do you keep coming back?”
The vicar replied, “Because God hasn’t stopped listening.”
That’s the Spirit of Luke 18
Not flashy. Not instant. But faithful.
And maybe a little annoying, in the best possible way.
So here’s the invitation: Be like the widow.
Pray like you mean it.
Knock like you’re not going away.
Stand with those who’ve been told to sit down.
Speak for those who’ve been silenced.
And trust that the Judge of all the earth is not indifferent, but deeply moved by every knock, every cry, every act of holy stubborness.
Because in the end, justice doesn’t come through power.
It comes through persistence.
And the kingdom belongs to those who refuse to stop knocking.
Amen.
