Prayer Becomes Character

Video can be found here (28:05)

Prayer Become Character
New Light MCC, Hagerstown MD

It happened that while Jesus was praying in a certain place, after he had finished, one of his disciples said to him, “Lord, teach us to pray just as John also taught his disciples. And he said to them, “When you pray, say, ‘Father, holy be your name. Your kingdom come. Give us each day the bread that we need. And forgive us our sins, for we also forgive our debtors. And lead us not into trial.’” Then he said to them, “Suppose one of you has a friend and goes to the friend at midnight and says, ‘Friend, lend me three loaves, for a friend of mine has come to me from a journey and I have nothing to set on the table. And from inside the friend answers and says, ‘Do not bother me. The door has already been shut and my children and I are in bed. I cannot get up and give you anything.’ I tell you, even though your friend will not get up and give you anything because of your friendship, yet because of shamelessness your friend will get up and give you as much as you need. So I say to you, ask, and it will be given to you. Seek, and you will find. Knock, and it will be opened to you. For everyone who asks, receives, and the one who seeks, finds. And to those who knock, it will be opened. Now suppose one of you fathers is asked by your son for a fish? You will not give him a snake instead of a fish, will you? Or if you are asked for an egg, you will not give him a scorpion, will you? If you then, being evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your heavenly parent give holy breath to those who ask?

There are so many ways that this passage is wrong. Back home in Iowa, I learned a few things about social etiquette. One or two. You don’t show up on your friend’s doorstep at midnight asking for three loaves of bread. Seven p.m., no problem, you don’t even have to call first. Nine p.m., sure. But not midnight; it just isn’t done. You don’t yell from the inside of the house and tell people to go away, either. Everyone knows you lay there quietly and pretend to be asleep already, like civilized people. And you always say please. There isn’t a single please in this entire passage, with all the praying and asking and seeking and knocking. It’s shameless, really.

Jesus is providing his followers with a liturgical prayer, a formula, meant to be learned and recited in community service, just like folks do it here every week. We call it The Lord’s Prayer, or The Prayer That Jesus Taught. The prayer formula is a chance to say words together that have the magical power to transform us into community. Like the Apostles Creed, or the Pledge of Allegiance, or the Rocky Horror Picture Show script. We become one voice. We are, or pretend to be, in agreement, of like minds. And it appears that John the Baptizer had given his disciples a special prayer to recite together, and Jesus’ disciples want one, too. (Notice how they don’t say please?) So Jesus gives them a prayer that distinguishes them, maybe marks the followers of Jesus apart from the followers of John, apart from the Pharisees, apart from the Sadduccees and the followers of whoever else was out there near the Jordan. Teacher, teach us to pray, as John also taught his disciples.

It’s worthwhile taking a minute here to point out how many translations of this prayer exist. Like many things in the bible – and in heaven and earth, Horatio – there isn’t a single version. Luke’s version here, as we can see, is missing elements from Matthew’s: no “who art in heaven,” no “thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.” And that business about “for thine is the power and the glory, forever” is right out, all around.

The Jesus Seminar focuses on trying to uncover in the gospels the words that originated with Jesus rather than later editors or church authorities, and they think that Luke’s version is less authentic than Matthew’s. They say that Luke is mixing its metaphors: see how it reads “forgive us our sins as we forgive our debtors”? No matter which version anyone uses of this prayer, people generally clean that bit up and make it consistent. The Jesus Seminar says that Luke is imposing its – or the church’s – ongoingmission on the prayer. Where Matthew says “give us today the bread we need,” Luke says “give us each day the bread we need.” Matthew was all Alcoholics Anonymous about it, saying, One day at a time, all Thich Nhat Hahn, saying, All we have is this breath, this moment. Luke apparently thinks we’re going to live forever. Luke says, Give us bread for all the days, Our Father. And so as usual, even when we’re unanimous it doesn’t mean we agree.

Jesus’ prayer teaches us to pray, and Luke’s gospel emphasizes prayer. In addition to using the Greek words for prayer and petition more than the other gospels, Luke also tells more stories about Jesus praying.¹ Luke has Jesus praying before important events, and also at totally random times. It tells of him going off to be alone to pray and it describes him praying at his baptism before the heavens open, before selecting the twelve, before he asks the disciples who they and the crowds say he is, on the mountain before the Transfiguration, and, here, before the disciples ask him to teach them to pray. Several of Luke’s unique parables and sayings involve prayer. Prayer seems very important to this gospel.

Which is fair. Prayer cannot be overemphasized, particularly when we understand it broadly, to include all of the ways we invoke presence and humility and remorse. There’s a saying that has been attributed to everyone from Emerson to Lao Tzu that says, Take care of your thoughts, they become words. Take care of your words, they become actions. Take care of your actions, they become habits. Take care of your habits, they become character.

Prayer doesn’t transform the world around us, at least not at first. It doesn’t first change the circumstances of our lives to fit our hopes and desires. First, it transforms us. Prayer in all its forms – meditation, examen, penitence, tai chi, petition, yard work, distance running – prayer allows us to become centered, to enter a way of being that is a bit outside of time and space, that is bigger than us and the piece of the world we live on. Prayer gives us a chance to let go, to think clearly – Thich Nhat Hahn says to think deeply – to find ourselves, in a way. It’s similar to how some folks don’t know what they think until they start to write. Sometimes we don’t know where we are or who we are or what we need until we stop and get centered and balanced. It’s not an accident that Luke describes Jesus in prayer before every major and several minor events and decisions of his ministry. Prayer supports and carries us through the momentous and the mundane.

And the seriously mundane. I used to think that Jesus was teaching us what to pray here, how to pray, and I was dismissive of those people I know (let’s just call them, “Mom”) who would pray for green lights and parking spaces. Because I thought they were wrong and backwards. I thought we were supposed to pray instead for patience and cheerfulness to wait at the red light, pray for acceptance and equanimity to go all the long way to the grocery store from our parking spot in Siberia. But I think now I may be the one who got it wrong. I suspect it’s not just about asking for the “right things,” or saying the “right things,” but about us reaching past ourselves, using meditation, examen, penitence, tai chi, petition, yard work, distance running, whatever, to think deeply, to be present, to be humble and contrite.

Look at Abraham from our first reading. For pity’s sake. He sounds like my godson. Abraham is unrelenting. What about 50, God? What about 45? What about 40? 30? 20? What about 10? It’s like every single meal I ever ate with A.J. when he was a little kid. Can I have dessert if I eat 20 green beans? Can I have dessert if I eat 15 green beans? Ten green beans and a piece of broccoli? Five green beans, two peas, and a ketchup packet?

I wonder if Jesus just hopes we’ll pray, in all those ways we do it, do it lots and lots, about whatever we need, whatever we hope. It may not have much to do with how, although there is definitely a strong sense of peace and ease in this prayer. God of us, may your name be holy. May your priorities come first. Give us what we need each day, as we need it. Forgive us, and help us forgive. (Whatever that means. That’s someone else’s sermon.) Keep us empathetic and compassionate. There’s a simplicity and an equanimity in these words, a serenity that is zen and Buddistish. A simplicity of what we long for.

These are the things of huge, momentous events and decisions. And they are the mundane stuff of everyday life. Bless you, universe. Bless me. Don’t abandon me here. Don’t forget my needs. Don’t be too hard on me. Don’t let me be too hard on others. Maybe even if we’re praying for green lights and good parking spots a lot, maybe if we pray all the time to win the lottery or to find our eternally-misplaced coffee mug, maybe those prayers are perfectly good prayers. Maybe we’re still getting into a habit of remembering that we’re connected. Of remembering that there’s something bigger than us that connects us and stop lights and parking spots, that connects us and grocery store and other people in cars. Something that connects coincidence, and design, and synchronicity. Maybe the ease and peace and equanimity will develop from there. Maybe the willingness to dig deeper and lean into challenges and look for lessons and growth will come in time. Maybe right now, in this moment, praying for a green light is the thing that keeps us from screaming obscenities at the driver in front of us. It’s a good start.

And it’s just a start. Jesus teaches a prayer that teaches about God. He tells us to call God “Father,” Pater, which of course I feel compelled to unpack a bit. First of all, metaphor. Throughout the bible God is called Father, Mother, eagle, woman baker, fortress, huge-bosomed one (for reals), housekeeper, redeemer, immigrant, queen of heaven, shepherd, seamstress, and a bunch more. Seriously, I could go on for a while. These are metaphors. Whatever God is, God could be any of these things and none of them. None of these defines or limits or all-encompasses what you understand to be God, and the more metaphors and images and examples that folks have and use, I suspect, the closer we get to the multiplicity and mystery of godness. Secondly, contrary to fundamentalist (and possibly popular) opinion, the idea of God as a father, or or a papa, did not start with Jesus. It has much earlier roots in Samuel, Isaiah, Jeremiah, Malachi, and elsewhere.² P.S., Jesus was a Jew. (That is only a non sequitur if you aren’t a Christian supersessionist. That’s not funny.)

Jesus teaches a prayer that teaches about God, and he tells us to call God “Father,” and then he tells parables that illustrate God in a way that is both a kind of parent and a kind of friend. First, God is a friend who will go next door to get bread for you when you arrive, obviously without warning, in the middle of the night. (Although, again, what are you doing showing up places unannounced in the middle of the night?) Also, God is a neighbor who will get up at midnight to hand the bread out to you, even though the door was shut and everyone is annoyed now and was in bed sleeping. Because it was midnight. Thirdly, God is a parent who knows not to give kids a snake when they ask for a fish. God never gives kids a scorpion, duh, but especially not when they’ve asked for an egg.

This is sometimes upsetting to the folks who don’t want a God painted in pastels and petticoats, who think these images of God as Dad and grumpy good neighbor and friend are the sort of namby-pamby, wishy-washy petunia God that is the very thing wrong with the world. But, for one thing, it’s Jesus who is using these examples of God as friend and neighbor and parent. Also, there is no “please” anywhere and there is also not a single word of fire, brimstone, wheat, chaff, or plucking out body parts. So it’s not me. Jesus is the one being all it’s-all-good let’s-hug-trees saying that God is like a princi-Pal.

Except that it’s totally more complicated than that, as usual, which might be upsetting to a whole other set of people or maybe the same group for new reasons. Because it’s clear that God is a totally annoyed neighbor who is giving you bread only to get rid of you so that God can go back to sleep. And, clearly, comparing God to a father who doesn’t give a scorpion to a kid who wants an egg is a pretty low bar for parenthood.

I think we’re back to prayer for its own sake. I think we’re back to prayer being that practice that shapes us: Take care of your thoughts, they become words. Take care of your words, they become actions. Take care of your actions, they become habits. Take care of your habits, they become character. Maybe it is what we ask for that Jesus wants us to reflect on. Maybe what we ask for, again and again, banging on the neighbor’s door at midnight, maybe that is what becomes our character. And is it for green lights and good parking spots, or is it for social justice and economic justice and enough food for everyone?

I do get the sense that we’re being encouraged to ask, and keep asking. Like A.J. Like Abraham. Like the persistent friend. Luke’s Jesus makes clear that God is in relationship with us, and Luke’s Jesus seems to be saying that prayer is how we stay connected – to our God, to our annoying friends who show up unannounced in the middle of the night, to our neighbors who are bugged by us asking for bread when everyone is sleeping but get up anyway, to our family who keep asking for fish and eggs, apparently, which has got to be more metaphors, right? Bread is life. Friends are asking neighbors for life. Eggs are life. The kids are asking their dads for more life. Prayer is how we stay connected to life, to community, to whoever. To ourselves. To the earth and the plants and the sunset, whatever. How we stay in relationship. Stay connected to what is bigger, and better, than what we are alone.

Maybe prayer in all the ways we do it becomes, among other things, to keep talking, to stay in the conversation, to say who we are and what we want again and again until it changes us or changes the world. Until the green lights happen or the equanimity. Until the green lights don’t matter anymore. Until we make more justice. Until everyone has the bread for today. Until we have forgiven all debts. Until our thoughts that become our words become our actions become our habits become our character are thoughts about connectedness, about relationship. About more life.

Jesus says this, this is how to pray.

Peace.