We call it “The” Lord’s Prayer. Scholars and preachers dissect each clause. Is it of Aramaic origin? Who knows? Since it’s the only prayer we have where Jesus says, “pray this way,” it becomes “the” prayer.
Even though we have “the” Lord’s Prayer, the gospels contain other prayers of and by Jesus. According to the text, the Lord’s Prayer is one of several prayers of Jesus. Jesus prayed for the sick, his disciples, himself, and even the city of Jerusalem. In one way, these are all prayers from our “Lord.” They are all worthy of study and emulation. I immediately think of Jesus’ prayer for his disciples in John’s gospel (17:1-25), “that they may be one.” John 17 may not be the shortest or most accessible of Jesus’ prayers. It is one of the most important. Methodists need to remember this prayer as often we recall “The Lord’s Prayer.”
In my mind, John 17 is a quintessential Lord’s Prayer. The entire chapter is Jesus praying. These twenty-five verses are some of Jesus’ most heartfelt words for humanity. “I am asking on their behalf; I am not asking on behalf of the world, but on behalf of those whom you have me, because they are yours.” They come from a place deep within his soul, and each syllable belongs to him.
Luke 11:1-13 is different. In the traditional version of the Lord’s Prayer, Jesus is trying to help us find our words for our prayer. The result, reading Luke 11:1-13 isn’t that we’ll only pray Jesus’ model prayer. So what’s the right answer to, “Lord, teach us how to pray?” We’ll use Jesus’ words to find our language to express gratitude, acknowledge God’s holiness, the presence of God’s kingdom among us, our need for forgiveness, and a desire to be better tomorrow than we were today.
So we call Luke 11:1-13 the Lord’s Prayer, yes. That’s true. It’s also your prayer, a gift from Jesus, to use as you will. Take it, make it your own, and have a conversation with God about gratitude as a way of opening your heart to others, how sacred creation is, how present God is, how much you need God, and the desire to live a better life.
Richard Lowell Bryant
The Parable of the Good Samaritan is probably Jesus’ best-known parable. I would put its public awareness slightly higher than that of the prodigal son. It’s a concept that is known the world over and is even enshrined in civil law. It was the theme of the last Seinfeld episode. The idea of being and needing a “Good Samaritan” is in our cultural DNA. Here’s what I want to say: most of us don’t get the parable or understand the irony at the heart of the term “good Samaritan.” What Jesus, the guy we follow, meant by the idea of a Samaritan, and we mean by a Samaritan are two different concepts. When we read, teach, or preach this passage, we invariably see ourselves as the Samaritan. We are not the Samaritan. That’s not how Jesus wanted his 1st-century listeners to encounter the story. We’re the man traveling the road from Jerusalem to Jericho, half dead, dying in the ditch. We are waiting for the Samaritan. And believe it or not, the Samaritan is the last person we want to see.
Nobody liked the Samaritans. They were heretics to mainstream Judaism. Living in the isolated region of Samaria, they’d been gone so long and doing their own thing, they were the despised, unclean cousins of Jesus’ temple Judaism. From their worship practices to how they interpreted scripture, they were different. Those who called the shots couldn’t live with different. Different had to be shunned, isolated, and abandoned. I can’t say this any more precise: the majority of people (in Jesus’ day) hated the heretic Samaritans and the Samaritans knew this.
As much as we want to describe ourselves as life-saving Good Samaritans; most of us have never lived as reviled actual Samaritans. In truth, very few of us have ever been assaulted and left for dead. Yet, we do represent the religious mainstream, the dominant theological culture of one form or another. That gives us some perspective on the story. Let’s read and listen to this passage with our 1st-century eyes and ears. Were we to need help, who would our Samaritan, be? Perhaps your Samaritan would be Donald Trump or Colin Kaepernick or Megan Rapinoe or Mitch McConnell? Who is the last person you would want to stop, expect to stop, and then care for your injuries? That’s your Samaritan. I may be your Samaritan. This is what Jesus is trying to tell us. Will our culture wars end when we start seeing everyone who annoys us as potential Samaritans? When we meet our Samaritan walls go down and relationships are formed. I don’t know. It does sound like the kind of idea Jesus might endorse.
Richard Lowell Bryant
We are burdened by stuff. I knew this before I moved, and now I know it more to an even higher degree. It is the curse of our people. We have too many things. Even if you live as I did, in a small home, it’s possible to pack one’s belongings in even tighter. Then, when the day of reckoning arrives, and you’re required to lay hands on each item, you realize the overabundance of your possessions. The absolute greed of the minutiae which dominates every area of your life is beyond befuddling.
At the moment it needs to be packed and loaded into a vehicle and transported to another house of worship, never greater is my urge to destroy all my belongings and begin my new ministry with only the clothes on my back. Donate them, destroy them, burn some; by this point in the process, I no longer care. I want to be free of the junk I’ve collected. Purge is probably the correct word. I want to confess my sins made manifest in the garbage I’ve carried year after year and to church after church. I seek absolution. Throw that dresser and its contents as far as the east is from the west. I am now a minimalist, and I will be happy. I’m not just saying this. I am happy.
I learned everything I need to know about being a minimalist disciple from Jesus of Nazareth. In fact, this week’s lectionary passage makes the case for downsizing dramatically. In Luke 10:4, Jesus sends out the disciples with these instructions, “Carry no wallet, bag, and no sandals.” Wow! That’s basic! I love it. Think of all the stuff we claim we need to do ministry. How many Bible apps do I have on my iPad and iPhone combined? I’ve got four robes, a dozen stoles, and I moved more pairs of shoes than I can count. I have two wallets. Why do I need two wallets?
Jesus wanted the disciples to be dependent on those they encountered and their hospitality. People matter more than things. Stuff, like the batteries in our gadgets and headset microphones, will eventually fail. Our wallets will be stolen. We build community by opening up to others. If the doors don’t open, Jesus says move on. The kingdom of God is coming one way or another. How free are we to move, whether we’re itinerant clergy or not? Are we able to walk across the street or down the road? Is there emotional baggage holding us back? What do we need to put down so we can go serve Jesus? Somewhere, something is needing to be done.
Richard Lowell Bryant
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