We, Us, Ours

Luke 11:1-13

Jesus was praying in a certain place, and after he had finished, one of his disciples said to him, “Lord, teach us to pray, as John taught his disciples.” So he said to them, “When you pray, say:

Father, may your name be revered as holy.
    May your kingdom come.
    Give us each day our daily bread.
    And forgive us our sins,
        for we ourselves forgive everyone indebted to us.
    And do not bring us to the time of trial.”

And he said to them, “Suppose one of you has a friend, and you go to him at midnight and say to him, ‘Friend, lend me three loaves of bread, for a friend of mine has arrived, and I have nothing to set before him.’ And he answers from within, ‘Do not bother me; the door has already been locked, and my children are with me in bed; I cannot get up and give you anything.’ I tell you, even though he will not get up and give him anything out of friendship, at least because of his persistence he will get up and give him whatever he needs.

“So I say to you, ask, and it will be given to you; search, and you will find; knock, and the door will be opened for you. For everyone who asks receives, and everyone who searches finds, and for everyone who knocks, the door will be opened. Is there anyone among you who, if your child asked for a fish, would give a snake instead of a fish? Or if the child asked for an egg, would give a scorpion? If you, then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will the heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him!”

Sermon

You’d think that a scripture passage like today’s would be a softball. I imagine most of us in the room know the Lord’s Prayer pretty well, and for quite a few of us, know it in a few different versions. The subsequent teaching by Jesus is also pretty well known: “knock and the door will be opened to you.” 

But these passages aren’t exactly softballs; in some ways it’s trickier, because we have so much history with these passages. So to give us some fresh eyes, I’m going to give you all a little quiz.

• Question 1: What does hallowed be thy name really mean? Specifically!

• Question 2: What is God’s kingdom? Not in an abstract way. What is a real, specific, clear, easily-articulatable way to understand the kingdom of God?

• Question 3: Does the statement, “we forgive our debtors” really mean financial debt? After all, the Greek doesn’t use the word for sin.

• Question 4: Where did Protestants come up with the “thine is the kingdom” part?

• Question 5: What are “good gifts?” Health? Wealth? New cars?

The more we dig into the Lord’s Prayer, and Jesus’ teaching about good gifts, the more complicated it gets. The quiz becomes trickier and trickier. And this amplifying complexity—this amplifying intensity of the Lord’s Prayer and knocking—is really the best part of it all.

I don’t know about you, but the world seems like it’s especially precarious and disastrous right now. From unchecked artificial intelligence to accelerating war, things are kind of rough for humanity. For two millennia, Christians have pretty consistently expected the world to end in their lifetimes. But right now, it’s hard not to feel like it’s actually happening this time.

From what I can tell, when people step away from Christianity in the United States, it has a habit of rhyming. There are differences between people’s stories, but more often than not, there are commonalities. One of the common shared sentiments I’ve heard goes something like this: “There’s no way God can exist, because God wouldn’t let these horrible things happen to me. But if there’s a God, then God must really hate me.”

Here’s the point, of both the dumpster fires we see in the news and the anguish of our neighbors: praying the Lord’s Prayer takes guts. A lot of guts. Because right now, to be honest, praying for the daily bread of our neighbors, and claiming to forgive the debt of others, and ceding control of others so that God’s will be done — praying that prayer while facing the world demands a lot. 

It demands a lot theologically. Materially. Spiritually. Relationally.

It demands so much, because we are uttering it every week, or every day, not in the presence of a perfect world. We pray it in the presence of those who are hungry, and unsafe, and addicted, and lonely, and we pray it in the presence of faithful people who have knocked so long and so hard, that they’ve given up.

Christ gave us this prayer—and the Church has prayed it for two millennia—not because it’s an easy one, or it somehow checks all our spiritual boxes off, but because it is a prayer that never lets the Church off the hook. This is the charter for our faith: the measuring stick for a faith that has meat on its bones, and fire in its belly. It’s the prayer Jesus teaches us, but also sustains us in; it’s so gutsy that Jesus knew we needed the Holy Spirit to pray it.

We pray this prayer to keep knocking. And searching.

“Praying the Lord’s Prayer takes guts. A lot of guts. Because right now, to be honest, praying for the daily bread of our neighbors, and claiming to forgive the debt of others, and ceding control of others so that God’s will be done — praying that prayer in a messed up world demands a lot from us.”

Far too often, we measure prayer by its alleged outcome. Prayer is how we get stuff from God, or to remind God we need a McMansion and cadillac. If we pray for physical healing, and it doesn’t happen, we imagine that it’s either because God didn’t hear us, or because everything happens for a reason.

But Jesus is quick to correct us on that point. He doesn’t say that the children of God are given gifts like fish, or eggs, or treasures. Jesus doesn’t even claim that God makes an instant decision on our prayers. Jesus says that as we ask, and as we knock, and as we pray for daily bread and deliverance, God lavishly gives the Holy Spirit. That is what is granted in prayer. That is the main course and entree of prayer. Not answers or outcomes. The Holy Spirit.

So if we are praying, not for an outcome, but to encounter the Holy Spirit even more fervently, then that changes our perception of the Lord’s Prayer. 

Let me offer something from the canon of hoaky statements and sayings that pastors use. So, believe it or not, when we have a one-on-one conversation with someone, there aren’t two people in the room. There are four:

• There’s me;

• There’s you;

• There’s who you think I am;

• There’s who I think you are.

Similarly, in praying the Lord’s Prayer, there are more than two people. I don’t know how many there actually are—it depends if you count God as one or three—but there are more in the room than God and the person praying:

• There’s the person praying;

• There’s God;

• And… there are all those who are knocking and searching.

In other words, Jesus doesn’t instruct us in a personal prayer. Jesus instructs us in a corporate prayer, offered with and on behalf of all of humanity, all who suffer, all who knock, and all who search. It’s always our Father; always asking for our daily bread; always asking for our debts to be forgiven; always asking God to lead us not into temptation; and asking God to deliver us from evil.

Though we desperately desire for all to have their daily bread, all to have their debts forgiven, all to be delivered from evil, that empathy is the easy part of the Lord’s Prayer! The hard part is to remain empathetic while continuing to offer the prayer. The hard part is knocking day after day. Seeking day after day. Petitioning God day after day, when fixes don’t miraculously show up. We know that what we can expect from the prayer isn’t necessarily a fast fix, but instead, the good and extravagant gift of the Holy Spirit, who also joins us in our knocking and seeking.

“Empathy is the easy part of the Lord’s Prayer! The hard part is... knocking day after day, seeking day after day, petitioning God day after day, when fixes don’t miraculously show up.”

This is a prayer that does something. It changes us. It transforms us. It stirs us to action—real action, not shallow platitudes or superficial spirituality—because of all those people in the room when we pray it. When we’re at home, by ourselves, praying this prayer, it’s not just us in the room. It’s us, it’s God, it’s us joining in prayer with the whole of humanity.

That good gift of the Holy Spirit might unsettle us as we pray the Lord’s Prayer, because we realize we aren’t praying this in a silo or a bubble. It becomes hypocrisy to pray for “our daily bread”—the daily bread of all humanity—while locking away our groceries, closing our doors, and keeping silent in the face of evil. To pray the Lord’s Prayer, we must have open hearts, open minds, open hands, and open doors.

One last thing: there’s a small prayer of thanksgiving in the Lord’s Prayer too. It’s quiet. But it’s sweet, balming, healing good news. It’s nothing more than this: It’s always our Father; always our daily bread; always asking for our debts to be forgiven; always asking God to lead us not into temptation; and asking God to deliver us from evil.

We’re always connected, and always accompanied by the good gift of the Holy Spirit. 

We’re never praying this—or participating in the Lord’s Prayer—in isolation or disconnection. 

It’s never you or me. It’s us. Our. We.