August 10, 2003 (Jimmie Johnson)

It would be easier to be a Christian if Christianity were not relational, if only it were a matter between me and God and no one else were involved. But when Jesus teaches us to pray to “Our Father..,” it gets complex and messy because now every time I talk to God my neighbor is automatically in the conversation as well. “Our” in reference to the Father in Heaven makes everyone related. The personal pronoun “Our” clearly implies all humanity.

Jesus places inclusivity as the foundation of prayer, and this brings in the possibility for controversy. If I follow Jesus’ lead in praying, then my horizons have to include more than me and mine. Perhaps we humans are not our brother’s keeper, but we are our brother’s brother or sister if Jesus names the members of the family. Certainly, there are people on earth who do not know that they, too, are children of God, but when we Christians pray the Lord’s Prayer, we are affirming that we all are children of God whether we know it or not. God claims us all as family even those heirs of God who have misplaced their religious birth certificates.

So, children of the Lord’s Prayer, let’s acknowledge straight out that the little pronoun “our” in “Our Father...”is not a possessive, for who can possess God? We say “Our” because Christ is telling us what we human beings are essentially. Essentially, we are one even if most of us (human history would indicate all of us) can’t stand the idea. “Our” reminds us that Christ died to keep us that way. “Our” reminds us that it is a sin to tear asunder what God has joined together. “Our” reminds us that when I pray, my soul is somehow at risk in the very act of prayer if my spirituality doesn’t somehow also include others—others who could well be different from me, others whom I might consider strange and questionable.

The spirituality of Jesus in this prayer confronts us with a hard choice. Faced with versions of Christianity that favor tribalism and conformity and which seek to cluster people around similarities like political views and economic class, don’t we as a congregation desire to choose to stick together around the concept of being a welcoming congregation expressing the hospitality of Christ to all persons and peoples regardless of their and our differences? Do we have this desire perhaps for no other motive than because of the way Jesus teaches us to pray: “Our Father...”?

Can we ever decide to sever our relationship based upon our values being so severely at odds or our relationships so toxic? Of course, but my goodness we should be ever so careful for God will most surely hold us to account if we break fellowship only to find out it was not really about seeking God’s will but about making ourselves more comfortable socially, politically, or sexually.

Well, what about the next word Jesus says: “Our Father....” The word “Father” is an image that is helpful for some and threatening for others. “Father” reflects the paternal society in which Jesus lived; no one would have prayed to God as “Mother” although there are numerous maternal images for God in the Bible. In that part of the world and in that time, the clan chief was a male, and so was God. So naturally Jesus prays, “Our Father....”

Can we do better? No and yes, both at the same time. This may well be my own individual taste, but for me combination words like: “Father-Mother” God are cumbersome, and the possible substitute word “Parent” seems so distant. I will stick with the word “Father” as the normative metaphor for God while being aware Jesus goes about being the most non-normal embodiment of that “Father” the world has ever seen.

Another related problem is to our modern semi-scientific thinking that such a term as “Father” is so anthropomorphic. Some would suggest that we could do better by conceiving of God as an “unseen life force” or even as a speculative, if “amorphous presence,” a general non-specific spirit. To these folks God as “Father” or “Mother” seems both childish and even primitive. I can appreciate these tensions which have collected around the religious language and images of our Christian faith, but as a follower of Jesus, I recommend we stick with the term “Father” as our central metaphor but be always mindful when we do so that we are speaking analogy, and analogies always have to be corrected and constantly critiqued— especially when we speak of God. A human father doesn’t disclose or reveal God; rather it is God that discloses or reveals what it is to be a father.

Saying the Lord’s Prayer with the language “Our Father....” and baptizing in the traditional name of the “Father” the “Son” and the “Holy Spirit” will, I hope, continue to be the liturgical language of the church at worship for such language, despite the inherent problems caused by abusive fathers, oppressive paternalism, and the risk of anthropomorphism, still conveys that God is personal and while more is certainly not less. God is not sub-personal which neutral language like “life force” conveys. No, God as personal means God, the Great Holy, must possess attributes analogous to purpose, creative imagination, humor and love. To pray to a God who is personal means we pray to a God who is warm and welcoming.

We know God is no “father” in any literal sense, any more than She is a mother. This is the significance of the phrase “Our Father who art in heaven....” The “in heaven” signifies that God is beyond all human categories, as God is beyond the abyss of stars, immeasurable time, universal matter. And this is the crux of the matter. Each of us is like a soldier in the night on sentry duty shouting into the darkness: “Who goes there?” In the Lord’s Prayer, we get the answer: “Our heavenly father” who with his love can scatter all the darkness of this world.

To a universal need there is a universal answer. Thomas Wolfe summed it up this way: “The deepest search in life, it seemed to me, the thing that in one way or another was central to all living, was man’s search for a father, not merely the father of his flesh, nor merely the father of his youth, but the image of a strength and wisdom external to our need and superior to (our) hunger, to which the belief and power of (our) own life could be united.” How lucky we are to be able to pray: “Our Father, who art in heaven....”