There’s a word that runs through all three readings today — perseverance.
Not the stubbornness of pride, but the endurance of faith.
The kind that keeps praying when answers seem far away.
The kind that believes when the world says, “Why bother?”

Moses stands on a hill, staff in hand, praying for his people.
Below him, Israel is fighting a real, dangerous battle.
Every time Moses lifts his hands in prayer, the people prevail.
But when his arms grow heavy, the enemy begins to win.

So Aaron and Hur come beside him — one on each side —
and they hold up his hands until sunset.
Together, they win the battle.

That scene is a mirror of the Church.
Some pray, some serve, some support,
but all are part of the same struggle.
The battle isn’t only out there in the world; it’s in here — in the soul,
where faith meets fear, and prayer meets weariness.

There are moments when your prayer life feels like holding up your arms against gravity. You start strong, then it hurts, then you want to stop.
That’s when the Church steps in —
a friend, a spouse, a parish, a saint, a Mass — holding you up.

You don’t pray alone.
Even the weakest prayer is carried by the whole Body of Christ.
That’s why Sunday Mass matters — not just for what you get,
but for the strength we share.

Jesus tells the story of the widow who keeps pleading with a judge for justice.
She’s got nothing on her side — no money, no power, no allies.
Just persistence.
And even that hard-hearted judge eventually gives in.

Jesus doesn’t say God is like that judge.
He says God is infinitely better.
If persistence works on the unjust,
how much more on the perfectly just and loving Father?

So why do we stop praying so quickly?
Because deep down we treat prayer like a vending machine.
Put in a request, wait for an answer.
And when nothing happens, we assume the machine is broken.

But prayer isn’t a machine. It’s a relationship.
And in a relationship, sometimes silence means “wait.”
Sometimes it means “trust Me.”
God’s apparent delays are not rejection — they are formation.

The widow’s story reminds us: faith is not about getting what we want;
it’s about trusting Who we’re talking to.

In the second reading, St Paul tells Timothy:
“Be faithful to what you have learned … proclaim the Word, be persistent whether the time is favourable or unfavourable.”

That’s the same call Jesus gives the widow: keep going.
The same strength Moses found on the hill: keep your arms raised.
Faith isn’t proved when life is easy — it’s proved when life is heavy.

To persevere means to hold on even when you feel nothing.
It means to pray the Rosary when your mind wanders.
To come to Mass when you’re tired.
To forgive when it hurts.
To believe when you can’t see the outcome.

That’s the faith Jesus is talking about when He asks,
“When the Son of Man comes, will He find faith on earth?”
He’s not asking if He’ll find people who once believed.
He’s asking if He’ll find people who kept believing.

There’s a mystery in prayer.
God could answer instantly, but He often doesn’t.
Why? Because He’s not just listening for words; He’s shaping a soul.

If God answered every prayer the moment we asked,
we’d never learn patience, trust, or surrender.
Sometimes the delay is the gift.
It gives faith muscles.

Think of Moses’ arms again — they had to ache before they grew strong.
Think of the widow — she had to be ignored before she discovered endurance.
Think of Jesus Himself — who prayed in Gethsemane,
and still went through the Cross to reach the Resurrection.

God’s answers may not be quick,
but they are always wise.

We Catholics understand prayer differently.
We don’t think of it as a private exercise,
but as participation in the prayer of Christ Himself.

When you pray the Our Father, you’re praying with the whole Church —
with the saints, with the angels, with every Mass being offered this very moment.
When you pray for the dead, you are joining in the mercy of Christ
that bridges heaven and earth.
When you adore the Blessed Sacrament, you’re kneeling before the same Lord
who once hung on the Cross and now reigns in glory.

So never say, “It’s only me praying.”
Every Catholic prayer is plugged into an infinite communion of grace.

Our world prizes instant results — instant food, instant replies, instant everything.
But the Kingdom of God grows slowly — like a seed in the ground.
The soil has to be watered by prayer,
even when nothing seems to be sprouting.

That’s why Jesus says, “Pray always and never lose heart.”
If you stop watering, the roots dry out.
If you keep praying, something unseen is growing.

So tonight, remember the pattern of the readings.

Be like Moses — keep your arms raised for those who need you.
Be like Aaron and Hur — hold up someone who’s struggling to believe.
Be like the widow — never stop knocking at heaven’s door.

And when you feel weak, remember: the Church is praying with you;
the saints are praying for you; and Christ Himself is praying through you.

Faith doesn’t always shout.
Sometimes it just keeps breathing.
Sometimes it’s nothing more than a whisper: “Lord, I’m still here.”
And that whisper is enough.

So pray always, never lose heart —
and know that when your arms grow tired,
He will hold them up.