The Justice of Importunity
Introduction: The Mandate to Pester
We live in an age that prizes convenience and detests persistence. We want instant downloads, instant coffee, and instant sanctification. And this mentality has thoroughly infected our prayer lives. We treat prayer like a customer service hotline. We make our request, and if we are put on hold for too long, we hang up in frustration and try to solve the problem ourselves. We might send up a quick, polite, well-mannered request, but we are terrified of being a nuisance. We don't want to bother God.
Into this weak and anemic spirituality, Jesus tells a parable designed to shock us. It is a parable designed to teach us that God is not looking for polite inquiries. He is looking for relentless, dogged, importunate faith. He is looking for saints who will grab hold of the horns of the altar and refuse to let go. The point of this parable is stated with absolute clarity in the first verse: "that at all times they ought to pray and not to lose heart." This is not a suggestion for the spiritually elite; it is a basic command for all Christians. To stop praying is to faint. To cease crying out is to surrender. Prayer is not a peacetime activity; it is a wartime necessity. It is the supply line for the soldier on the front lines. Cut the line, and the soldier will be overrun.
Jesus gives us two parables back to back here in Luke 18. This one, about the unjust judge, teaches us how to pray: persistently. The next, about the Pharisee and the tax collector, teaches us how not to pray: self-righteously. Before we can learn the posture of humility, we must first learn the practice of tenacity. The great danger facing the church is not that our prayers will be too bold, but that they will be too timid. The great risk is not that we will bother God, but that we will give up just before the dawn.
But this parable presents a difficulty. It seems to compare God to a corrupt, godless judge. And if we misunderstand the nature of parables, we will stumble here. This is a parable of contrast, not of direct comparison. The logic is not, "God is like an unjust judge, so you have to wear Him down." The logic is, "If even a wicked man, for all the wrong reasons, will grant the request of a persistent widow, how much more will a righteous and loving Father grant justice to His own beloved children who cry out to Him day and night?" It is an argument from the lesser to the greater, designed to obliterate our excuses for faithless silence.
The Text
Now He was telling them a parable to show that at all times they ought to pray and not to lose heart, saying, "In a certain city there was a judge who did not fear God and did not respect man. Now there was a widow in that city, and she kept coming to him, saying, 'Give me justice from my opponent.' And for a while he was unwilling; but afterward he said to himself, 'Even though I do not fear God nor respect man, yet because this widow is bothering me, I will give her justice, lest by continually coming she wears me out.' " And the Lord said, "Hear what the unjust judge said. Now, will God not bring about justice for His elect who cry to Him day and night, and will He delay long over them? I tell you that He will bring about justice for them quickly. However, when the Son of Man comes, will He find that faith on the earth?
(Luke 18:1-8 LSB)
The Unjust Judge and the Powerless Widow (vv. 1-3)
Jesus lays out the purpose and the characters of the story.
"Now He was telling them a parable to show that at all times they ought to pray and not to lose heart, saying, 'In a certain city there was a judge who did not fear God and did not respect man. Now there was a widow in that city, and she kept coming to him, saying, Give me justice from my opponent.'" (Luke 18:1-3 LSB)
The mandate is clear: "ought to pray and not to lose heart." The word for "ought" signifies a divine necessity. It is not optional. Prayer is the Christian's vital breath. The alternative to praying is fainting, giving up, losing heart. These are the only two options on the table. You are either praying, or you are fainting. There is no middle ground of comfortable coasting.
To make his point, Jesus sets up a scenario of maximum resistance. First, we have the judge. His character is described in two strokes. He "did not fear God," meaning he had no vertical accountability. The throne of heaven did not intimidate him. And he "did not respect man," meaning he had no horizontal accountability. Public opinion meant nothing to him. He is a man entirely governed by corrupt self-interest. He is a law unto himself, the ancient equivalent of a modern secular bureaucrat. He is the worst possible person to approach for justice.
Then we have the petitioner. She is a widow. In the ancient world, this meant she was the epitome of vulnerability. She had no husband to represent her, no sons to defend her, no social power, no financial leverage. She could not bribe the judge or intimidate him. All she had was the justice of her cause and the persistence of her plea. Her adversary, her opponent, was taking advantage of her, and this corrupt judge was her only recourse. She is utterly powerless, facing a man who is utterly corrupt.
The Motivation of Annoyance (vv. 4-5)
The judge's initial response is exactly what we would expect, but the woman's persistence changes his calculus.
"And for a while he was unwilling; but afterward he said to himself, 'Even though I do not fear God nor respect man, yet because this widow is bothering me, I will give her justice, lest by continually coming she wears me out.' " (Luke 18:4-5 LSB)
He stonewalled her. He ignored her. But she "kept coming." Her persistence created a problem for him. Jesus gives us a glimpse into the judge's wicked mind. His internal monologue is brutally honest. He reaffirms his own godlessness: "Even though I do not fear God nor respect man." There is no change of heart here, no sudden discovery of a moral compass.
His motivation is singular: "because this widow is bothering me." She is causing him trouble. She is a constant annoyance. He decides to give her justice simply to get her off his back. The final phrase, "lest by continually coming she wears me out," is striking. The Greek word here is hypopiazo. It is a boxing term that literally means "to strike under the eye," or to give a black eye. He is not afraid of a gentle tap. He is afraid that her relentless, hammering persistence will beat him into submission. He grants her request not because it is right, but because it is easier than continuing to endure her constant appeals. He is worn down by her righteous nagging.
From the Lesser to the Greater (vv. 6-8a)
Jesus now springs the trap and makes the application. This is an argument a fortiori, from the lesser to the greater.
"And the Lord said, 'Hear what the unjust judge said. Now, will God not bring about justice for His elect who cry to Him day and night, and will He delay long over them? I tell you that He will bring about justice for them quickly.'" (Luke 18:6-8a LSB)
Jesus says, "Listen. Pay close attention to the logic of this wicked man." The argument is one of profound contrast. If this corrupt, godless, selfish judge can be moved to act by the persistence of a powerless stranger for whom he cares nothing, then how much more will a perfectly just, righteous, and loving God act on behalf of His own chosen people, His elect, whom He loves with an everlasting love?
Look at the contrasts. We have an unjust judge versus a righteous God. A powerless widow versus God's beloved elect. A selfish motivation (annoyance) versus a covenantal motivation (love and faithfulness). A cry that was a nuisance versus a cry that is music to God's ears, the prayers of His saints "day and night."
The question "will He delay long over them?" is a comfort. It means He is patient with us, He bears with our cries, He hears every single one. It does not mean He is slow in a neglectful sense. From our perspective in the trenches of history, it can certainly feel like a delay. The saints under the altar cry out, "How long, O Lord?" (Rev. 6:10). But from the perspective of eternity, the answer will be swift. "I tell you that He will bring about justice for them quickly." When God decides the time is right, His justice will roll down like waters, and His righteousness like an ever-flowing stream. The dam of His patience will break, and the vindication of His people will be sudden, total, and glorious.
The Haunting Question (v. 8b)
Jesus concludes not with a comforting assurance, but with a deeply searching and sobering question directed at His disciples, and at us.
"However, when the Son of Man comes, will He find that faith on the earth?" (Luke 18:8b LSB)
This is the hinge upon which the entire parable turns. The reliability of God is never in question. He is faithful. His promises are sure. His justice is coming. The variable in the equation is not God's character, but our own. The great cliffhanger of history is not whether God will answer, but whether His people will still be asking when He does.
And notice what kind of faith He is looking for. The Greek is definite: "will He find that faith," or "the faith." He is not asking about generic belief or doctrinal correctness, as important as those are. He is asking about the specific kind of faith demonstrated by the widow. It is a faith that does not faint. It is a faith that keeps coming. It is a faith that bothers heaven day and night. It is the faith that wrestles with God and says, "I will not let you go unless you bless me."
This is a challenge to the core of our discipleship. God commands us to pray this way not because He is reluctant, but because we are. He wants to be pursued. He ordains our persistent prayers as the means by which He accomplishes His purposes and shapes His people. This kind of praying kills our pride, cultivates our desperation, clarifies our desires, and deepens our dependence on Him. God is not the unjust judge, but He is looking for plaintiffs with the tenacity of that widow.
Conclusion: Will He Find You Praying?
The central question of this parable is not about the character of God, but about the character of your prayers. Is your prayer life marked by the persistent, relentless, nagging faith of this widow? Or is it marked by polite, sporadic requests that you abandon the moment you meet resistance?
What injustices in the world, in the church, in your family, have you simply decided to live with? What promises of God have you given up on? What petitions have you allowed to grow cold on the altar of your heart? This parable is a divine summons to pick them up again. It is a command to return to the judge's courthouse and to start knocking, loudly, and to refuse to leave until you are heard.
God is not bothered by your persistence; He is honored by it. It is a mark of true faith. It demonstrates that you believe He is who He says He is: the just God who hears the cries of His people. The issue is settled in heaven. Justice is coming. Vindication is on its way. The only remaining question is the one Jesus leaves hanging in the air. When the Son of Man returns in glory to finally and fully answer that prayer, will He find you still on your knees?