Praying with John in the waiting

When life feels stuck at ninety nine percent, God is still finishing the work you cannot see.

A few Sundays ago, I sat in the pew and felt drawn into the readings in a way I did not expect. First came Isaiah, full of promise and healing. Then James spoke about patience and steady hearts. Last came the Gospel, where Jesus answered John’s question from prison. By the end, I felt exposed. I heard my own heart in John’s words.

I believe Jesus is the Christ. I say the Creed. I receive him in the Eucharist. I talk about my faith with others. Still, when life feels hard or slow or confusing, my prayer often sounds like a plea for a sign. Not in theory. In the dark. In the car. In the quiet hours when sleep will not come. I do what John does from his cell. I send up the same question again.

“Are you the one?”

Isaiah draws a strong picture. God comes with strength and mercy. The prophet says that when God arrives, blind eyes open, deaf ears hear, lame legs leap, mute tongues sing. Those whom the Lord has ransomed come home singing, crowned with joy, while sorrow and mourning flee. That vision feels so bright and full that something in me aches when I hear those words. I long for a world where this promise fills more than a page from Sunday.

Then the Gospel places John in a small, dark room under a ruler who does not fear God. John sends his disciples to Jesus with a simple question. “Are you the one who is to come, or should we look for another?” The cousin who once pointed at Jesus as the Lamb of God now sends a message that sounds full of doubt.

Jesus answers in a surprising way. He does not say, “Yes.” He says, “Go and tell John what you hear and see. The blind regain their sight, the lame walk, lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have the good news proclaimed to them.” Those lines echo Isaiah so clearly that every phrase sounds like a bell from the prophet’s scrolls. Instead of a direct answer, Jesus points toward signs and toward Scripture. Then he adds one more line. “And blessed is the one who takes no offense at me.”

I often wonder what moved through John’s heart after hearing that answer. On one hand, the signs match Isaiah. The promise stands alive in front of him. On the other hand, he still sits behind walls. Chains still rest on his wrists. Herod still holds his life. The Kingdom has broken in, yet the prison door stays shut.

Here my own imagination starts to walk, and I want to stay clear about something. The Gospels do not describe the younger years of Jesus and John. The Church does not give a firm picture of family visits or shared meals between them. In my own prayer I still picture Mary and Elizabeth meeting again after the Holy Family returns from Egypt, two mothers catching up while two boys listen, learn the Psalms, and grow into their call. I picture both of them hearing Isaiah read in the synagogue, learning those lines by heart together. This scene lives in my mind as a way to pray with the mystery, not as official teaching of the Church.

Scripture already gives more than enough. John leaped in the womb when Mary arrived. Through grace he knew who drew near. Years later he preached by the Jordan, pointed straight at Jesus, and said, “Behold, the Lamb of God.” He told his own followers to go after Jesus. He said, “He must increase; I must decrease.” This is not a man who shrugs about the Messiah. This is a prophet who has staked everything on him.

Yet from prison he still sends the question. That part brings me real comfort. If John, filled with the Holy Spirit and surrounded by clear signs, reaches a point where he asks again, then my own repeated questions do not shock God. Faith does not always feel like a smooth, steady line. Sometimes faith sounds more like, “Lord, I know you. Still, please say it again.”

James, in the second reading, speaks right into that restless place. “You too must be patient. Make your hearts firm, because the coming of the Lord is at hand.” Those words land deep in me, in a spot that does not enjoy waiting at all. I pray for healing, for help, for direction. I want dates on a calendar, clear next steps, a sign that tells me when everything will turn around.

Waiting with God often feels like watching a progress bar on a screen. The line moves to fifty percent, then seventy, then ninety-nine, then seems to freeze. You keep checking, again and again, sure no progress happens, even though real work continues behind the scenes. Grace often moves in a similar way, hidden from my eyes, while I stare at the one part of my life that still looks unfinished.

John’s story shows something both hard and holy. The miracles Jesus lists are not random. Blind people receive sight. Deaf people hear. Those who live in poverty receive good news. Bodies and souls meet real mercy. The messianic age has begun. At the same time, John does not receive the rescue he might hope for. The answer he receives is not escape. The answer he receives is confirmation. Through those words from Isaiah, Jesus sends a clear message. “Yes, the Kingdom stands present. Yes, I am the one.” Then he invites John to trust this truth even while chains remain.

When I look at my own life, I see something similar. I see God at work in the sacraments, in my family and friends, in simple moments of kindness. I see hearts change. I see people return to confession after many years away. I see prayers answered in ways no one could plan out ahead of time. And still, I go back into prayer and ask, “Lord, do you see this corner of my life? Do you remember this fear, this need, this person I love?”

In those moments I hear the echo of the same answer. “Go and tell what you hear and see.” I sense Jesus pointing me, not only toward big miracles, but also toward small, steady signs of the Spirit at work. A word of encouragement at the right time. Strength to forgive. Peace in the middle of grief. Courage to speak truth with love. None of these are small. These moments show a Savior who keeps drawing close.

So those readings from a few Sundays ago feel like an invitation to stand next to John in that cell for a moment. To admit we know who Jesus is and still ask the question again. To hear the Lord answer with deeds, not only with words. To let Isaiah’s promise of opened eyes and leaping hearts stand side by side with James’ quiet call to patience. To let both shape our prayer.

If your heart feels stuck in a waiting place right now, you have good company. John waited. Mary waited. The Church waits for the full coming of Christ. You do not need to pretend that waiting feels easy. You only need to stay turned toward the One who already walks inside your story.

Perhaps this week you are able to pray with John’s question and Jesus’ answer. Spend a few minutes each day with those verses. Tell the Lord where your own heart feels like a prison cell. Ask for eyes that notice works of mercy already present in your life. Pray for patience that grows firm, even when nothing seems to move.

A simple prayer for the week:

Lord Jesus, you are the One who comes. Open my eyes to your work around me, strengthen my heart while I wait, and help me trust your timing more than my fear. Amen.