Luke 18:1-8 (19th Sunday after Pentecost) – October 19, 2025

Introduction

This parable sits within Jesus’ long journey to Jerusalem and directly follows a conversation about the coming of the Son of Man (Luke 17:20–37). The tone is already urgent and apocalyptic: disciples are being prepared for a time when the world will not reflect God’s justice, when faithfulness will feel lonely, and when prayer might seem pointless.

So Luke introduces this story “about their need to pray always and not to lose heart.” It’s not about saying the right words to get what we want. It’s about clinging to God when the world seems silent.

The Parable Itself

Jesus tells this story about a widow and a judge, two characters who could not be more different in their power and place in the world.

In the biblical tradition and imagination, a widow was not simply someone who had lost a spouse. She represented a whole category of people left vulnerable by the collapse of the social system that was supposed to protect them. Without a husband, a widow had no legal advocate, no access to inheritance, and no steady income. Unless a relative stepped in, she was often left at the mercy of those who could exploit her. That is why throughout scripture (from the prophets to the psalms) God’s people are commanded again and again to care for “the widow, the orphan, and the stranger.” These were the ones who lived closest to the edge of survival.

The judge, on the other hand, is meant to be the one who upholds justice, who protects the very people like this widow. In the Hebrew Scriptures, judges were supposed to embody reverence for God and fairness toward others, “fearing God and having respect for people.” But this judge does neither. Jesus describes him bluntly. “He neither feared God nor had respect for people.” It’s as if to say, this is the last person you’d expect to do the right thing.

So right from the start, the story places us in a courtroom where justice is impossible. The one with no power stands before the one who has all the power, and he doesn’t care.

And yet, the widow refuses to go away.

Day after day she shows up, demanding justice against her opponent. We’re not told who her opponent is, but the details almost don’t matter. It could be someone defrauding her of property, or someone exploiting her vulnerability. But the point is that she has been wronged, and she will not stop naming it.

The Greek suggests she keeps coming again and again, relentlessly. The judge admits that she is “wearing him out,” which literally means “giving him a black eye.” Her persistence bruises his pride, if not his body. She keeps showing up until even he, this godless, apathetic judge, finally gives in just to get some peace.

What’s poignant is that the widow doesn’t appeal to pity or power, she appeals to justice. She doesn’t say “be kind to me,” but “grant me justice.” She knows the law is on her side. She knows what is right. She refuses to be silent in the face of delay.

In her insistence, Jesus paints a picture of faith that is anything but passive. This is faith that argues, agitates, and refuses to go away quietly.

And here is the contrast Jesus draws: If even this unjust, indifferent judge eventually acts (not because he cares, but because he’s worn down) how much more will God, who is just and merciful, respond to those who cry out day and night?

It’s important to notice that Jesus does not promise that justice will come easily or on our timeline. But he insists that God is not like this judge. God’s justice may seem delayed, but God’s heart is not indifferent.

At its core, this parable is not just about prayer; it’s about the kind of faith that keeps praying even when it looks like no one is listening. The kind that keeps showing up, keeps naming what is wrong, keeps trusting that God is still the God of widows, orphans, and all who are unseen.

Preaching Possibilities

There are two threads here that preachers could take, and both come with real promise and real pitfalls.

The first is to see this as a call to persistence in pursuing justice. The widow’s refusal to give up has inspired generations of interpreters to hear this as a call to holy protest: a story that gives courage to those who stand before corrupt systems, still demanding that wrongs be made right. And it certainly can be preached that way.

But the pitfall is twofold.

First, Jesus doesn’t promise that the world will respond as the judge finally does. The widow’s victory in the story is a parable, not a guarantee. Many faithful people cry out and do not see justice in their lifetimes. If we preach this only as a call to activism, we risk setting people up for heartbreak when the powers of this world do not yield so quickly.

Second, Luke’s introduction reminds us that this parable is not primarily about social strategy or grassroots protest, it’s about perseverance in faith. “Then Jesus told them a parable about their need to pray always and not to lose heart.” This is not a story about how to live in the world, but about how to keep trusting God when the world seems unmoved.

The other thread, however, swings too far the other direction. We could preach this text as a purely inward story. That our only task is to pray, stay centered, and leave the rest to God. But that would let us off the hook too easily. If prayer becomes detached from the cries of the widow, it risks becoming the quiet resignation of those who have stopped believing that anything can change.

So how do we hold both? How do we preach this faithfully without either belittling our agency or burdening our people with unrealistic expectations?

Perhaps the balance comes in remembering that Jesus connects prayer and justice, not as separate things, but as parts of one faithful life. Persistent prayer shapes our endurance in the face of delay. It keeps our hearts tender when cynicism is easier. It is not withdrawal from the world, but the fuel for holy persistence within it.

It’s the same kind of faith we saw last week in the ten lepers, who began to walk toward the priests before they were healed. They acted on a promise they couldn’t yet see. Their steps were themselves a kind of prayer, trusting that what Jesus said would become true along the way.

In the same way, the widow’s persistence, and our own, is not about instant results but about walking in faith before the healing, before the justice, before the world changes, trusting that God is already at work while we are still on the way.

We cannot set our people up for failure. We cannot be naïve about the world. There are judges who never relent, systems that do not yield, prayers that seem to echo unanswered for years. To preach this parable as if persistence guarantees victory would be cruel. Faith does not shield us from disappointment or delay.

But we also cannot be naïve about God. God is not absent, even when justice feels far off. The God who hears the widow’s cry is the same God who in Christ bore the weight of injustice and rose to promise that it will not have the last word. Faith is not pretending the world is fine; it is trusting that God is still faithful, still moving, still bringing life where none seems possible.

So our calling as preachers, and as people of faith, is to help one another live in that tension. Honest about the hardness of the world, yet unshaken in our hope that God is still at work within it, still bringing about a justice and mercy that even now are breaking in among us.