Our Father

    Saint Luke, the evangelist, spends more time on Jesus' prayer than any other Gospel writer; and in today's reading, he hones in on the core of that teaching:  a communal declaration of faith, an exhortation to relentless prayer, and the assurance that God will answer.

    But it all begins with a request from his followers.  The disciples notice that Jesus has this special way of praying, and they say to him, “Teach us how to pray like that.  Teach us how to pray like you do.”  Jesus’ answer is a seven-stage dialogue of love: seven petitions from the Son to the Father which we, in turn, are invited to share in the Spirit.

    And so we enter into the Trinity by using the very words Jesus himself would use when he prayed…the words he continues to use in his prayer through us.  The whole thing can be summed up in two words: OUR FATHER.  When the Christian prays, it is not the petition of a slave to his Lord or a servant to his master—it is not, fundamentally, “centering” or “mindful”, it is not an “affirmation” or a “mantra” it isn’t an attempt to attain a higher consciousness or personal growth…in fact, to focus on the personal relationship is to miss the point entirely.  The “Our” in the “Our Father” guarantees that this will not merely be a personal relationship with God.  It is an intimate prayer of perfect love, spoken as part of community that is drawn into the relationship of an infinitely loving Father and a perfectly selfless and singularly humble Son. When we speak the words of the Our Father, we are drawn into that relationship, like-like flotsam sucked into a tornado of love (I’ll find better analogy later); my point is that this prayer has a weight, a focus, an attraction, and a gravity all its own--an irresistible pull that, by its very nature draws us toward its center, which is both within us and utterly out of our reach.

It's depths are theologically infinite. It was Saint Augustine who pointed out that, of the seven petitions of the Our Father, the central petition, “give us our daily bread,” matches the central of the seven beatitudes: blessed are those who hunger and thirst; which matches the central of the seven virtues, which is fortitude; which matches the central sacrament of the Christian Faith, which is, of course, the EUCHARIST.

    “So then the Eucharist is our daily bread;” he wrote, “but let us receive it in such a way that we are not only refreshed in our bodies, but in our souls. For the virtue which we aquire here is unity, that gathered together into His body, and made His members, we may be what we receive. Then will it be indeed our daily bread. 

    By uttering the words ‘Our Father’, the Christian enters into the filial love of God’s own son, and in consuming him is consumed by him.  I’ll say it again: the eucharist is the only food that consumes us when we eat it.  “I do not, therefore, regard the bread and wine as simply bread and wine;” wrote saint Cyril of Jerusalem, “for they are, according to the Master’s declaration, the body and blood of Christ. Even though the senses suggest to you the other, let faith make you firm. Do not judge in this matter by taste, but be fully assured by faith, never doubting that you have been deemed worthy of the very body and blood of Christ…partake of that bread as something spiritual, and put a cheerful face on your soul" (ibid., 22:6, 9).

 

          During my travels over the last few months, I’ve discovered some new saints. And although all the saints share a devotion to the Holy Eucharist, I’m particularly drawn to the misfits, the failures, and the losers.  Foremost among those losers are Saint Drogo of Sebourg and Saint Mark Ti Tiensiong.  Saint Mark was addicted to opium, and his parish priest wouldn’t allow him into the church, so he sat outside the doors and would peak in every day and watch the mass from outside.  Since his pastor told him addiction was a mortal sin, and he knew he wasn’t ever going to quit, he resolved to be martyred—which he was.

            Saint Drogo has a longer, more complex story, but you get a certain sense of him from his patronage.  Saint Drogo of Sebourg is the patron saint of ugly People, def people, gall stones, hernias, intestinal blockages and ruptures, nausea, insanity, mental illness, mute people, deaf people, and orphans.  This poor guy couldn’t catch a break….  What’s more, like Saint Mark, he was forbidden to enter the Church because, apparently, he scared the children.  So he dug a hole in the wall of the church and built a shack on the other side, where he would sit and watch the holy sacrifice being offered.  He also happens to be the patron saint of coffee, because, at the end of each day, he would comfort himself by drinking a bowl of warm water.

 

(FYI…I’ve made holy cards of both saints which you can find at the exits this morning.)

 

“Eat Christ, then;” writes Saint Augustine, “for, though eaten, He yet lives, for when slain He rose from the dead. Nor do we divide Him into parts when we eat Him: though indeed this is done in the Sacrament, as the faithful well know when they eat the Flesh of Christ, for each receives his part, hence are those parts called graces. Yet though thus eaten in parts He remains whole and entire; eaten in parts in the Sacrament, He remains whole and entire in Heaven. {Mai 129, 1; cf. Sermon 131; on p.65}

 

In the name of the Father…