What if I told you that every time you pray—even if it’s just a hurried thought, a sigh, or a desperate whisper—God listens? Not just listens, but actually wants to hear from you. Imagine that: the Creator of the universe, who holds every star in place and keeps planets spinning, leans in just to hear your voice.

That idea sounds almost too good to be true, doesn’t it? Sometimes it feels impossible to believe. We nod along in church, recite our prayers by heart, maybe show up every Sunday—but deep down, a lot of us aren’t sure if God is really paying attention. Maybe we’re afraid our prayers are just bouncing off the ceiling.

Thank you for taking the time to read this homily for the 17th Sunday in Ordinary Time (July 27, 2025). Your support means a great deal to me, and I’m deeply grateful for the many who share these messages with their friends, families and social media followers. If you’ve found meaning in these words, I’d be grateful if you’d share them with others who might benefit.

And for those who prefer listening, you can find the audio version on SoundCloud HERE or subscribe to the podcast on iTunes HERE. Your comments, messages, and the way you’ve embraced these homilies continue to inspire me.  Sincerely in Christ -Father Jim

And yet, that’s the heart of the Christian message—God hears us. He wants to hear from us. He listens and responds to every single prayer. It’s not just a comforting slogan. It’s the bold claim that sets our faith apart. Unlike other religions, where prayer can sometimes feel like a ritual meant to appease a distant or unpredictable deity, Christianity says the Lord of all things actually wants to talk with us. He created us in His image, and He calls us His children.

But old habits and distorted ideas creep in. We start to think we have to bargain with God, or say the right words, or “earn” His attention. Prayer can start to feel like a transaction—if I do this, maybe God will do that. But that’s not what prayer is about. Prayer is about relationship.

Just look at Abraham in our first reading from Genesis. Here’s a guy who isn’t afraid to go back and forth with God, interceding for the people of Sodom and Gomorrah. The story is famous for its dramatic negotiation: “Lord, if there are fifty righteous people, will you spare the city?” And Abraham keeps lowering the number—forty, thirty, twenty, ten—almost like he’s at an auction. Each time, God patiently listens and agrees. He’s not annoyed or frustrated. He engages, He responds. It’s a wild picture of prayer: a real conversation with God, where our voices matter.

It’s easy to get distracted by the fate of Sodom and Gomorrah—what exactly did they do that was so wrong? As important as it is to be attentive to things that would insult God so deeply, maybe that’s not the most important part of the story. Sometimes we get so caught up in curiosity about evil that we lose sight of the real lesson. (I tell my students to think about sin like dog poop: how much do you want in your house? They usually give me blank, confused stares when I ask, “Would you prefer a little or a lot?” It’s a trick question—or really, it shouldn’t be. The answer is None! I don’t want any. That’s how we have to see sin. All sin is poison. We shouldn’t want any of it in our lives. And like dog poop, when we come upon it, we should clean it up, get rid of it ASAP. When we’re aware of sin, we need to repent, go to confession, and be made spiritually clean.)

The real tragedy of Sodom and Gomorrah wasn’t just their actions—awful as they were—but that they stopped listening to God altogether. They got comfortable turning away from Him, stopped caring about right and wrong, lost their sense of need for His mercy. Once we stop seeing ourselves as people who need God, we’re in trouble. That’s when pride and self-deception creep in, and we start to believe the oldest lie: that we can be our own gods.

Abraham’s response is so different. He doesn’t give up on these people. He pleads with God for mercy. He puts himself on the line, appealing to God’s love and justice. And what happens? Abraham himself is changed through the conversation. If you read his whole story in Genesis, you’ll see how prayer transforms him—how his connection with God shapes his decisions, his priorities, and even his failures. Abraham isn’t perfect; he makes plenty of mistakes. But he keeps coming back, keeps talking, keeps listening. That’s the point. That’s what faith looks like.

Prayer isn’t about getting God to do what we want. It’s about letting God change us. Prayer isn’t a magic formula; it’s an invitation to step into a relationship that reshapes our hearts. When Abraham messes up, when he needs forgiveness, he remembers God’s love and mercy. God wants us to keep coming back, to trust Him, to let Him draw us into deeper conversion and healing.

Jesus takes this even further in the Gospel. He doesn’t just tell us to pray—He shows us how. He goes off by Himself to spend time with the Father, and when the disciples ask, “Lord, teach us to pray,” He gives them the Lord’s Prayer. But look at what He really does: He teaches them to call God “Father.” Not just some distant ruler or cosmic force, but a loving, attentive parent. He urges us to be persistent, to keep knocking, to keep asking—not to wear God down, but to remind ourselves of how much we depend on Him.

Once we see God as our Father, everything changes. Our prayers shift from lists of wants and needs to real, honest conversation. Sure, it’s fine to pray for help finding your keys or acing an exam. But as our relationship with God deepens, our prayers grow, too—we start praying for healing for others, hope for the lost, courage to be sacrificial, and strength to serve however He desires. We start to wonder: if God really listens, maybe He has something to say to me, too. Maybe He has dreams for my life that are better than anything I could imagine for myself.

Honestly, that’s the only way I’m a priest today. There were—and sometimes still are—doubts and lies that creep in, especially when I focus only on myself. But when I remember it’s His call, His priesthood, His strength that makes up for my many weaknesses and failures, I’m constantly reminded of the power and effect of prayer. God takes us, with all our flaws, and makes us into something we could never imagine on our own.

I came across a quote from Peter Kreeft that’s been stuck in my mind for weeks. He said, “I strongly suspect that if we saw all the difference even the tiniest of our prayers to God make, and all the people those little prayers were destined to affect, and all the consequences of those effects down through the centuries, we would be so paralyzed with awe at the power of prayer that we would be unable to get up off our knees for the rest of our lives.”

Let that sink in. What if your smallest prayer—the one you barely remember saying—set off a chain reaction that changed someone’s life, or even changed the world? What if every time you spoke to God, He was listening, responding, loving you back?

That’s the reality we’re invited into. Abraham and Jesus both show us: God hears us. He wants to hear from us. He listens and answers every one of our prayers. Prayer isn’t about manipulating God or escaping life’s struggles. It’s about connection—with the One who knows us better than we know ourselves, who loves us more than we could ever love ourselves. Prayer doesn’t just change circumstances; it changes us.

So let’s step into that relationship. Let’s trust that God is listening, that He cares, and that every time we pray, something real is happening—even if we can’t see it yet. And as we pray, let’s ask Him to shape our hearts to look more like His.