Father: a sermon on the Lord's Prayer

I preached this sermon on 28 July at Christ Church East Sheen. The reading was Luke 11.1-13

There are spectacular stories of great saints who in their prayers had wonderful mystical experiences, and an abundance of ways in which God seemed to become very real to them. I used to read lots of books about prayer, and the more I read the more depressed I got. I felt a total failure and I really liked praying. I just used to say my prayers, used to go to church, and never had wonderful moments of transcendence. Maybe I should have followed the herd and taken LSD.

So it is something of a relief when we read today this little discussion between Jesus and his students,  ‘Lord, teach us to pray, as John taught his disciples.’ He said to them, ‘When you pray, say: Father, hallowed be your name. . .'

And we do, don’t we? Throughout the ages, in vast cathedrals, at the bedside of millions of children, in prison camps in Siberia, and holiday camps on Barry Island, said simply at Morning and Evening Prayer or sung with great beauty at Coronations, the church has prayer the Lord’s Prayer.

St Luke records a shorter version than the one in St Matthew, and it is worth thinking about it.

Father, hallowed be your name.   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.’

Prayer begins with God: with his name and his authority. God’s reign is at the beginning of Christian life, of our prayer and hopefully our deeds. The first thing we do is glorify him: that’s why, of course the Gloria is at the beginning of the eucharist  We glorify God’s name, praying, hoping for his kingdom.

And then we get down to our bit. As far as we know most of  the people among whom Jesus moved in those days were desperate. Time and time again we come across them hungry, lost, hopeless. So the prayer Jesus teaches is the prayer of the desperate. Give us, we are taught, give us. Not give me, give us. Just enough to survive: our daily ration of bread. This is not the prayer of those churches preaching prosperity: Give me a big bank balance, a grand house, fame and worldly success. Give us just enough. Help us survive.

And then there is this picture of indebtedness. We want to be forgiven our debts, and our failure to hit the target. The word sin means missing the target. We aim, Father, but sometimes we miss.

And this version ends simply: don’t bring us to the time of testing.  For those first Christians it could have meant anything: war, starvation, persecution. Our testings may not be so grand, but they are all the things which prevent us in our relationship with the Father.

Father. Jesus revolutionised Jewish thought by calling God Father, Abba. It strikes me as odd how we use all sorts of titles for God, Lord, Almighty. But when we pray it may be to the unknowable, all-powerful creator of all, but as far as we Christians are concerned, it is ‘Father.’

Which is why before the Lord’s Prayer we have space to remember what sort of bread we need, how we have missed the mark and whose debts we have forgiven, and what really scares us about the future.

And then we can say, Abba, Father.