Unpacking The Lord's Prayer

Somewhere before Matthew and Luke was most likely a text that was the source of their common threads, but we'll never see it. So extrapolating from these two storytellers as to what may/must have been said requires more than a literalist view of the two texts' recounting this often repeated prayer (for which most of us seem to have defaulted to Matthew). But the question I have pondered so many times is not “what exactly did Jesus say” but rather, “what was his intent in this teaching?” So despite not having an imprimatur of any religious organization, I am finally going to take a crack at what this itinerant country preacher may have intended for his audience to understand about prayer.

In order to attempt this we first need to understand two things about the speaker, Yeshua of Nazareth, whose name we Anglicized as Jesus. First of all, while there is no evidence that he was formally trained as a Rabbi, Jesus clearly had a good handle on the sacred texts, quoting frequently and selectively from them to make his points. He is, from most of what we can extrapolate from all of these stories, at all times very intentional and consistent about his message, his context and his intent.

Jesus declared himself a “jubilee” messenger – referring to the Deuteronomic rule (Deut. 15:1-11) that every seventh of the seven year periods (that is, every 50^th year) is to be a Jubilee year, marked by forgiving all debts, freeing all prisoners, caring for the poor, the widows and the children – using a reference to the same from the book of Isaiah (Is. 61:1-2). However, true to his philosophy, Jesus intentionally left out the last phrase of the passage dealing with vengeance. Jesus was very intentional. He never refers to the wrath or vengeance of God, but rather only refers to the healing, loving and forgiving nature of God. He used scriptures and events to teach a specific message, and that message is the second part of our understanding his contextual framework.

Jesus’ message through all of his teaching was a revolutionary understanding of God, the nature of God, and the nature of “God’s kingdom.” Kingdoms were plentiful in ancient times, and mapped out a domain of influence for each king. Jesus used this metaphor as a way of describing his theological foundation: God was not elsewhere – apart from us, ruling over us – but rather was very real and present, in and among all of us. “The kingdom of God is at hand,” he would say, “as you are in me and I am in them and they in me.” He had a unitive theology; that all things were one and united by the same loving force, like one big family. We are inseparable from God but likewise God is inseparable from us. In an age where Gods were thought to reside on a mountain or in the center of the temple, Jesus taught that God not only belonged to all but was resident in all. So let’s see if we can see his understanding of the scripture and his theology evident in this prayer.

Right from the outset, he changes the game, calling God, “father” (implying the one big family). Matthew’s text even adds the descriptor, “our” (like all of ours, not just some of us). And some translations refer to the idea that he used the word “abba,” the familiar form of father: “daddy.” This was not the El Shaddai of old, nor was it the king who lorded over us like some benevolent master. It was intentionally familiar, familial and personal. And least we get all bound up by the masculinist term of father/daddy (as opposed to mother), let’s look at the role of parents in Judea at that time. Parents were fairly equal, though different, long ago. There was clear understanding that both mother and father were necessary and equally important. Fathers typically taught the trades and mothers taught the values of life. Both were essential. So why father then? Because father’s role was to teach purpose – how and what to do to be a contributor in life. And to be certain a father was not absent – off at work – as in modern times. Dads were always present, in the home, working at the house and very present. A father was meant to be purposeful, helpful and always present.

But what then are we to make of the reference to heaven? Doesn’t that connote the sky kingdom and the sky god? Not if you take a further look at how Jesus defines heaven. Heaven is not out there, not some future destination. Heaven is right here, right now. Heaven is among us and. He even goes so far as to say that it is “within you” (Lk. 17:20-21). So this daddy, this teacher, was a very present member of the community, of the family and of life in the present moment. Jesus’ intent was to demystify the concept of God; to make God real and present and palpable.

“Holy (sacred, blessed) is your name.” If we now understand God to be within the very life we are living, Jesus is calling that sacred. Life is sacred and holy. But remember that, as a Jew, Jesus learned that one could not say/speak the name of God, not because of its specialness, but because once anything was named it became separated – by name – from anything that was not that thing. Speaking the name of God would be suggesting that God was some thing, some entity, apart from other things, and certainly apart from us. That is the most sacred aspect of God; that God, being a very real and present aspect of everything, was inseparable from anything – that God was everything and everywhere. That is what holy and blessed really means.

“Thy kingdom come.” Then Jesus returns back to his core theological construct: The kingdom is

here, there and everywhere, and that life-intent that is God is already in action in every element of all creation (on earth and heaven). It seems obvious at this point that Jesus simply means “god is here, among us, already, right now.” Enough said! But here comes the one-two punch!

The first hit refers back to a scriptural reference. Jesus reminds his followers not to take more than enough. The reference to “daily bread” comes from the story of manna in the desert. The Israelites were wandering in the desert and supplies were low, so the story goes. In answer to their hunger and prayers, their God provides something bread-like that appears in the morning like dew. But it came with a rule: take only enough for one day. If anyone took more than a day’s supply, it rotted and would become toxic to them. The hoarders actually died. God’s rule of abundance is that “enough” is all you need. So Jesus’ reference to that story is a reminder (not a request) to the pray-er (not the one prayed to) that we only need “enough.”

And right on the heels of that is the knock-out punch about how forgiveness works. It seems to be a bit of a tricky turn of the phrase, but the pivotal word is “as” – “forgive us as we forgive others.” For most of my life I heard that phrase as a meritocracy: when I forgive enough others, I get to be forgiven, or if I forgive others I will be forgiven. But that was never a part of Jesus’ teaching. Or I thought it may have been some hold-over of the eye-for-an-eye morality of the Greeks in the area. But in fact, just the opposite was Jesus’ message: that you are already, and always forgiven. The nature of this loving God, that is love and life itself, is that you will always be forgiven – even before you think to ask for forgiveness. Remember the story of the Prodigal Son? The passage reads that, before the son was able to even ask his father for forgiveness, “while he was still a long way off” his father saw him, had compassion for him and “ran out to embrace him and kiss him.” God’s forgiveness is not dependent on our having done it first. But knowing Jesus’ understanding of the presence of God, god’s forgiveness is part and parcel with our forgiveness. God-in-us forgives us through each other – it’s how God is made manifest. It is seeing the God in the other as we forgive them or they forgive us. That is God’s love visibly in action!

And in conclusion… Jesus ends his prayer instruction with the oddest phrase of them all, “lead us not into temptation” or in other translations “deliver us from the test.” Jesus taught that the purpose of prayer was that it altered the pray-er (your father already knows what is in your heart). So what might he have meant with the reference to temptation. I have a couple of theories that may explain this one. First of all, the time he spent in the desert before starting his ministry is still fresh in Jesus’ mind. He clearly felt led into his path of teaching and healing. Could he have felt led into that time that tested his spirit and was hoping that others might not have to endure the same?

Many exegetes note how fond Jesus was of the Psalms, and certainly the Psalms are a part of every Shabbat service. The Psalms are rife with references of being put to the test and of being tempted (mostly by wealth and power). The Psalmist seemed to wrestle with his own temptation and the fear that God might turn away because of his weakness or, worse yet, that God would put him to the test! That being the case, Jesus might have been drawing on a common theme from worship.

Now Matthew may have a different take on the prayer and adds the element of evil (or in some translations “the evil one”). But that does not fit with the teachings and philosophy of Jesus. It may well be an editorial comment either added because Matthew wanted to appeal to the cultural norms of the people to whom he was writing. Or it may have been added by a later editor as part of the doctrine of the church of the time (a practice that happened with all sacred texts throughout time).

But more in keeping with my hypothesis that Jesus felt that the prayer was more about how one prayed (more to alter the pray-er than to bend the divine ear) he may have included that line as a last piece of training. “Master, teach us how to pray,” may not have been answered by this teacher with a rote formula. More likely he may have said something to the effect of, “It’s not what you say but who and how you are when you say it! Remember, God is already in you, and in me. God has already given you all you need. God has already forgiven before you could even recall the sin. And this God, would never, ever lead you astray!” Amen.

Using the Bible

For far too long, I have been reading things on line (news reports, elected officials' quotations and FaceBook opinions) that refer in one way or another to some scriptural reference. And I thing it is time I took a stand. It seems to me that this is a gross misuse of the scripture - well, perhaps better stated, it is a gross misunderstanding of the scripture. Contrary to the 623 laws found in the Old Testament, among which are the Ten Commandments, the bible is not a book of laws, nor a code of ethics to which we should refer when troubled with a question of what to do or how to handle this and that.

To me the bible is a training ground filled with thought provoking and at (many) times conflicting and puzzling predicaments in the guise of either mythical stories or recollected chronicles of something that happened often a long time before ever being written down.  Taken as a whole it is a collection of stories designed to push one's beliefs, thoughts and values by trying to understand the real meaning and intent.  Reading the bible should cause one to reflect, puzzle over and be perplexed by the content.  But as a result of that, there exist sentences here and there - and sometimes even juxtaposed right after each other - which when lifted out of the whole could be used to justify or support any side of just about any argument. And that, unfortunately is too often what too many people have tried to do.

However, it is my belief that the bible is meant to be a tool for spiritual development, designed to disturb and push at your belief structures until you can move to a deeper understanding. But it takes a great deal of personal inner work to be able to read the bible and allow it to disturb you the way it should. Oh sure, we all say we know what the beatitudes say and mean, but do you really?  They are paradoxical at best and when one considers to whom they were spoken - the poor and oppressed of the time - they must have sounded like nonsense. Much of the master's teachings were like that. But Jesus was not the only purveyor of paradox. It is all through the entire bible - it's just how good Rabbis taught.

And that is perhaps the point of this opinion: people who have not done the inner work of the faith journey, who have not confronted and done battle with their ego will always be tempted to read passages to support their ego's opinion and justify their own actions. Like Job's defensive discourses, we are seeking to vindicate ourselves and prove we are right. But, like the beautiful myth of Job concludes, it is only when we approach sacred literature from not knowing, listening to what is there in the entire story, and then letting its contradictions and nuances sink in and knock another part of our knowing loose, that we really hear and begin to understand.

Discernment

Through both my formal learning in psychology and my continued education, growth and development I have come to ascribe to a school of thought called "constructivism." Essentially what that translates to is that I believe that we are only capable of seeing or hearing and conceptualizing that which fits within and can be described by our current level of education, training, experience and social context. Specifically that means that all thought we have come from the same pool of thoughts we have always had and can be described using only the vocabulary we have available to us at the time. Though this may sound like harmless psychobabble its impact on issues of justice and discernment of "God's will" are monumental. It is for that reason that the power elite cannot effectively enact matters of justice because of the very fact that all matters are seen through their lens of the host culture that causes the oppression in the first place. But in accurately discerning God's will we may be even more suspect. There is a story of Francis of Assisi who it is said heard God telling him, "Francis, rebuild my church." So, gathering his monks around, they set out to find the most broken down church and rebuilt its roof. A second time Francis asked God what He wanted him to do and again heard "Francis, rebuild my church." So Francis and the monks repeated the process - and a third time as well. It was not until Francis heard the same instruction a fourth time that he understood his mission to reform the Catholic church of the time. My continual concern is that well-intentioned and prayerful people (and even church leaders) mistake what they think they are hearing as a message from God when all they ever get is a confirmation of their existing mental paradigm. Naturally that message would be supportive of the existing structure and understanding. What they hear may (or may not) be a message from God but it gets filtered, interpreted and expressed through the only limited perspective that person has. History is filled with examples of how one group after another has inflicted injustice on others in the name of what they thought they heard or understood. That notwithstanding, this is amplified when we realize that not every word of the bible is "God's word." Much of what we read in the bible is "man's word" and at that it may not even be God-inspired. Research indicated that great portions of the gospels and whole books of the Torah have been written by religious leaders of the time to suit their particular agenda. That does not mean it isn't sacred literature that has endured the test of time, (take Deuteronomy for example) it just means that it is not outside the realm of possibility that what you are reading might just be someone's personal point of view. Perhaps the Desert Monks had the best approach by living in retreat for long enough to eradicate the noise of their own mind's experience to be able to let in the still small voice of God. But preachers who hammer on a vendetta of hate and exclusion and claim discernment as their source will never convince me that they listened to or heard anything divine.

What Are Your "Stones?"

Here’s an interesting twist on faith as pointed out to me by a great mentor. An often overlooked tidbit in one version of the Easter story, two women were making their way to the burial site of their master early that morning apparently with the intention of anointing the body with oils and perfumes to keep it from smelling up the countryside. And one says to the other, “Who will roll away the stone?” The story goes on to have them find the task already done when they arrive – and we get caught up in the whole angel dialogue and risen lord thing.


But wait – there was the message there – right there; and we stepped over it again. You see, the women thought, “there is a big stone in the way of our practicing our faithful ritual. We want to do what is right, but, hey, we can’t because of the stone.” Ain’t that the truth! There are these big stones in the way of our faithful practices. Most of mine live in my head but some consist of things outside: social expectations, my job, family responsibilities and the like. They are big stones – heavy stones that I don’t think I can move all by myself.

And the howling error that always confronts us (me, if I am willing to tell the truth here) is that the stone is removed for us. Always! It is just gone. That's not what I think - I am certain that there are these things stopping me. And from an egocentric perspective, it appears as though there is a barrier – that there will always be some barrier that I have to muscle out of the way. But that is how I do things. I think I have to do it or it won’t get done. That is not God’s way. That is not how the Universe works and always works. There is no barrier – it has already been moved from my path. Gone. Poof! Not there! The stones are all in my head.

How heavy my head must be with all of those boulders and stones in there – all the ones I have had to move (or thought I had to) in the past and all of the ones I am ever so ready to place in my way as the necessary hurdle to make me worthy of the prize. But the prize is already ours, the stone is already removed, and the prize (surprise) is there waiting for me to come around the corner.

Whose Prayer?

Here’s another one of those thoughts that I have that may not be terribly popular. It has to do with how we pray and with the essence of prayer. And sorry - this is a bit longer than usual.

The great teacher Jeshua of Nazareth almost never answered a question directly (Another sorry, about the Josh thing. Folks tend to get flaky about his popular name if you do anything less than take him literally. So, because I am going to say something quite possibly viewed as blasphemy, I won’t use it). In fact, I read somewhere that of the nearly 200 questions put to him, he directly answered only three! Furthermore, when teaching a lesson, he invariably taught – as in he never varied from this pattern – through paradox, metaphors and parables; stories that were intentionally puzzling to the listener. Yet against this backdrop, nearly every person I know views the “Lord’s Prayer” as a discrete formula to be taken literally at face value, or at least to be memorized precisely.

Why? Why would his pattern be different for this one lesson? Remember, this is the same man who actually ridiculed formal prayer as either empty or something tantamount to show-boating. Always the consummate Rabbi, what if Joshua was staying true to form? If we suspend our literalist thinking for a moment and examine this instruction – his answer to the request, “Master, teach us to pray,” – through the lens of the other 99% of his teaching style, we just might see something else. Let’s start from the top.

“Our Father in heaven.” As he continually taught, the kingdom of god is now, here, and most importantly within you and me. Why then a reference to a heaven (elsewhere)? Might this instead be a reference to the kingdom among us and within us and not to a divided world of heaven and earth or heaven and hell? Jeshua was fervently interested in having his followers see the kingdom in the here and now. Furthermore, I am told (though I have never read the original text) that his word used for father was the child-familiar equivalent of “daddy” again suggesting that such a “heaven,” if not inside us already, may be closer and more accessible than the priests wanted us to believe. Then, almost as a wake up call he adds, “Thy kingdom come.” Might this perhaps be a declarative or even stated as a done deal? But wait, there’s more.

“Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven,” follows in the same vein. This is spoken into a time, not too unlike our own time, when whatever might be “god’s will” is clearly NOT being done. The truth is that human willfulness was the rule of the day (and still is). Thus this phrase and its later partner, “forgive our sins as we forgive others,” seem most surely to be a Jeshuan trap. It is more like a double trap, actually. First of all, attaching our forgiveness to our own praxis of forgiving is quite simply ludicrous. Our egos have very little ability or capacity for true forgiveness – they are too concerned with being right and better-than. But secondly, and more importantly, following a literal path we are trapped into hoping that god’s forgiveness could or should be earned by anything we do. The teacher never said either of those – in fact he always said exactly the opposite, in nearly every story, parable or teaching. You are already forgiven; you can't do anything to improve your chances; the kingdom is with(in) you.

So what could possibly be going on with this “how to” manual for prayer? There are two killer requests that need to be addressed before we answer that. “Give us our daily bread” and “Don’t put us to the test.” One of the greatest failed test stories in the bible is the manna in the desert. Our daily bread most likely refers to the daily allotment while in the desert during their flight from Egypt. The tribes were instructed to trust god and to take only enough for one day. Any more than “enough” would rot and turn poisonous, which of course, owing to our human scarcity model, was exactly what happened. Test failed!

Dare we even pray not to be put to the test – the test of our trust in god? C’mon, our very lives are an antithesis of that 24/7! How often do we free fall into our trust in the divine? I don’t know about you but I regularly trust and rely on me (and my effort, intelligence and perseverance) more than I remember to trust and rely on god.

But knowing this, our great teacher must have been lining up a litany of human errors to show us how praying should not be concerned with our human worries. What’s more, our prayer should not – cannot – be about our trying to get it right! We have not gotten it right, ever. It is almost – from this perspective – a mockery of our neediness for rules and boundaries of right and wrong (“Master, teach us the right way to pray – the only way to pray, the way that if we do it correctly, we will be assured of being better than everyone else.”) So he just stacked up a short list of our most stupid and non-spirit-filled errors, for fun! “Look guys, don’t even go there, no one can teach you how to pray, not even my cousin John. Prayer is about getting to human nothingness in order to let in the divine. Empty yourselves and you will be closer to real praying.”

Unfortunately, it is extremely difficult to teach the simplest things. It is the conundrum faced by all the great spiritual teachers (who, by the way, all used koan, metaphor and parables to confuse and get their students out of their heads). The instruction which I can most likely envision from Jeshua – to sit down, shut up and listen –would not have made good press for whomever was writing the story. So we got this… this, “Lord’s Prayer” concoction. I am beginning to seriously doubt that it was OUR lord’s prayer – ever – it is so out of context with the rest of his teaching. Unless, of course, he was following his standard formula of confusing the logic out of us. You will have to decide that one for yourself. Meanwhile, you’ll have to excuse me – I think I need to go empty my cup once more – it is too full to receive anything else!

Another One Bites the Dust

For years I have been trying to get it right (whatever "it" is). It was a journey to perfection that I thought would refine my being. If I could only get this right or that perfect, then... Then what? I would be perfect, or right, or whole? I don't think I really thought much about the "then what" part.
But lately I have begun seeing that perfection is a false idol. It is idolatrous to pursue getting it "right" in the first place. God never tells us we have to get it right or perfect - not ever. Oh from time to time in the Bible there are human references to living the pure and chaste life. But those are man-made rules, not god-rules. God's rules are simple: "If and when you screw up, you get another chance - I am the reset button, just come to me and I will reset you."
What the quest for perfection creates, in reality, is separation. It creates a state of better than and worse than - a caste system of being and doing, if you will. Seeking perfection is seeking to rise above the masses, to get better and better and to reach a level of god-like-ness. It is trying to eat of the fruit of the Tree of Perfection.
But there is an alternative path that has been coming into view. When I let go of the drive for perfection,I begin to seek union, oneness and joining of the shredded and torn-apart life we live. Unity is embracing the "bad" with the good. It is the making whole from all of those parts I want to divorce from myself and pretend don't belong to me. Unity is god's commandment - but not just out there, in here as well. Unity demands that I embrace all of me, and do away with the distinctions of good and bad altogether.
And overarching all of this, the search for perfection is a search for certainty - the quest to know completely that this is it, the best, the fullest! In such a place there can be no doubt, and without doubt, there is no need for faith. And then where would I be. When I arrived at that thought - the thought that I would have no faith if I continued my quest for perfection, the wall came crashing down. And then the wall of divisiveness, came down, and then the insistence on good and bad, and me and other, each in turn fell. And one after another, as Freddie said, "Another one bites the dust, and another one gone, and another one down - another one bites the dust." Oh happy holy day!

Why Do You Call Me Good?

Can you say humility, Neighbor? I knew you could! (I miss Mr Rogers) Today's scripture lesson in church was the story of the rich man who asked "Good Teacher, what do I have to do (yada yada yada)?" and is often the springboard to a homily about not being attached to worldly possessions, and so on. But did you ever notice Jesus's response starts with a simple and confusing question: "Why do you call me good?"

'Scuse me? The speaker of that phrase is either the Messiah (if you believe in him) or at the very least one of the most value-driven, ethically pure and selfless men to walk the planet. What is wrong with this picture? Why would he say that? He is the good one and I am allegedly the bad one. So it is I who should say, "aw shucks, don't call me good. I'm just a worm." But that is the problem. You see, I don't say that. In fact I do wish people would recognize the good things that I do. I try to do good in the world, hopefully to offset the not-so-good I also do. But deep inside I hope and pray that the good outweighs the bad enough so that at least someone will notice and call me good.

And then I read this, and there is a hollow in the pit of my stomach. Who am I to be called good, to wish to be called good when he won't even allow that adjective for himself. Oh don't hear that as some in-bred Lutheran or Calvinist guilt. It just hits me like this huge lesson in what humility is really supposed to be like. It is doing all those same things without ever thinking of or wishing for praise. I can and often do all the right things for the wrong reasons. What I have to get to is that station where I just do them because they are what I do. Oh my, I do have such a long way to go on this road!