A Visceral Sense Of Connectedness And Wholeness

[Note: Today’s guest blogger is Kateri Boucher. Kateri Boucher is the grateful daughter of Lynne and Mike Boucher. She is a student in Divinity and Eco-Justice at United Theological Seminary of the Twin Cities and a postulant for priesthood in the Episcopal Church. She lives in Detroit, Michigan, with an opinionated tabby cat, Lucy. Thank you, Kateri!]

I was so excited to see that today’s gospel reading includes the passage from Matthew 6:9-13. Those chapter and verse numbers might not ring a bell right away, but I’m certain you know the passage – this is the place when Jesus teaches what has become the most common Christian prayer: the “Our Father” or the “Lord’s Prayer.” 

As part of my ordination process in the Episcopal church, I was recently asked to write a spiritual autobiography detailing some of the formative spiritual experiences throughout my life. One of the first ones that came to mind was the experience of singing the “Our Father” at Spiritus each week growing up. I have such distinct memories of standing in the Hochstein balcony, looking out at the beautiful sea of people holding hands as we sang. As the song would swell and we’d raise our hands up to sing “For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory…” I remember feeling such a visceral sense of connectedness and wholeness. It felt almost transportative, like we were all being brought somewhere else, briefly, together. 

Have you had any similar experiences in singing or saying the Our Father? What were your experiences around this prayer growing up? 

One thing I find remarkable about the Lord’s Prayer is that its popularity transcends specific traditions and denominations. You could hear it being read or sung in services of all stripes: Catholic, Anglican, Lutheran, Methodist, Presbyterian, Baptist, Eastern Orthodox, Church of God in Christ, Pentecostal, Baptist… I’ve heard it said that at any given time around the world, someone, somewhere, is reciting this prayer. (In fact, probably many someones, in many somewheres!)

The version we sing at Spiritus is close to the traditional form of the prayer, corresponding with Jesus’s words in today’s gospel. But these words have also been translated and adapted to many different contexts. One of my favorite adaptations is from The New Zealand Prayer Book (He Karakia Mihinare o Aotearoa), which was written out of both the Anglican tradition and Māori and Pasefika beliefs and practices. I think it’s worth sharing here in its entirety. It goes: 

Eternal Spirit, Earth-maker, Pain-bearer, Life-giver,
Source of all that is and that shall be,
Father and Mother of us all,
Loving God, in whom is heaven:
The hallowing of your name echo through the universe!
The way of your justice be followed by the peoples of the world!
Your heavenly will be done by all created beings!
Your commonwealth of peace and freedom sustain our hope and come on earth.
With the bread we need for today, feed us.
In the hurts we absorb from one another, forgive us.
In times of temptation and test, strengthen us.
From trials too great to endure, spare us.
From the grip of all that is evil, free us.
For you reign in the glory of the power that is love, now and for ever.

Amen.

What does reading this version of the prayer bring up for you? Are there differences from the traditional version that stand out for you? 

Reading the New Zealand version always helps open up this classic prayer for me in new ways. I remember first hearing the phrase “In the hurts we absorb from one another” and feeling so moved by this interpretation of the original “Forgive us our debts/sins/trespasses.” I also love what both the opening and closing lines have to offer us theologically. Instead of simply praying “Our Father” as the sole name for God, this version uses so many different names and ways of speaking about God – “Earth-maker” and “Pain-bearer” are two that often speak to me. And instead of asserting that God’s is “the kingdom, the power and the glory,” this version asserts that God “reigns in the glory of the power that is love.”

In both the traditional version and the New Zealand version, it feels notable that this prayer doesn’t once contain the word “I.” When Jesus taught us how to pray, he seemed to really mean us! Even when prayed alone, these words contain a kind of communal expression that yokes our prayers together. Our ability to be forgiven is predicated on our ability to forgive one another; our ability to resist temptation and evil is strengthened through one another’s presence; our ability to bring heaven on earth is a daily, communal practice. 

Whenever we pray this prayer, whether in the fullness of a Hochstein service or in the quiet of our own hearts, may we somehow feel ourselves connected to so many around the world, across space and time and tradition, who continue to echo these words from Jesus, and try, in our own small ways, to embody them more fully in our lives.