Saturday 15 November 2025

The readings today give us two scenes —
one from the night of Exodus, and one from the heart of prayer —
and both tell the same story:
God acts for those who wait and pray in faith.

The Book of Wisdom paints a haunting picture:

“When peaceful silence lay over all,
and night was half spent,
Your all-powerful Word leapt down from heaven.”

It’s describing the night when God delivered Israel from Egypt —
when, without noise or spectacle,
the Almighty set His people free.

He didn’t need thunder to show His strength.
He worked in silence.
He moved in the stillness of trust.

That’s how God usually acts.
Not always with drama — often with quiet precision.
When all seems still, He is working.
When the world seems asleep, grace is on the move.

And that Word that leapt down in power that night
would one day leap down again in Bethlehem —
the same Word made flesh, born in the stillness of another holy night.

The God of Exodus is the same God of the Incarnation —
mighty enough to command seas,
gentle enough to rest in a manger.

Then Jesus gives us a parable about persistence —
the widow and the unjust judge.

It’s a story of contrast.
She’s poor, powerless, unheard.
He’s rich, cynical, and couldn’t care less.
But she refuses to give up.
Day after day, she knocks, demands, insists.
Finally, he gives in — not from compassion, but from exhaustion.

And Jesus says:

“If even a corrupt judge listens to persistence,
how much more will your heavenly Father hear His chosen ones
who cry to Him day and night?”

The point isn’t that God needs nagging —
it’s that we need perseverance.
Prayer isn’t about informing God; it’s about transforming us.
Persistence stretches the soul to receive the grace that’s already on its way.

Sometimes God answers quickly.
Other times He says, “Wait.”
And sometimes His answer is different from what we expected —
but always better in the long run.

The world wants instant results;
faith learns to trust God’s timing.
Because what matters most in prayer isn’t speed — it’s surrender.

The widow didn’t get justice by giving up.
She got it by staying in the fight.
And Jesus ends the story with that piercing question:

“When the Son of Man comes, will He find faith on earth?”

Not faith as emotion,
but faith as endurance —
faith that still prays when the answer is late,
faith that still loves when heaven feels silent.

The two readings meet here.
Israel’s freedom came in the quiet hours of the night;
the widow’s victory came after long perseverance.
Both show that God’s timing is perfect, even when it feels late.

Think of it:
while Egypt slept, God was redeeming His people.
While the disciples despaired at Calvary,
the Word was already preparing to rise.
When you think nothing’s happening,
grace is quietly on the march.

That’s the wisdom of Scripture —
that divine silence is not absence, but preparation.
The Word that once leapt from heaven still moves today,
not always loudly, but always lovingly.

So what’s the message for us?
Don’t lose heart.
Keep knocking.
Keep praying for conversion — your own and others’.
Keep offering that intention you’ve brought to Mass a hundred times.

Because every prayer — even the weary ones — is a seed of faith.
And in God’s time, seeds break open.

When your prayer feels unanswered,
remember Israel on that silent night.
When your hope feels stretched thin,
remember the widow who wouldn’t give up.

God may not answer fast,
but He always answers full.

The widow teaches us to persist.
Wisdom teaches us to trust.
Christ teaches us to hope.

And one day, when all is silent and night is half spent,
He will act again —
and the Son of Man will find faith on earth.

Faith doesn’t quit when heaven seems quiet.
Prayer isn’t measured by how fast God moves,
but by how long we stay faithful.

So keep knocking.
Keep trusting.
And when the night feels still,
remember — the Word is already leaping down.