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The
Lord's Prayer
by Aiya Maston
The Lord’s Prayer has never been one of
my favorite prayers.
“Our Father” makes my feminist heart
cringe, and the idea of humbly asking “Papa” to meet our
every need stirs the rebel in me. When we say
“debtors,” I think it sounds like a business deal, and
when we say “Trespassers,” all I hear is “SSSSSSS.”
It’s not that I don’t recognize that we
are all a part of the Universe’s bounty. I even
subscribe to the idea that we have been given the gift
of life, and it behooves us to appreciate that fact. I
believe we are all God’s children. I believe in
the power of prayer, both for the pray-er and the pray-ee.
So, what’s my problem?
When I hear a crowd reading or saying
something in stumbling unison, droning on without any
apparent thought or feeling, I become wildly impatient.
Rote recitation seems like the opposite of prayer to me.
It’s more like an unwelcome homework assignment than
true communication with the Divine.
I’m not that picky about the form prayer
takes. “Help, help, help!” is one I use often, and
anyone who knows me will tell you “Oh My God” falls from
my lips all the time. I meditate, chant, and
practice moving meditations, intercessional and
Transformational Prayer. I sing Gospel music,
which is making a joyful noise and proclaiming the Good
News. You could say God and I are “like that.”
So why is the Lord’s Prayer so difficult for me?
At Suquamish United Church, we believe
that there are many paths to the same awakening.
Therefore, I try to have respect for the habits of
others. In my discomfort over the corporate
prayer, I reasoned that maybe there was something about
TLP (The Lords Prayer) that worked for folks. It
has stood the test of time, after all. I posited
that I don’t have to like everything about worship to
worship God. To ease my discomfort while also
honoring my fellow worshippers, I decided to bow my head
and participate silently. That way, I reasoned, I
wouldn’t be adding to the monotonous cacophony, and
could support those who enjoyed praying TLP at the same
time.
As often happens when we try to act with
respect, to find a compromise with which we can live
while supporting others, I have had a change come upon
me.
When I started listening instead of
fuming, praying instead of judging, I began to hear what
was going on around me. There on Sunday morning,
surrounded by the people I love, people I’m trying to
love, and people I don’t know yet, I heard
their
interpretations of the prayer.
Tom says “Our Creator who art in Heaven.”
I know from conversations with him that to him, heaven
is a state of being. I hear that every Sunday now.
Mel, a man I admire very much, says “Our Mother/Father
who are in Heaven.” It brings me to tears of
gratitude some Sundays to think that a middle class
white man of my parent’s generation thinks of God as his
Mother and Father. My dear friend Cindy informs my
knowledge of the Universe when she prays: “Hallowed be
thy
names."
Bert says the words with complete conviction; no
mumbling there. Sophie prays like she’s having a
conversation, listen intently with each phrase. I
can imagine people all around me connecting to their own
personal image of God. And they’re all the truth.
Now I look forward to The Lord’s Prayer.
I listen to the people around me. I think of the
people distant in time and space that have interpreted
those words for themselves. Maybe even my friend
Jesus of Nazareth, who became Christ.
