29th Sunday in Ordinary Time – 2025
In today’s readings, we are reminded that prayer is the lifeblood of faith. Moses stands on the hill, arms raised, while Israel battles Amalek below. When his arms grow weary, Aaron and Hur hold them up—and Israel prevails. In the Gospel, Jesus tells of a widow who never gives up, who keeps pleading with the unjust judge until justice is done. And Saint Paul urges Timothy, “Be persistent—whether convenient or inconvenient.” All three passages reveal the same truth: prayer is not a quick fix. It is the steady lifting of our hearts to God, even when we are tired, confused, or waiting.
The Church teaches that prayer takes many forms—adoration, contrition, thanksgiving, and supplication—but at its heart, prayer shapes the three greatest virtues: Faith, Hope, and Love. Each one reveals something essential about the Christian life.
Faith is not the absence of doubt; it is the ability to see deeper than what eyes can see. When Moses lifted his hands on the hill, he saw something invisible: God’s power at work. To the soldiers below, it was just a battle. To Moses, it was prayer.
I remember driving with a young man from the University of Dallas who was struggling with his faith—especially about Pope Francis. He felt the Church was losing its way. As we talked, we were actually praying, not with beads or formal words, but through reflection and honest searching. Prayer does not have to be limited to the Rosary or the Our Father—though those are sacred and powerful. They are meant to move our hearts and minds through familiar territory, through familiar roads that suddenly bring new light, new perspective, and new connections.
That is what was happening as we drove: our minds were traveling down familiar roads, but faith was opening new ways of seeing. When I pulled into a Popeye’s parking lot, I looked up at the sign and said, “Look—there’s your miracle.” He asked what I meant, and I said, “The sign. Popeye’s? No—Pope, yes!” Behind the humor was a truth: when we pray, we start to see differently. Faith gives us new eyes—eyes that can find God’s tenderness in ordinary places.
Sometimes prayer even takes us where we do not expect, but where God is waiting to meet us. Marcus Aurelius once wrote, “The soul becomes dyed with the color of its thoughts.” Prayer dyes the soul with faith. It teaches us to see not just with our eyes but with our hearts—to drive through life’s familiar streets and realize that everything looks new.
Hope is prayer stretched toward the future. Saint Paul says, “Be persistent, whether convenient or inconvenient.” That is hope—persistence when it is inconvenient.
I remember meeting a man in Rome, the head of liturgy, while preparing for our children’s choir trip. He asked, “Do your children sing in Latin?” And without missing a beat, I said, “Yes, yes they do.” The truth was, they didn’t—not yet. But we had three months to prepare.
That moment taught me something about hope: it is saying yes to God before you know how. It is trusting that what seems impossible today can become beautiful tomorrow. Hope keeps us praying when we are tired, studying when we are unsure, forgiving when it is hard, and loving when it is inconvenient. Prayer does not just move God’s hand—it moves our hearts to cooperate with His timing.
Marcus Aurelius once wrote, “Do not act as if you were going to live ten thousand years. While you live, while it is in your power, be good.” Hope urges us to act now—to keep raising our hands, to keep preparing the song, to keep trusting the process—because the miracle will come.
And the greatest of these is love. Love allows us to see the world—and ourselves—as God sees: truthfully, compassionately, courageously.
In today’s Gospel, the widow never gives up. She keeps returning to the judge until he finally grants her justice. Something good happened because she was persistent. But imagine if love had been involved. Love would have transformed that courtroom, not just changed the verdict. That is what divine love does: it doesn’t just bring results—it brings redemption. It turns persistence into transformation.
I thought of that widow one day when a young girl came to my office with her mother. She was a middle-school student—kind, smart, and gentle—but she had been bullied, mocked for not fitting in. Through tears she said, “Father, I can’t sleep. I can’t study. I’m so embarrassed. I feel like a loser.”
I told her, “No, you have nothing to be embarrassed about. You did nothing wrong. The people who did this—they should be embarrassed.” Then I pointed to the crucifix on my wall. “Do you think He was embarrassed?” I asked. “He was perfect. He did absolutely nothing wrong. And look what they did to Him. Stand tall. Be proud. Walk with your head held high. Because imitating Christ in your life is a badge of honor. Being another Christ is a badge of honor. It’s not shameful—it’s holy. It’s powerful—and it’s holy.”
That is what love does. Like the widow, it refuses to let evil have the last word. But unlike the judge, it acts not from obligation but from compassion. Love doesn’t just respond to need—it transforms what it touches. Prayer rooted in love helps us see that even injustice and pain can become occasions for grace—moments where God’s mercy breaks through human hardness.
Love does not deny pain; it transforms it. It sees not just the wound, but the worth—not just the cross, but the resurrection.
So what do these readings—and these lives—teach us? Prayer forms and fuels the three great virtues: Faith, which helps us see deeper than what eyes can see; Hope, which helps us say yes before the miracle happens; and Love, which helps us see things as they really are—through the eyes of God.
When we pray, everything starts to look different. Even a Popeye’s sign can become a sign of faith. Prayer doesn’t make life easier; it makes it holier.
So whether you are weary like Moses, challenged like Paul, or wounded like that little girl—keep praying. Lift your hands. Lift your heart. And let God show you what your eyes cannot yet see.
