I Will Trust You Still — When God Seems Silent
There is a kind of faith that believes because God has answered.
There is another kind of faith that believes while waiting for the answer.
And then there is a deeper, more costly faith — the faith that looks toward heaven when nothing seems to be changing and says:
“Lord, even if the answer I desperately desire never comes, I will trust You still.”
The readings for this Twentieth Sunday in Ordinary Time invite us into precisely that kind of faith.
The Gospel, Matthew 15:21–28, is one of those passages that can be troubling when we first hear it.
A Canaanite woman comes desperately seeking Jesus.
Her daughter is suffering terribly.
This is not a casual request. This is a mother pleading for her child.
She cries:
“Have pity on me, Lord, Son of David!”
And Jesus does something we might never have expected.
He says nothing.
When God Says Nothing
Perhaps this is where many of us can immediately enter today’s Gospel.
Because we know what it is like to pray…
and hear nothing.
We know what it is like to ask God for healing and still be sick.
To pray for a child and watch that child continue down the wrong road.
To pray for a marriage and see no improvement.
To pray for employment and watch another opportunity disappear.
To pray for financial relief while the bills continue arriving.
To pray for reconciliation and still encounter rejection.
To pray for years for something that seems good, reasonable and completely consistent with God’s will…
and heaven seems silent.
The Canaanite woman knows that silence.
She cries to Jesus.
And He does not answer her a word.
But she does not leave.
That may be one of the most important sentences we can take from today’s Gospel:
She does not leave.
She Keeps Coming
The disciples eventually become irritated.
They want Jesus to send her away because she keeps calling after them.
Jesus then says that He was sent to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.
Surely now she understands.
Surely now she will leave.
But she doesn’t.
Instead, she comes closer.
She kneels before Him.
And she reduces her entire prayer to three words:
“Lord, help me.”
What a prayer.
No eloquent speech.
No theological explanation.
No attempt to impress God.
Just:
Lord, help me.
Some of us may be at exactly that place.
We have prayed every prayer we know.
We have explained the situation to God a thousand times.
We have asked others to pray.
We have gone to Mass.
We have sat before the Blessed Sacrament.
We have prayed Rosaries and novenas.
And perhaps we have reached the point where there are no beautiful words left.
Then pray hers:
Lord, help me.
And Then It Gets Even Harder
Jesus’ response sounds shocking:
“It is not right to take the food of the children and throw it to the dogs.”
Read superficially, this can make Jesus appear harsh or dismissive.
But something deeper is happening.
Jesus is bringing into the open the division already present between Jew and Gentile. The woman is a Canaanite — an outsider to Israel’s covenant — and the language reflects the boundary that His hearers would immediately have recognized.
Yet the very Gospel in which this encounter occurs is moving toward a kingdom that will embrace all nations.
That is precisely what Isaiah foretells in today’s first reading.
God speaks of the foreigners who join themselves to Him and declares:
“My house shall be called a house of prayer for all peoples.”
And Psalm 67 responds:
“O God, let all the nations praise you!”
Something much greater is unfolding in this encounter than the healing of one child.
The outsider is about to become an extraordinary witness to faith.
“Even the Dogs Eat the Scraps”
The woman could have become offended.
She could have turned away.
She could have said, “If that is how You are going to speak to me, I want nothing more to do with You.”
But she doesn’t.
Instead, she responds:
“Please, Lord, for even the dogs eat the scraps that fall from the table of their masters.”
In other words:
Lord, I am not leaving.
I believe there is enough mercy in You for me.
I believe there is enough goodness in You for my daughter.
I believe that even what falls from Your table is greater than everything this world can give me.
I do not fully understand what You are doing.
I do not understand Your silence.
I do not understand why this is so difficult.
But I know who You are.
And I will trust You still.
And suddenly Jesus reveals what He has seen in her all along:
“O woman, great is your faith!”
Great is your faith.
Not merely persistent.
Not merely stubborn.
Great.
The Faith That Remains
Perhaps we sometimes think great faith means believing strongly enough that God will give us exactly what we ask for.
But there is an even deeper faith.
It says:
Lord, I believe You can do it.
I pray that You will do it.
I will continue asking You to do it.
But my love for You does not depend upon You doing it.
That is the faith of Habakkuk.
The prophet looks at the possibility of complete devastation: no figs, no grapes, no olives, failed fields, sheep disappearing from the fold, cattle gone from their stalls.
Everything upon which ordinary security depended could disappear.
And still Habakkuk declares that he will rejoice in the Lord and find joy in God his Savior (Habakkuk 3:17–18).
What astonishing faith.
Not:
I will praise You when the fig tree blossoms.
But:
Even if it doesn’t…
I will praise You.
Not:
I will trust You when I understand.
But:
Even when I don’t…
I will trust You.
Not:
I will worship You when You answer my prayer the way I want.
But:
Even if the answer is different from everything I hoped…
You will still be my God.
Perhaps This Is Your Prayer Today
Maybe you have been praying for something for months.
Perhaps years.
Maybe you began praying with tremendous confidence, but somewhere along the journey your prayer changed.
“Lord, please do this.”
became…
“Lord, when will You do this?”
which became…
“Lord, why haven’t You done this?”
which eventually became…
“Lord, are You even listening?”
Today’s Gospel does not condemn you for asking that question.
Instead, it introduces you to a woman who cried to Jesus and initially received silence.
And yet she stayed.
Maybe today God is not asking you to understand everything.
Maybe He is simply asking:
Will you stay?
When the miracle has not happened…
will you stay?
When the door remains closed…
will you stay?
When the diagnosis has not changed…
will you stay?
When the person you love has not returned…
will you stay?
When the prayer you have prayed a thousand times remains unanswered…
will you stay?
Lord, I Will Trust You Still
There comes a point in our relationship with God when our prayer must become more than a request for things to change.
It becomes surrender.
Not hopeless surrender.
Not giving up.
But surrender rooted in love:
Jesus, I want You more than I want the answer.
That does not mean we stop asking.
The Canaanite woman certainly didn’t.
Jesus Himself teaches us to persevere in prayer.
But eventually our deepest prayer becomes:
Lord, I believe You are good even when I cannot see Your goodness.
I believe You are working even when I cannot see what You are doing.
I believe You love me even when Your silence hurts.
I believe Your wisdom is greater than mine.
And whether You answer today, tomorrow, years from now, or in a way I never expected — I will trust You still.
This is not weak faith.
This may be one of the strongest forms faith can ever take.
Because now we are no longer merely trusting God for something.
We are trusting God Himself.
And perhaps that is where the Canaanite woman finally brings all of us.
She came looking for a miracle.
But she showed us something even greater:
a heart that refused to walk away from Jesus.
A Call to Action
Today, bring before Jesus that prayer you have almost grown tired of praying.
Name it.
Do not pretend it no longer matters.
Tell Him how long you have waited.
Tell Him about the disappointment.
Tell Him about the questions.
Tell Him even about the hurt you may feel toward Him.
And then, after you have said everything else, remain with Him for a moment and say:
“Jesus, I still believe in You.
I still love You.
I still choose You.
And even if I do not understand what You are doing, I will trust You still.”
Then stay.
Like the Canaanite woman.
Stay with Jesus.
Prayer
Lord Jesus,
You know the prayers I have prayed again and again.
You know the answers I have hoped for,
the doors I have begged You to open,
the people I have placed into Your hands,
and the situations I still do not understand.
Sometimes, Lord, Your silence hurts.
Sometimes I wonder whether You hear me.
Sometimes I wonder why You seem to answer others
while I am still waiting.
But today I choose to remain with You.
Like the Canaanite woman,
I will keep coming.
When I have many words, I will pray them.
When I have no words left, I will simply say:
Lord, help me.
And when even that becomes difficult,
give me the grace simply to remain in Your presence.
Lord, I believe You are good.
I believe You love me.
I believe Your mercy is greater than I can understand.
And so, even if the fig tree does not blossom,
even if the harvest fails,
even if the answer does not come when I expect it,
even if Your plan looks nothing like mine…
I will trust You still.
If You grant what I ask,
I will praise You.
If You ask me to wait,
I will praise You.
If You lead me by a road I never expected,
I will praise You.
Because ultimately, Lord,
the greatest gift You can give me
is not the answer to my prayer.
It is You.
Give me the faith to stay.
Give me the faith to trust.
Give me the faith that caused You to look at that Canaanite woman and say:
“Great is your faith.”
Jesus, I trust in You.
Today.
Tomorrow.
In the answer.
In the waiting.
And even in the silence.
I will trust You still.
Amen.
