The
prayer that Jesus taught has different meanings for each of us. These are some
of mine:
“God,
Mother and Father of us all…”
Theology
rather than ideology prompts me to begin “the Lord’s Prayer” in this way. My
own mother and father loved me in different ways, and I loved them in different
ways, and so addressing this prayer to both Mother and Father God feels more
complete.
I
don’t view mother/father and male/female as binary, but rather as ends of a
spectrum, so it’s not an either/or, but rather, a both/and. Saying “mother” and
“father” is more personal for me than “parent” or a general term for God. And
adding “of us all” replaces “our” in the “our Father.” This prayer reminds me
that prayer is a collective, communal practice, and that we are ALL children of
God.
“Who
art in heaven…”
Heaven
is both a destination and a present reality. Heaven is where human will and
God’s will coincide. To “go to” heaven is to follow your bliss, in the words of
Joseph Campbell, a place where your greatest joy meets the world’s deep need,
in the words of Frederick Buechner. And yet it also appears to us in those
“thin places” of Celtic Christian spirituality in which heaven can be glimpsed
on earth: in beauty, in kindness, in love, and so on. This is where and when
and how we experience the awesome essence of God.
“Thy
kingdom come…”
“Thy”
and “thee” and “thou” were all familiar forms of address in English from 1450
to 1650, and the KJV was translated in 1611, though the translators may not
have followed common usage. If they did, though it sounds formal to us, these
familiar terms are in line with Jesus beginning the prayer with the Aramaic “Abba,” addressing God as family: “our
Father.” It reminds us of our intimacy with
God.
“Kingdom”
welcomes God’s reign, and rather than associate it with patriarchy, I think of
“magic kingdoms” of fairy tales, myths, and legends, that may be ruled by
either a king or a queen. In other contexts, I substitute “commonwealth,”
because ultimately God’s kingdom is a common wealth which we all share,
spiritually and materially. And when I say “all” I don’t mean only Christians
or human beings. I pray for the kingdom to “come” because I believe it is
divinity that gives it birth, within or among us.
“Thy
will be done…”
I
believe our greatest bliss is to be found in our assent to this phrase. By “our
bliss” I mean not just our personal joy but our collective joy as human beings,
as creatures, as creation. My central purpose in saying this prayer daily is to
align myself with God’s Spirit and her purposes in the universe: abundant life,
creativity, compassion, wisdom, knowledge, reflection, service, to name a few.
By such measures, doing God’s will is not tedious duty but awakening pleasure.
“In/on
earth as it is in heaven…”
When
I pray “your will be done in earth,” I am praying that God’s
will may be manifest in my own body—to paraphrase Teresa of Avila, on earth God’s
body is our own, my hands, your hands, my feet, your feet are God’s hands and
feet.
When
I pray “your will be done on earth,” I am praying that God’s
will for peace and justice and compassion be manifest in our international
relations and governmental actions, in our political discourse and interfaith
dialogue, in our houses of worship and in our neighborhoods. Remember, I
believe that heaven is where human will coincides with God’s will.
“Give
us this day our daily bread…”
This
seems a bold request, a kind of “socialist” demand, but where else does our
daily bread come from if not from what God has given us? In praying this, I
acknowledge that the many ways I am fed—through food, through companions,
through wisdom, and more—all come from a divine source.
I
also note the allusion to the manna the Hebrews were fed in the wilderness, and
how they were only to collect a day’s ration, except on the day before the
Sabbath, when they were to collect enough for the next day as well. If they
took more than their day’s quota, whether out of anxiety or greed, it would grow
wormy. This challenges us to limit our own consumption to what we really need.
“Forgive
us our debts/trespasses/sins as we forgive our debtors/those who trespass/sin
against us…”
Given
the day and what feels most appropriate, I pray one of these pairings.
“Debts/debtors”
reminds me that I owe everything to God, and so I should let go of what I think
people “owe” me. “Trespasses/those who trespass” makes me think of the ways I
trespass not only on God’s territory but on others’ space. “Sins/sin against
us” suggests to me my/our most grievous errors.
God’s
forgiveness anticipates my own choice to forgive. I believe if I truly know
God’s grace, I will become more gracious, and that as I become more gracious, I
will truly know God’s grace.
“Lead
us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.”
In
his book The Inner Voice of Love, Henri
Nouwen wrote to himself, “The more deeply you live your spiritual life, the
easier it will be to discern the difference between living with God and living without
God, and the easier it will be to move
away from the places where God is no longer with you” (p 23).
Of
course, God is everywhere, but the point of this is that the venues in which I
may experience God most clearly, dearly, and nearly (to paraphrase Godspell’s “Day by Day”)
are
the places that diminish my desire to yield to temptation to be less than I am
created and called to be, or surrender to evil, either my own or the world’s.
“For
thine is the kingdom…”
Church
tradition rather than Jesus has added these remaining phrases of the Lord’s
Prayer (an echo of 1 Chronicles 29:10-13), but I like this final threefold,
uplifting “letting go.” The commonwealth is God’s, not ours. We may manifest
it, be its citizens, and serve as its instruments of peace, justice, and
compassion—but we and it belongs to God.
“…and
the power…”
I
believe we incorrectly equate power with control. God’s power is love, that
which persuades, leads, instructs, invites, and inspires us also to love.
“…and
the glory…”
For
the Hebrews, this is the glory reflected so brightly on Moses’s face on Mt.
Sinai that the people asked him to veil himself. Christians are called rather
to unveil that glory, to witness that glory to one another and to all, so that
we may “grow from one glory to another.” We may see this glory on a
mountaintop, on a cross, in an empty tomb. We may see this glory in a loved one,
in a baby, in galaxies billions of light years away. It lifts us up, raises our
hopes, magnifies our possibilities.
“…forever.
Amen.”
God’s
commonwealth, love, and glory give us a taste of the eternal. Our time may be
short, but it is a part of God’s time from now on. So be it.
See a related post, “A Pragmatic Guide to Prayer.”
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Thank you so much for your reflections.! I can honestly say that each and every time I said the Out Father (Catholioc) I alwatys felt it was an honor, and I never took it for granted.
ReplyDeleteI always amazed me!
When i would swim lap after lap each lap would be one Our Father. When I canoed and held a canoe on my shoulders for a couple miles. Whenever I was confused or sad! It never loses its signifacance, even when alot of other stuff falls away.
Thanks, Cindy--a good idea. I've said the prayer while doing other things like swimming or running or walking our late dog. It's rich with meaning for every repetition. Thanks for writing!
DeleteThank both of you. A meaningful reflection. Yours in Christ.
DeleteThanks, Chris.
ReplyDeleteChris! This is so neat! And so real. So human, present day...
ReplyDeleteThank you!