“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!” (Luke 11:13)
I loved Sunday mornings in my 10 X 20-foot efficiency apartment in Madison. I was a grad student at the University of Wisconsin, and this tiny space (complete with a bathroom I shared with the girl in the next flat and a makeshift kitchenette I shared with the cockroaches) was my first bachelor home. Sunday mornings involved a quick shower and shave, dressing for church, and a run to the Howard Johnson’s across the street for the Sunday paper which I read with my coffee and doughnuts while I waited for the invariable phone call.
“Hello, My Son,” the voice on the other end would say. “Hello, My Father,” I’d reply. My dad called me every Sunday morning at the same time from the family home in California. He never missed. We’d chat about how my studies and my teaching job were going or what play I was rehearsing or performing. He shared very little, but always seemed interested in my activities. Every call would end with his asking, “You need anything?” Most of the time I was proud to answer that I was doing okay. He’d then ask, “You going to church?” I’d tell him I was, and he’d say, “Well, you better get going then.”
Sometimes—alas!—I’d have to confess to my venerable parent that my small teaching salary, the few extra bucks I’d sometimes make doing voice-overs on the NPR affiliate, or the $10 I’d get each week from selling my blood plasma didn’t quite cover my reckless expenditures. But if I told him I could use an extra $20 to see me through ‘til payday, I might get a letter in that week’s mail with $30 or $40 in it. My dad was not perfect, but I can say he did what a dad was supposed to do. He provided for me, and he supported and encouraged me—even when I came up short.
In this week’s gospel lesson in the RCL (Luke 11:1-13), Jesus teaches his disciples to pray by encouraging them to think of God as their father. I’ll grant that this image isn’t exactly a jolly one for a lot of folks. I can say that my dad provided and encouraged, but there are a lot of biological male parents out there who have abandoned, criticized, belittled, or abused the ones they sired and should have committed themselves to loving and nurturing.
A toxic relationship with a parent is toxic, I believe, because something in us tells us it’s not supposed to be this way. I like to think there’s something in our DNA which instinctively knows what a real dad is supposed to be. Our souls rather naturally long for the presence of a man we can admire, love and—most of all—trust with our well-being and protection. None of us have a perfect dad, but God often provides us with surrogates—teachers, coaches, uncles, neighbors, friends’ dads, etc.—who fill in the blanks and give us a glimpse of that perfect Father in whom Jesus teaches us to trust.
I had
nicknames for my dad. I used to call him “Da,” which is a common Celtic
nickname for the male parent (and also the Welsh word for “good”), or my
tongue-in-cheek formal address of “My Father.” My esteemed friend Pastor Kay
Braun reminds me in her wonderful meditation on the Lord’s Prayer called On
Earth as in Heaven[i]
how crucial it is that we follow the gospel of Matthew’s lead and address God
as Our Father. When I pray ‘Our Father,” I’ve started my prayer by
saying, in effect, “This ain’t all about me. There are other people on this
rock, and they have troubles and need God just as much as I do.” The very first
word of the prayer takes me out of myself, shoots my self-importance in the
butt, and teaches me a respectable humility towards God and the rest of
humanity.
The prayer Jesus teaches, smart Bible scholars tell us, isn’t too different from a standard Jewish prayer called the Amidah, which means “standing.’ (I guess you’re supposed to stand up when you pray it, which seems pretty respectful if you ask me.) It was to be prayed three times daily. It included some of the same petitions we pray: a request that God’s name would be holy to us and an injunction to forgive others. Standard stuff.
I’ve been
meditating a lot more these days on that “thy kingdom come” part. Jesus asks us
to pray for the rule of the Father who is 100% righteous and 100% in control. Jesus
and John the Baptist taught that the faithful should always expect a great turnaround,
that God would upend the current order of things which is, to say the least,
less than satisfactory. Maybe when we pray this petition, we should be asking
ourselves what our part is in bringing in this kingdom which our loving,
heavenly Dad intended for us but which we keep screwing up.
I also really dig the part about “daily bread.” As I said, my dad used to send me more than I asked for. I think it was because he knew I wasn’t trying to shake him down for cash. I was only asking for what I needed to get by. He was, by nature, a generous guy, but he grew up during the Depression, and I knew if I asked him for something I wanted instead of for something I needed my request wouldn’t get a friendly reception. God knows what we need, and it’s a sign of our trust and relationship that we feel easy about asking for it. An old Jewish proverb tells us true wealth comes from being satisfied with what we have.
Finally, just in case we didn’t get the point, a first or early second century Christian document called The Didache tacked a doxology onto this prayer. The “For thine is the kingdom and the power and the glory” part doesn’t appear in Luke’s gospel or in the earliest extant versions of Matthew’s gospel (Probably why our Roman Catholic brothers and sisters don’t include it). The Didache was an early moral treatise, catechism, and liturgical guide, and it taught that Christians should finish the prayer with this little reminder that God is God and we aren’t. 12-Step groups like to close their meetings with the Lord’s Prayer as a reminder to be humble, accepting, and obedient. Some people might get their noses out of joint by this servile attitude, but personally, I just like knowing that my Dad is in charge, and I can call him anytime.
God’s peace
to you, my friend. Thanks for spending time with me.
[i]
Pastor Kay’s book is available on Amazon here: On
Earth as in Heaven: Praying at the Crossroads (Lutheran Voices): Kay Bender
Braun: 9780806680095: Amazon.com: Books
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