Homilies
The Persistent Widow - Pray and Do Not Lose Heart
Holy Spirit take my words and speak to each of us according to our need.
The parable we hear this morning from Luke’s Gospel; the parable of the persistent widow and the unjust judge, is one of those stories Jesus tells to teach us about prayer, but also about perseverance, justice, and faith. Luke sets it out clearly: “Jesus told his disciples a parable about their need to pray always and not to lose heart.”
And in our reading from Paul’s second letter to Timothy, we hear words of exhortation to steadfastness: “Continue in what you have learned and firmly believed.” Paul encourages Timothy to be faithful in ministry; to teach, to correct, to rebuke, and to encourage with great patience and careful instruction.
Together these two readings speak of persistence and faithfulness in the face of weariness, opposition, or even apathy. They speak of a faith that endures, and a ministry that perseveres, even when the path is hard.
Those of us in ministry, whether ordained or lay, whether preaching, teaching, or simply caring for one another, know that the heart of our calling is pastoral. At ordination, priests and deacons make solemn promises before God and the Church: to care for the people entrusted to them, to pattern their lives on the teaching of Christ, and, in all things, to seek the peace and unity of the Church, and the good of all God’s people.
In essence, we promise to do no harm. To nurture, not to destroy. To build up, not to tear down.
But as anyone who has ever cared deeply for others knows whether as a priest, a parent, a teacher, or a friend sometimes the line between doing harm and doing good is not so straightforward.
Doctors know this well. Every physician takes an oath to “do no harm,” yet sometimes, to bring healing, a doctor must first cause pain. A surgeon must cut into healthy flesh to remove a tumour. They must wound in order to heal. And the patient, though in pain, trusts that this temporary harm is in the service of long-term health and life.
Within the Church, there is a similar burden. We long to be kind, to be gentle, to be peacemakers. And rightly so for Christ himself was gentle and humble of heart. But there are times when our desire to be kind, to keep everyone happy, and to do no harm can, ironically, allow harm to continue unchecked.
When we see behaviours that would be unacceptable anywhere else; rudeness, belittling, gossip, one-upmanship, unkindness, judgmental attitudes and so on and we say nothing, because we don’t want to offend, or because we don’t want to upset anyone then we allow something to take root. A small infection begins to grow.
What might begin as a minor irritation in the body of Christ can become, over time, a festering wound. A surgeon knows that a cancer left alone will not heal itself. It must be treated, however painful that treatment may be. So too, in the Church, there are times when difficult conversations must be had, when unhealthy dynamics must be named and addressed, when destructive patterns of behaviour must be lovingly but firmly called out.
And that is pastoral care too.
Paul tells Timothy: “Proclaim the message; be persistent whether the time is favourable or unfavourable; convince, rebuke, and encourage, with the utmost patience in teaching.”
Notice the balance: rebuke, yes — but also encourage. Correct, yes — but with patience and love.
The pastoral vocation is not about avoiding conflict at all costs. Nor is it about wielding authority harshly. It is about discerning what will truly bring life, what will foster growth and holiness and health in the body of Christ.
Sometimes that does actually means surgery; a necessary, painful act that allows the body to heal and flourish again.
And just as the surgeon bears the emotional weight of their actions, knowing that to heal they must first wound, so too do those who minister in the Church carry the weight of decisions and actions that may feel, in the moment, like pain to the community.
Change, correction, accountability can feel like bereavement. There can be grief in letting go of what has been familiar, or in confronting behaviours that have long gone unchallenged. But that grief is also a testament to love. We grieve because we care. We lament because we have cherished.
In many of our parishes, this dynamic plays out whenever change is on the horizon. Whether it’s a new way of worshipping, a new initiative for outreach, a shift in leadership, or simply a changing pattern of who is here week by week — change stirs up strong emotions.
There is anxiety: Will this still be my church? Will I still belong? Will the things that mattered to me still matter? There is frustration: Why do we have to change what has always worked?
And there is sometimes even anger: Who decided this? Why weren’t we consulted? But beneath all of that is love. People only feel such strong emotions about the church when they care deeply. And that is something to be recognised and honoured, not dismissed.
We thank those who have cared; who have prayed, served, cleaned, cooked, sung, visited, and given, through the changing seasons of the church’s life. We thank those who have carried the flame, who have kept faith even when numbers were few and leadership was absent, who have maintained the witness of this place.
And we also welcome those who are new, either physically new to the church or those who want to try to understand the new ways coming in; those who come with fresh eyes, new energy, different gifts. Together, old and new, seasoned and fresh, we are called to build the church not just for today but for tomorrow, not just for ourselves but for the generations who will follow us. The church is one of the only organisations which exist for the wellbeing of those who aren’t part of it yet.
The apostles themselves knew what it was to face change. Fishermen left their nets; a tax collector left his counting table; others left home and family and all that was secure, to follow Jesus on a path whose destination they did not know. Their obedience led them into uncertainty, conflict, and hardship but also into the joy of seeing lives transformed and communities renewed. At every step they had to trust that God was doing something new, even when it meant letting go of what was familiar.
And so it is with us. The Spirit who called those first disciples still calls us to follow Christ into new ways of being Church to discern what must be cherished, and what must be released, so that the Gospel may continue to bear fruit in our time.
And here we return to the widow in Luke’s Gospel. She is persistent, relentless even, in her demand for justice. She refuses to be silenced, to give up, to lose heart. Her persistence is a model for us as the Church. For just as she never stopped pleading her case before the unjust judge, so we must never stop seeking God’s will in prayer, never stop working for justice and righteousness, never stop labouring for the healing of our communities.
To be persistent in prayer is also to be persistent in hope. Hope that even when the work is hard, God is faithful. Hope that even when there is pain, healing will come. Ultimately, the one who truly “does no harm” is Christ himself, the Good Shepherd, who lays down his life for the sheep. Yet he, too, sometimes spoke hard truths. He overturned tables, confronted hypocrisy, named injustice. Yet all his actions were rooted in love, a love so deep it led him to the cross. And through that wounding came the world’s healing.
That should be our model. That should be our hope. That should be the shape of all Christian ministry.
So, let us hold before God the whole body of the Church: Those who have gone before, who have kept the faith; Those who labour now, in the midst of change and challenge; And those who will come after, who will inherit what we build today.
Let us pray for courage to face what must be faced, to speak truth in love, to act when action is needed. Let us pray for patience to listen, to understand, to heal. And let us pray for grace to see in all things the hand of God, bringing life out of death, healing out of pain, hope out of fear.
For Christ, our great physician, is still at work among us. He wounds only to heal. He prunes only to make fruitful. And he will, in his mercy and his timing, make all things new.