This sermon was preached at Glenwood and Canoe Ridge Lutheran Churches, Decorah, Iowa on July 28, 2019. It’s based on Luke 11:1-13. If you’d prefer to listen to it, find it at https://soundcloud.com/stacey-nalean-carlson.
Luke 11:1-13
1[Jesus] was praying in a certain place, and after he had finished, one of his disciples said to him, “Lord, teach us to pray, as John taught his disciples.”2He said to them, “When you pray, say: Father, hallowed be your name. Your kingdom come. 3Give us each day our daily bread. 4And forgive us our sins, for we ourselves forgive everyone indebted to us. And do not bring us to the time of trial.”
5And he said to them, “Suppose one of you has a friend, and you go to him at midnight and say to him, ‘Friend, lend me three loaves of bread; 6for a friend of mine has arrived, and I have nothing to set before him.’ 7And he answers from within, ‘Do not bother me; the door has already been locked, and my children are with me in bed; I cannot get up and give you anything.’ 8I tell you, even though he will not get up and give him anything because he is his friend, at least because of his persistence he will get up and give him whatever he needs.
9“So I say to you, Ask, and it will be given you; search, and you will find; knock, and the door will be opened for you. 10For everyone who asks receives, and everyone who searches finds, and for everyone who knocks, the door will be opened. 11Is there anyone among you who, if your child asks for a fish, will give a snake instead of a fish? 12Or if the child asks for an egg, will give a scorpion? 13If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will the heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him!”
I spent last week in Iowa City at the Iowa Summer Writing Festival. Prior to arriving, I was invited to write a letter of introduction to my teacher. Where do you live? What do you do when you’re not writing? What do you hope to get from our workshop?
In my letter, I essentially said, Teach me how to write poetry. I mentioned free verse and line breaks and countless other things that I don’t even know enough to know that I don’t know!
But as the week went on, though my teacher did teach me about the craft of poetry—the use of imagery, the making of metaphor, the rhythm and syntax and diction—what she ultimately taught me (and what I ultimately wanted to learn more than anything else) was not how to write poetry but what it is to be a poet—delighting in shaping music and meaning from carefully chosen words; seeing the world, and our experiences in it, as art in the making.
Lord, teach us to pray, one of his disciples says to Jesus. Matt Skinner writes of this request, I don’t think the hope was to learn technique, like how to achieve the proper balance among praise, confession, thanksgiving, and so on. Nor do I believe the intention was to get Jesus to institute a prayer that Christians could gather around and speak in unison whenever they meet together for worship, although there’s nothing inherently wrong with how we’ve come to use the Lord’s Prayer. I think the unnamed disciple of Luke 11:1 wanted to learn more about Jesus’ love for God and his intense desire to see God’s reign come to full fruition. “Teach us to pray” is about equivalent to “Show us your heart” or “Tell us—what is it like to be in communion with God?” 1
What is it to be beloved? To view the world through the lens of God’s grace?
What is it like to trust God above all else, to place your life in God’s hands?
Jesus answers the question with words for his disciples to use, those familiar words we’ve come to know as the Lord’s Prayer, but also with images for them to consider: God opening the door to your knocking; God as a friend, waking in the middle of the night to give you what you need to extend hospitality to another; God giving you the gift of the Holy Spirit—the one gift without which you could not believe, could not trust, could not pray.
Jesus teaches his disciples about the craft of prayer (the rhythm and syntax and diction, the words to use, the perspective to have), but ultimately, with this reference to the gift of the Holy Spirit, Jesus teaches his disciples that they are not the primary actors when it comes to prayer. It’s not about them getting it right, knowing when and how and where to pray. It’s not about them using the right words to ask for what they need. It’s not even, in the end, about them being persistent through doubts and struggles.
When all is said and done, it’s about God’s persistence in providing them with all that they need. It’s about God’s persistence in loving them, you, this whole beloved world. There would be no prayer without God’s gift to us of the Holy Spirit.
Jesus gives us words to shape our prayer when we gather for worship, when we gather at the graveside, when we go to bed each night, when we send our loved ones off to surgery, when in our fear and confusion and worry and weariness we have no words of our own.
But Jesus also gives us the gift of his belief in the God who named him beloved. He relates to God as a trusting child to a loving parent, inviting us to do the same. He points us toward the Holy Spirit, the source of his strength and courage and compassion, inviting us too to see the work of the Spirit in our lives.
In the face of daunting systemic challenges that could leave us immobilized by fear, frustration or fatigue—climate change, institutional racism, deep divisions in our government and in our communities—the Spirit emboldens us to plead with God for mercy. Your kingdom come.
And when God acts in response to our prayer, it’s the Spirit that enables us to see it—removing our blinders, empowering us to see Christ in one another, letting us see the hope in a bird’s song, a river’s current, a child’s smile, an elder’s dream.
It’s the life of the poet, seeing the world as art in the making. It’s the life of the beloved, held so secure in God’s grip that we can afford to let go and grab hold of those who need help to rise. It’s the life of prayer, the Spirit speaking through our pleading, our sighing, our songs, our cries. Your kingdom come, O God. Amen.