A Homily for the 29th Sunday in Ordinary Time
Sunday, October 19, 2025
Exodus 17:8-13; Psalm 121:1-2, 3-4, 5-6, 7-8; 2 Timothy 3:14-4:2; Luke 18:1-8
Audio Recording
“How long, O Lord?” It’s a prayer as old as Scripture itself, and if we’re honest, it’s one we’ve all prayed. How long will this illness last? How long will my marriage struggle? How long will my child be lost?
Today’s Gospel addresses this very human experience head-on. Jesus tells his disciples a parable “about the necessity for them to pray always without becoming weary.” Notice that word: necessity. Not suggestion. Necessity. Prayer isn’t optional equipment for the Christian life — it’s oxygen for the soul.
But here’s the challenge: we get weary. We pray for something once, twice, ten times, a hundred times, and nothing seems to change. And slowly, quietly, we stop praying because our spiritual arms have grown tired.
That’s exactly what we see in our First Reading from Exodus. Israel is at war with Amalek, and Moses takes his position on the hilltop with the staff of God in his hands. As long as Moses keeps his hands raised in prayer, Israel wins. When his arms drop from exhaustion, the enemy gains ground.
This is one of the most honest images of prayer in all of Scripture. Prayer is spiritual warfare, and it’s exhausting. Moses didn’t drop his arms because he stopped believing. He dropped them because he was human, and humans get tired.
But here’s where the story gets interesting. When Moses can’t go on, Aaron and Hur don’t lecture him about faith. Instead, they do something profoundly simple: they put a rock under him to sit on, and they hold up his arms — one on each side—until sunset.
This is the picture of what prayer is supposed to look like in the Christian life. We were never meant to pray alone.
Think about it: when was the last time you asked someone, “Will you pray with me about this?” Not “Will you pray for me” — but “Will you pray with me?” There’s something powerful that happens when two or three are gathered in Jesus’ name.
And here’s where I want to challenge us, especially parents and grandparents: Where does this pattern of praying together begin? It begins at home.
So many of our children never learn how to pray because they never see us pray. We might say a quick blessing before meals — and that’s good — but do they ever see us on our knees? Do they ever hear us pray out loud for something real?
I’m not talking about formal, fancy prayers. I’m talking about honest conversation with God. “Lord, help dad find a job.” “Jesus, please heal grandma.” “God, I’m really worried, and I need your help.”
When children grow up in homes where prayer is woven into daily life, they learn something invaluable: prayer works. Not because we manipulate God, but because we trust Him.
Husbands and wives — when was the last time you prayed together? I know it might feel awkward at first. But imagine what it would mean for your marriage if, before bed, you took five minutes to pray together. That’s Aaron and Hur holding up Moses’s arms.
Now, the widow in today’s Gospel goes to a corrupt judge and keeps coming back: “Render a just decision for me.” Day after day, she returns. Finally, the judge gives in, not because he’s had a moral conversion, but simply because she won’t go away.
Jesus uses this to make a stunning point: if even an unjust judge responds to persistence, how much more will your loving Father respond to you?
So why does God sometimes make us wait? I think part of the answer is in the prayer itself. The widow wanted justice — what was right. We keep praying not to wear God down, but to align our hearts with His heart. We keep praying because we need to be formed.
Persistent prayer changes us. It softens our hearts. It clarifies our vision. It teaches us dependence. Every time we return to prayer, we’re saying, “Lord, I still trust you. Even though I don’t understand your timing, I still believe you’re good, and I still believe you hear me.”
And here’s the remarkable thing: God is working even when we can’t see it. Joshua and his army couldn’t see Moses on the hilltop. They didn’t know his arms were raised. But they felt the difference in the battle.
That’s how prayer works. We may never fully know what difference our prayers made. But one day, in heaven, we’ll see how persistent prayer moved mountains we didn’t even know existed.
But there’s a warning here we can’t ignore. After telling the parable, Jesus asks: “But when the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on earth?”
He’s not asking whether people will believe in God in some general sense. He’s asking whether He’ll find the kind of faith that persists in prayer. In an age of instant everything, will we practice the slow, patient discipline of persistent prayer?
My brothers and sisters, here’s my challenge this week: Don’t pray alone. Find your Aaron and Hur.
If you’re married, pray with your spouse. Even if it’s just two minutes before bed.
If you’re a parent, pray with your children. Let them hear you talk to God.
If you’re single, find a prayer partner — someone who will hold up your arms when they grow tired.
And whatever you do, don’t give up. Keep praying. Keep showing up. Keep raising your hands to heaven, even when it’s hard. Because the Lord never sleeps. He’s always listening. He’s always at work to accomplish His will. And one day, when the battle is over, we’ll look back and see that every prayer mattered, every cry was heard, and every moment of persistence was worth it.
Our help is from the Lord, who made heaven and earth. Let us pray persistently and with confidence, knowing that our God never grows weary of hearing our voice.
God bless you.