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FAITH AS RESISTANCE IN THE NIGHT OF GOD. «WHEN THE SON OF MAN COMES, HE WILL FIND FAITH ON EARTH?»

When the Son of Man comes, perhaps he won't find many works, nor many institutions remained strong; but if he will find a small remnant who still believes, hope and love, then your question will have already been answered. For even one faith to live, even a single heart that continues to pray in the night, it is enough to keep the lamp of the Church lit.

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The final sentence of this Lucanian passage it arouses fear and trembling in my Christian and priestly soul. The parable of the judge and the widow does not end with consolation, but with a question.

Jesus does not promise better times, nor does it guarantee that God's justice will manifest itself according to our expectations; instead it leaves a question hanging, that spans the centuries and rests on every generation: «When the Son of man comes, find faith on earth?».

From the Gospel according to Luke (18, 1-8) — «At that time, Jesus told his disciples a parable about the need to pray, without ever getting tired: “In a city there lived a judge, who neither feared God nor had regard for anyone. There was also a widow in that city, who went to him and told him: 'Give me justice against my adversary'. For a while he didn't want to; but then he said to himself: “Even though I do not fear God and have no regard for anyone, since this widow bothers me so much, I will do justice to her so that she doesn't continually come to bother me.". And the Lord added: “Listen to what the dishonest judge says. And God will not perhaps do justice to his elect, who cry out to him day and night? It will probably make them wait a long time? I tell you he will do them justice promptly. But the Son of Man, when will, find faith on earth?”».

This question is the dramatic seal of the Gospel of the blessed evangelist Luke, because it reveals the paradox of the Christian faith: God is faithful, but often man is not. The risk is not that God forgets man, but rather that man becomes tired of God. This is why Jesus speaks of the need to always pray, without ever getting tired: not because God is deaf, but because prayer keeps faith alive in a time that consumes it to the point of emptying it, especially in this Europe of ours without memory, who denies their Christian roots in a sometimes violent and destructive way.

The widow in this parable represents the suffering soul of the Church mystical body of Christ: fragile, but stubborn. In the silence he continues to knock on the judge's door, even when everything seems useless. It is the faith that does not give in to the temptation of indifference; it is the faith that resists in the night of the apparent absence of God. And God is not like the dishonest judge, but sometimes it tests faith precisely at the moment in which it seems to behave as such: is silent, unresponsive, delays justice. This is where persevering prayer becomes an act of pure trust, a silent rebellion against despair.

When Jesus asks if, upon his return, find faith on earth, it does not speak of a vague belief or religious feeling; It's about faith that endures, the one that remains firm even when every appearance of religion seems to dissolve, that faith which is the foundation of things hoped for and proof of things not seen" (cf.. EB 11,1); that faith that will make us blessed because despite not having seen we believed (cf.. GV 20,29). It is the faith of Abraham, who believes against all hope (cf.. RM 4,18); the faith of the widow who continues to ask for justice (cf.. LC 18,3); the faith of the Church that does not stop praying even when the world mocks her.

The real threat is not atheism widespread throughout the world, but one that is increasingly widespread within the visible Church: the cleric atheism, extreme consequence of the spiritual apathy that erodes the heart and transforms faith into habit and hope into cynicism. but yet, It is precisely in this desert that God's faithfulness is revealed: when everything seems dead the seed of faith survives hidden in the earth, like a silent germ awaiting God's spring.

In the penitential rite we confess that we have sinned in thoughts, words, works and omissions. Among these sins, omission is perhaps the most serious, because it contains the root of all the others, a bit like pride, which is the queen and synthesis of all the deadly sins. And of the dramatic phrase that closes this evangelical passage - both hermetic and enigmatic - the sin of omission is, in his own way, paradigm. Just think about how many, in the face of the disorder and decadence that have afflicted the Church for decades, they wash their hands like Pilate in the praetorium, saying: "The Church is Christ, and is governed by the Holy Spirit". As if this formula were enough to justify inertia and failure to assume any responsibility. The house burns, but we reassure ourselves by saying: «It's his, He will take care of it. Did he not promise that the gates of hell will not prevail?».

We are faced with the sanctification of impotence, at the “theology” of "I mind my own business" disguised as trust in Providence. Then when the problems cannot be denied and evaded in any way, one is even capable of affirming: «Those who come after us will take care of it», a true triumph of the most nefarious irresponsible spirit.

If the question of Christ — «When the Son of man comes, find faith on earth?» — we put it in this realistic context, a disturbing echo would emerge. Yup, the Lord promised «not praevalebunt» and certainly, upon his return, he will still find the Church. But which Church? Because it could also find a visible Church emptied of Christ - of which we sometimes seem almost ashamed - and filled with something else: of humanitarianism without grace, of justice without truth and law, of spirituality without the Spirit … A Church that still exists in its external form, but who risks no longer having faith.

It's this one, perhaps, it is the most terrible of the prophecies implicit in that question: that faith can disappear not from the world, but precisely from the Church. Even in the face of this disturbing possibility - that the Son of Man may find his faith weakened, almost extinguished - the Gospel does not abandon us to fear, but it calls us to the hope that does not disappoint. Authentic faith is not a stable possession, it is a grace to be cherished and renewed every day. Like breathing, it lives only in continuity: I know if it interrupts, dies. For this reason prayer becomes the highest act of spiritual resistance: praying does not mean reminding God of our existence, but to remind ourselves that God exists and that his faithfulness precedes any of our infidelity.

When faith seems to be failing in the Church, God never ceases to inspire it in the little ones, in the humble, in the poor who cry out to Him day and night. This is the logic of the Kingdom: while structures become rigid and men become distracted, the Spirit continues to breathe in the silent hearts that believe even without seeing. Where the institution appears tired and decadent, God remains alive in his people. Where the word is silent, faith continues to whisper.

Christ's question — «I will find faith on earth?» — is not a condemnation, but an invitation and at the same time a challenge: “You will keep the faith when everything around you seems lost?” It is a call to stay awake in the night, not to delegate the responsibility of believing to others. The Son of Man does not ask for a triumphant Church in the worldly or political sense of the term, but a Church that watches, that doesn't stop knocking, who perseveres in prayer like the widow in the parable. And that widow, symbol of the poor and faithful Church, teaches us that the miracle of faith does not consist in changing God, but in letting ourselves be changed by Him, until we ourselves become a living prayer.

When the Son of Man comes, perhaps he will not find many works or many institutions that have remained strong; but if he will find a small remnant who still believes, hope and love, then your question will have already been answered. For even one faith to live, even a single heart that continues to pray in the night, it is enough to keep the lamp of the Church lit.

Praised be Jesus Christ!

From the island of Patmos, 20 October 2025

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FAITH AS RESISTANCE IN THE NIGHT OF GOD. “WHEN THE SON OF MAN COMES, WILL HE FIND FAITH ON EARTH?”

When the Son of Man comes, He may perhaps find few works and few institutions still standing firm; yet if He finds a small remnant that still believes, hopes, and loves, then His question will already have found its answer. For even a single living faith, even a single heart that continues to pray in the night, is enough to keep the lamp of the Church burning.

.

.

The concluding sentence of this Lucan passage awakens within my Christian and priestly soul a sense of awe and trembling. The parable of the judge and the widow does not end with consolation, but with a question. Our Lord does not promise brighter days, nor does He assure us that the justice of God will manifest itself according to our expectations; rather, He leaves a question suspended in the air — one that travels through the centuries and settles upon every generation: “When the Son of Man comes, will He find faith upon the earth?”

From the Gospel according to Luke (18:1-8) — At that time Jesus told His disciples a parable about the necessity of praying always without becoming weary. “In a certain city there was a judge who neither feared God nor respected any human being. And there was a widow in that city who kept coming to him and saying, ‘Render a just decision for me against my adversary.’ For a long time he was unwilling, but eventually he thought, ‘Even though I neither fear God nor respect any human being, because this widow keeps bothering me I shall deliver a just decision for her lest she finally come and strike me.’” And the Lord said, “Pay attention to what the dishonest judge says. Will not God then secure the rights of His chosen ones who call out to Him day and night? Will He be slow to answer them? I tell you, He will see to it that justice is done for them speedily. But when the Son of Man comes, will He find faith on earth?”

This question stands as the dramatic seal of the Gospel according to the blessed Evangelist Luke, for it discloses the paradox at the heart of Christian faith: God remains faithful, yet man so often does not. The danger is not that God should forget man, but that man should grow weary of God. Hence our Lord speaks of the need to pray always and never lose heart — not because God is deaf, but because prayer keeps faith alive in an age that exhausts and empties it, especially in this Europe of ours, grown amnesiac and intent on denying its Christian roots.

The widow in this parable represents the suffering soul of the Church, the Mystical Body of Christ: fragile, yet unyielding. In silence she keeps knocking at the judge’s door, even when all seems futile. Hers is the faith that does not yield to indifference; the faith that endures through the night of God’s apparent absence. And God, though unlike the unjust judge, at times tests faith precisely in the moment when He seems to act as one: He keeps silence, He withholds His answer, He delays justice. It is there that persevering prayer becomes an act of pure trust — a silent rebellion against despair.

When Jesus asks whether, at His return, He will find faith upon the earth, He is not speaking of a vague belief or a mere religious sentiment; He is speaking of the faith that endures — the faith that remains steadfast even when every outward form of religion seems to dissolve. It is that faith which is “the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen” (cf. Heb 11:1); the faith that will make us blessed, “for having not seen, we have yet believed” (cf. Jn 20:29). It is the faith of Abraham, who “hoped against hope” (cf. Rom 4:18); the faith of the widow who continues to plead for justice (cf. Page 18:3); the faith of the Church that does not cease to pray even when the world mocks her.

The true menace is not the atheism that pervades the world, but the one that spreads ever more within the visible Church — an ecclesiastical atheism, the ultimate consequence of spiritual apathy that corrodes the heart, turning faith into habit and hope into cynicism. Yet it is precisely in this desert that the faithfulness of God is revealed: when all seems dead, the seed of faith survives hidden within the soil, like a silent germ awaiting the springtime of God.

In the penitential rite we confess that we have sinned in thought, word, deed, and omission. Among these sins, omission is perhaps the most grievous, for it encloses within itself the root of all the others — much as pride, queen and synthesis of the capital sins, contains them all. The dramatic phrase that closes this Gospel passage — at once hermetic and enigmatic — finds in the sin of omission its fitting paradigm.

Consider, for example, how many, faced with the disorder and decay that for decades have afflicted the Church, wash their hands like Pilate in the praetorium, saying: “The Church belongs to Christ, and it is governed by the Holy Spirit.” As though that formula were sufficient to justify their inertia. The house is ablaze, yet we console ourselves by saying: “It is His; He will see to it. Did He not promise that the gates of hell shall not prevail?”

We are witnessing the sanctification of impotence — a theology of minding one’s own business disguised as trust in Providence. It is an evasion of responsibility that masquerades as faith. When problems cannot be denied or avoided in any way, we are even capable of saying: “Those who come after us will take care of it”, a true triumph of the most nefarious irresponsible spirit.

If we were to set Christ’s question — “When the Son of Man comes, will He find faith upon the earth?” — within this realistic context, an unsettling echo would emerge. Yes, the Lord has promised not praevalebunt, and assuredly, at His return, He will find the Church still standing. But which Church? For He may find, rather, a visible Church emptied of Christ — of whom at times we seem almost ashamed — and filled instead with something else: humanism without grace, diplomacy without truth, spirituality without the Spirit. A Church that yet exists in its outward form, but one that risks no longer possessing faith.

And this, perhaps, is the most terrible of all the prophecies implicit in that question: that faith might vanish not from the world, but from the very house of God. Even in the face of this disquieting possibility — that the Son of Man might find a faith grown dim, almost extinguished — the Gospel does not abandon us to fear; it recalls us instead to the hope that does not disappoint.

True faith is not a stable possession; it is a grace to be guarded and renewed each day. Like breath, it lives only in its continuity: if it ceases, it dies. This is why prayer becomes the highest act of spiritual resistance: to pray does not mean to remind God of our existence, but to remind ourselves that God exists, and that His faithfulness precedes every one of our infidelities.

When faith seems to falter within the Church, God does not cease to awaken it in the little ones, in the humble, in the poor who cry to Him day and night. This is the logic of the Kingdom: while structures grow rigid and men grow distracted, the Spirit continues to breathe within silent hearts that believe without seeing. Where the institution appears weary, God remains alive in His people. Where the word falls silent, faith continues to whisper.

The question of Christ — “Will I find faith upon the earth?” — is not a condemnation but an invitation: “Will you keep the faith when all around you seems lost?”. It is a summons to remain awake in the night, not to delegate to others the responsibility of believing. The Son of Man does not ask for a triumphant Church in the worldly or political sense of the term, but for a Church that keeps vigil, that does not cease to knock, that perseveres in prayer like the widow of the parable. And that widow, symbol of the poor and faithful Church, teaches us that the miracle of faith does not consist in changing God, but in allowing ourselves to be changed by Him — until we ourselves become living prayer.

When the Son of Man comes, He may perhaps find few works and few institutions still standing firm; yet if He finds a small remnant that still believes, hopes, and loves, then His question will already have found its answer. For even a single living faith, even a single heart that continues to pray in the night, is enough to keep the lamp of the Church burning.

Praised be Jesus Christ!

From The Island of Patmos, 20 October 2025

.

_________________________________________

FAITH AS RESISTANCE IN THE NIGHT OF GOD. «WHEN THE SON OF MAN COMES, WILL YOU FIND FAITH ON EARTH?»

When the Son of Man comes, you may not find many works or many institutions that remain firm; but if you find a small remnant that still believes, wait and love, your question will have already found the answer. Because even a single faith lives, Even a single heart that continues to pray at night, It is enough to keep the lamp of the Church lit..

.

.

The final sentence of this Lucan passage arouses in my Christian and priestly spirit fear and trembling. The parable of the judge and the widow does not end with a consolation, but with a question. Jesus does not promise better times or guarantee that God's justice will manifest according to our expectations.; deja, rather, a suspended question that crosses the centuries and rests on each generation: "When the Son of Man comes, Will you find faith on earth?».

From the Holy Gospel according to Saint Luke (18, 1-8) — At that time, Jesus told his disciples a parable about the need to always pray without giving up.: "There was a judge in a city who neither feared God nor respected men.. In that same city there was a widow who came to him saying: “Do me justice against my adversary”. For some time he refused, but then he said to himself: “Although I do not fear God nor respect men, how this widow is bothering me, I will give him justice so that he does not continually come to bother me." And the Lord added: «Look at what the unjust judge says; well God, Will he not do justice to his chosen ones who cry out to him day and night? Will you make them wait? I tell you that he will give them justice soon. But when the Son of man comes, Will you find this faith on earth?».

This question is the dramatic seal of the Gospel of the blessed evangelist Lucas, because it reveals the paradigm of the Christian faith: God remains faithful, but often the man is not. The risk is not that God forgets man, but in man getting tired of God.

That is why Jesus talks about the need to always pray, without fainting: not because God is deaf, but because prayer keeps faith alive in a time that wears it down until it is empty., especially in this Europe of ours, no memory, that denies its Christian roots and seeks to build a world where God no longer has a place.

The widow of this parable represents the suffering soul of the Church, Mystical Body of Christ: fragile, but stubborn. Silently continue knocking on the judge's door, even when everything seems useless. It is the faith that does not give in to the temptation of indifference; the faith that endures in the night of God's apparent absence. And God is not like the unjust judge, but sometimes it tests faith precisely at the moment when it seems to behave as such: calla, does not respond, delays justice. This is when persevering prayer becomes an act of pure trust., a silent rebellion against despair.

When Jesus asks if, upon his return, you will find faith on earth, It does not speak of a vague belief or a religious feeling; speaks of the faith that resists, one that remains steadfast even when all semblance of religion seems to dissolve; that faith that is “the foundation of what is hoped for and the guarantee of what is not seen” (cf. Heb 11,1); that faith that will make us blessed because, "without having seen, “we have believed” (cf. Jn 20,29). It is the faith of Abraham, who “believed hoping against all hope” (cf. Rom 4,18); the faith of the widow who continues to ask for justice (cf. LC 18,3); the faith of the Church that does not stop praying even when the world mocks it.

The real threat is not atheism spread in the world, but that which spreads more and more within the visible Church: ecclesiastical atheism, extreme consequence of spiritual apathy that erodes the heart and transforms faith into habit and hope into cynicism. Y, however, It is precisely in this desert where God's faithfulness is revealed: when everything seems dead, the seed of faith survives hidden in the earth, like a silent germ waiting for God's spring.

In the penitential rite we confess to having sinned in thought, word, work and omission. Among these sins, the omission is perhaps the most serious, because it contains within itself the root of all the others, in the same way that pride, queen and synthesis of all the capital sins, contains them all. And the dramatic phrase that closes this evangelical passage — at the same time hermetic and enigmatic — involves the sin of omission., in your way, with the paradigm.

Just think about how many, in the face of the disorder and decadence that has afflicted the Church for decades, They wash their hands like Pilate in the praetorium saying: "The Church belongs to Christ and is governed by the Holy Spirit". As if that formula were enough to justify inertia. The house is on fire, but we calm ourselves by saying: «It's yours, He will take care. Hasn't he promised that the gates of hell will not prevail?».

We are facing the sanctification of impotence, facing a theology of “I take care of my own business” disguised as trust in Providence. It is an escape from responsibility that seeks to present itself as faith. When problems cannot be denied or avoided in any way, we are even able to say: “Those who come after us will take care of it.”, true triumph of the most nefarious irresponsible spirit.

If we inserted Christ's question — «When the Son of man comes, Will you find faith on earth?» — in this realistic context, a disturbing echo would resonate in it. Yeah, the Lord has promised not praevalebunt and, certainly, upon his return he will still find the Church. But what Church? Because I could also find a visible Church emptied of Christ — of whom we sometimes seem almost ashamed — and filled with something else.: of graceless humanitarianism, of diplomacy without truth, of spirituality without Spirit. A Church that continues to exist in its external form, but who runs the risk of no longer having faith.

And this is perhaps the most terrible of prophecies implicit in that question: that faith can disappear not from the world, but precisely from the house of God. Even in the face of this disturbing possibility—that the Son of Man may find faith weakened, almost extinct, the Gospel does not abandon us to fear, but calls us to hope that does not disappoint.

Authentic faith is not a stable possession; It is a grace that must be guarded and renewed every day. like breath, only live in continuity: if interrupted, die. That is why prayer becomes the highest act of spiritual resistance.: Praying does not mean reminding God of our existence, but to remind ourselves that God exists, and that his faithfulness precedes all our infidelities.

When faith seems to fail in the Church, God does not stop raising it in the little ones, in the humble, in the poor who cry out to Him day and night. This is the logic of the Kingdom: while structures harden and men become distracted, the Spirit continues to blow into the silent hearts that believe without having seen. Where the institution seems tired, God is still alive in his people. Where the word is silent, faith keeps whispering.

Christ's question — «Will I find faith on earth?» — is not a sentence, but an invitation: «Will you keep the faith when everything around you seems lost?» It is a call to stay awake at night, not to delegate the responsibility of believing to others. The Son of Man does not ask for a triumphant Church in the worldly or political sense of the term., but a Church that watches, that doesn't stop knocking on the door, who perseveres in prayer like the widow in the parable. And that widow, symbol of the poor and faithful Church, teaches us that the miracle of faith does not consist of changing God, but in letting ourselves be changed by Him, until we become living prayer ourselves.

When the Son of Man comes, perhaps you will not find many works or many institutions that remain firm; but if you find a small remnant that still believes, wait and love, your question will have already found the answer. Because even a single faith lives, Even a single heart that continues to pray at night, It is enough to keep the lamp of the Church lit..

Praise be Jesus Christ!

From the Island of Patmos, 20 October 2025

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