Jesus says, “Pray always and never lose heart.”
It sounds simple, doesn’t it?
But in real life, prayer is often the first place Christians do lose heart.
We start strong — then grow weary.
We ask — and don’t see results.
We pray — and heaven seems silent.

And yet Jesus insists: keep praying.
Why? Because prayer isn’t about persuading God; it’s about forming faith.

In today’s Gospel, the widow keeps knocking at the judge’s door.
She has no wealth, no power, no influence — only persistence.
And even this corrupt man gives in to her pleas.

Jesus isn’t saying God is like that judge — He’s saying the opposite.
If even a selfish man can be moved by persistence,
how much more will the Father who loves you respond to His children’s prayers?

But the real miracle isn’t that the judge changes — it’s that the widow never gives up.
Her faith is steady, stubborn, faithful.
She keeps asking — and in the asking, her soul is strengthened.

That’s what prayer does: it reshapes us from the inside out.

We see the same truth in the first reading.
Israel is at war, and Moses stands on the hilltop with arms raised in prayer.
As long as his arms are lifted, God’s people win;
when they fall, the enemy advances.

So Aaron and Hur stand beside him, holding up his arms —
a beautiful picture of what the Church is meant to be.

Sometimes we are Moses, praying for others.
Sometimes we are Aaron or Hur, holding up the weary.
And sometimes, we’re down in the valley — exhausted, struggling, ready to quit.
But in every case, prayer is the real battleground.

While the world sees politics and headlines,
heaven sees saints on their knees holding back darkness.

St Paul tells Timothy: “You have been taught the sacred Scriptures; they are able to make you wise for salvation.”

If you want to persevere, Paul says, stay rooted —
rooted in Scripture, in the Eucharist, in the Church’s teaching.

We live in a world that moves fast and prays little.
Noise fills every space; silence feels like emptiness.
But silence is where God waits.
Prayer isn’t a task to fit in — it’s what holds life together.

A Christian without prayer is like a soldier without armour —
still marching, but vulnerable.

People often say, “Father, I prayed, and nothing changed.”
But prayer isn’t magic — it’s relationship.
God’s first aim isn’t to give us what we want;
it’s to make us who we’re meant to be.

When you pray and don’t get the answer you hoped for,
something else is happening.
God is building endurance, deepening trust,
turning your request into relationship.

Think of Jesus in Gethsemane:
“Father, let this cup pass from me.”
From the outside, it looked unanswered.
But the real answer came on Easter morning.
The Cross was not the end of prayer — it was the seed of resurrection.

That’s how prayer works: not on our timetable, but on His.

Jesus ends the Gospel with a haunting question:
“When the Son of Man comes, will He find faith on earth?”

He’s not talking about numbers in the pews or statistics on a diocesan form.
He’s talking about faith that endures —
the kind that prays even when it’s hard,
the kind that keeps trusting when heaven is silent.

That’s the faith that built the Church.
That’s the faith that still saves souls.

Our world has clever arguments against prayer —
but the greatest proof of God’s reality isn’t an argument; it’s a praying Christian.

When someone sees you still kneeling after loss,
still thanking after hardship,
still trusting after silence —
that’s faith.
That’s evangelisation.

Prayer is the Church’s heartbeat.
When we stop praying, we start dying.
But when we pray, even quietly, even weakly,
we keep the light burning in a dark world.

So what does today ask of us?

• Like Moses: keep your arms raised. Pray for your family, for our parish, for the world. Even tired prayer is powerful prayer.
• Like the widow: be persistent. God’s silence is not His absence.
• Like Timothy: stay rooted in Scripture and the truth of the faith.
• Like the saints: make prayer your rhythm — not an emergency tool, but your daily breath.

When you pray the Rosary, you pray with Mary.
When you come to Mass, you pray with the angels.
When you whisper for the dead, you pray with the saints.

That’s the power of belonging to the Church:
you never pray alone.

Every time you kneel, you take your place beside Moses on the hill,
beside the widow at the judge’s door,
and beside Christ Himself — who even now intercedes for us at the right hand of the Father.

Prayer doesn’t always change your circumstances —
but it always changes your heart.
And sometimes, that is the greater miracle.

So tonight at St John Bosco,
keep your hands raised, for your prayer joins the whole Church, seen and unseen, Even if prayer feels weak,
even if faith feels small —
the saints are holding up your arms, the Spirit is groaning within you, and Christ is praying through you.