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Luke 18 — Persistent prayers, humble hearts, and the cost of following Jesus
8 min read
was still on the road toward , still teaching, still telling stories. And the stories in this chapter have a thread running through them that's easy to miss: who gets through? A widow who won't stop knocking. A who can barely lift his head. Children the adults tried to send away. A blind man the crowd tried to silence. They all got through. The powerful, self-assured ruler? He walked away.
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Sometimes the people closest to the door are the ones who refuse to walk through it. And sometimes the people who seem the furthest away are the ones who won't stop pushing until it opens.
told this for a specific reason — to show his that they should always pray and never give up. And the story he chose was brilliantly unexpected. He didn't start with a . He started with a terrible one.
Jesus said:
"There was a judge in a certain city who didn't fear God and didn't care about people. And there was a widow in the same city who kept showing up at his door, saying, 'Give me justice against my adversary.'
For a long time, he refused. But eventually, he said to himself, 'I don't fear God and I don't care about anyone — but this woman will not stop coming. I'm going to give her justice just so she'll leave me alone.'"
Then Jesus drove the point home:
"Listen to what the unjust judge says. If even a corrupt judge will eventually act because someone keeps asking — how much more will God bring justice to his chosen ones who cry out to him day and night? Will he keep putting them off? I tell you, he will bring justice to them quickly."
Then he added one quiet, haunting question:
"But when the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on earth?"
Here's the twist most people miss: this is not a story about wearing God down. God is not the unjust judge. That's the whole point. If even a corrupt official eventually responds to persistence — how much more will a loving respond to his children? The argument is from lesser to greater. You're not begging an indifferent bureaucracy. You're talking to someone who already wants to answer. So don't stop. The real question isn't whether God will come through. It's whether you'll still be asking when he does.
tells us exactly who aimed this next story at: people who were confident in their own and looked down on everyone else. So Jesus painted a scene everyone in that crowd would recognize.
Jesus said:
"Two men went up to the Temple to pray. One was a Pharisee. The other was a tax collector.
The Pharisee stood by himself and prayed like this: 'God, I thank you that I'm not like other people — thieves, cheaters, adulterers — or even like that tax collector over there. I fast twice a week. I give a tenth of everything I earn.'
But the tax collector stood at a distance. He wouldn't even look up toward heaven. He just beat his chest and said, 'God, be merciful to me — a sinner.'"
Then came the verdict:
"I tell you — that tax collector went home right with God. The Pharisee did not. Because everyone who lifts himself up will be brought down, and everyone who humbles himself will be lifted up."
Think about what just happened. The wasn't lying. He probably did fast twice a week. He probably did faithfully. His résumé was real. But his wasn't actually a prayer — it was a performance review. He walked into God's presence and talked about himself. The walked in and could barely get a sentence out. One man came to show God what he'd done. The other came to ask God for what he couldn't do for himself. Only one of them left changed.
People were bringing their babies and small children to , hoping he'd touch them and bless them. The saw the crowd forming and started turning them away. Too busy. Too important. Not the right time.
Jesus stopped them immediately:
"Let the children come to me. Don't block them. The Kingdom of God belongs to people just like them. And I'm telling you the truth — whoever doesn't receive the kingdom of God like a child will never enter it."
Why children? Because children don't come with a résumé. They don't negotiate terms. They don't show up with a list of qualifications. They just come. Open hands, zero leverage, complete trust. That's the posture Jesus is describing. Not childishness — childlikeness. The isn't for people who've earned it. It's for people who know they can't.
A ruler approached — someone with authority, influence, and resources. He asked a genuinely good question:
"Good Teacher, what do I need to do to inherit eternal life?"
Jesus responded:
"Why do you call me good? No one is good except God alone. You know the commandments — don't commit adultery, don't murder, don't steal, don't lie, honor your father and mother."
The ruler said:
"I've kept all of these since I was young."
And Jesus looked at him and said:
"There's one thing you still lack. Sell everything you own. Give it to the poor. You'll have treasure in heaven. Then come and follow me."
The man heard this — and walked away devastated. Because he was extremely wealthy.
Notice: Jesus didn't say money is . He didn't say wealth automatically disqualifies you. He identified the one thing this particular man was holding tighter than God. And he asked him to let go of it. The man had passed every other test. He'd checked every religious box. But when Jesus pointed to the thing that actually had his heart — he couldn't do it. The tragedy isn't that Jesus asked too much. It's that the man had so much, and it still wasn't enough to make him stay.
watched the ruler walk away and said something that stunned everyone:
"How hard it is for the wealthy to enter the kingdom of God. It's easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich person to enter God's kingdom."
The crowd was shaken. In their culture, wealth was widely seen as a sign of God's blessing. If the can't get in — then who can? They asked exactly that:
"Then who can be saved?"
And Jesus answered:
"What's impossible with people is possible with God."
That's the answer to the whole chapter. The widow couldn't get on her own. The couldn't earn his way to . The children couldn't bring qualifications. The rich ruler couldn't let go. None of them could do it by themselves. And that's the point. has never been a human achievement. It's always been a divine rescue.
spoke up — and you can almost hear the unspoken question underneath his words:
"We've left our homes and followed you."
The subtext: we did what the rich ruler couldn't. What about us? answered directly:
"I'm telling you the truth — anyone who has left home or wife or brothers or parents or children for the sake of the kingdom of God will receive many times more in this life, and in the age to come, eternal life."
Jesus didn't minimize what they'd given up. He acknowledged the cost. But he also promised that the return is wildly disproportionate to the . Not always in the ways you'd expect — not necessarily bigger houses or better circumstances — but in the depth of community, purpose, and belonging that comes from being part of what God is doing. And then, eventually, forever.
Then pulled the twelve aside and told them, plainly, what was coming. No this time. No metaphor. Just the truth:
"We're going up to Jerusalem. And everything written about the Son of Man by the Prophets is about to happen. He will be handed over to the Gentiles. He will be mocked. He will be treated with contempt. He will be spit on. They will flog him — and then they will kill him. And on the third day, he will rise."
But they didn't understand any of it. says it was hidden from them. They couldn't grasp what he was saying.
There's something deeply human about this. Jesus told them exactly what was going to happen — and — and they couldn't process it. Not because the words were unclear, but because the reality was too far from what they expected. They were following the . They were heading to . In their minds, this was building toward a coronation, not a . Sometimes the truth is right in front of you, stated plainly, and you still can't receive it — because it doesn't fit the story you thought you were in.
As approached , a blind man was sitting beside the road, begging. He heard the noise of a crowd passing and asked what was going on. Someone told him: Jesus of is coming through.
And he started shouting:
"Jesus, Son of David — have mercy on me!"
The people at the front of the crowd told him to be quiet. He was making a scene. He was being disruptive. He was embarrassing.
So he shouted louder:
"Son of David, have mercy on me!"
Jesus stopped. He told them to bring the man over. And when the blind man stood before him, Jesus asked a question that might seem obvious — but wasn't:
"What do you want me to do for you?"
The man said:
"Lord, let me see again."
Jesus said:
"Receive your sight. Your faith has made you well."
Immediately, the man could see. And he followed Jesus, praising God. Everyone who saw it praised God too.
Look at the pattern of this whole chapter. The widow kept knocking. The kept beating his chest. The children kept coming. The blind man kept shouting. Every single person the crowd tried to silence or dismiss — Jesus heard. Every time someone pushed past the gatekeepers and the social pressure and their own inadequacy — Jesus stopped for them. The only person who walked away empty was the one who had everything but couldn't let go. The door is open. But you have to want through it more than you want to stay comfortable.