Sermon Tone Analysis

Prayer is Reflective

This passage orbits around the topic of prayer.

And we’ve seen a pattern emerge almost from day one: How you pray reflects what you believe about God.

I’ll show you two examples

If you often pray in public, but rarely pray in secret, you believe...

…that God doesn’t really hear you

…even if he hears you, he doesn’t care

…that even if he cares, you don’t need his help anyhow

…because the respect of people is really all you need.

If you mindlessly repeat empty words, you believe...

…that God is distant

…that God is a fool

…that God is easily manipulated

…that God is easily distracted.

Jesus says that how you pray matters.

It reflects what you believe about God.

But there’s more.

There’s another pattern, and we’re going to see it in our passage this morning.

And if you take it seriously, this pattern can radically shift how you live and what you believe — What you pray reflects what you believe about you.

Our prayers — the things that we ask God for — reflect what we think we need.

And that, friends, is a dramatic understatement.

Because what you pray for reflects what you believe you need at the most fundamental levels, and that has global implications.

A profound mistake

I want to tell you what I think is the point of this passage by reading a commentary that, I think, misses the point altogether.

Let me give you some context.

When we first spoke about this prayer, I mentioned that it’s divided into two halves.

You can see it clearly enough at first glance.

Your Name | Your Kingdom | Your Will

My needs | My Debts | My Temptations

The first half of this prayer seems to focus exclusively on God — his glory, his kingdom, his will.

And the second half of this prayer seems to focus exclusively on us — our frailty, our foolishness, our desperation.

And the trick of understanding this prayer is to see the relationship between the two.

Now I want to read a single line from one of my favorite commentaries — one of the most celebrated commentaries on Matthew — because I think that it think profoundly misses the mark.

“The prayer seeks first God’s glory, not the petitioner’s own needs.”

…first God’s glory — NOT the petitioners own needs.

There it is.

In a single word, a profound mistake that misses the point of this passage, and this prayer, and this book, and this Bible, entirely.

Because the glory of God IS our most profound need.

Every other desire we foster, every other need we feel, no matter how acutely, is

less fundamental,

less central,

less significant than God’s glory.

The first half of this prayer is not mere decorum.

It is not a civil nod.

It is not the ceremonial trappings that precede the event.

The first half of this prayer IS the event.

The problem is when you see God’s glory — and what I mean when I say that is the celebration of his holiness and the restoration of his reign, and the submission of all creation to his will — when you see God’s glory as something other than, something apart from your needs.

That’s the mistake.

And though I suspect it was an unfortunate accidental implication in this writer’s case, I’m afraid that misstep highlights a fundamental crack in our faith and our practice and our prayers.

And by way of that misstep we arrive at the point of this passage.

God’s glory IS your most fundamental need.

You — you individually — more than anything you’ve ever longed for, stand in desperate need of God’s glory.

The structure of this prayer is a lesson in priorities.

God’s name honored, God’s kingdom come, God’s will done — in other words, God’s Glory — is the sun around which all of our lesser needs orbit.

Addressing our hunger, our debts, our temptations, outside of the framework of God’s comprehensive reign, is a meaningless exercise.

That’s why this prayer begins with a plea for God to be seen as he is, and for his righteous reign to come, and for his will to be done.

Because his glory is the beating heart of our hope.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

Let’s read the passage together.

The Preface

We spent a lot of time last week thinking about the preface to this prayer, so I don’t want to devote too much time here.

It’s enough to remember that God is not not deaf, and he’s not dumb.

He isn’t like the Greek gods whose attention is won by many mantras.

God, rather, is your father.

He knows you, he loves you, and he cares about you — so much so that he knows what you need before you ask him.

That’s there on purpose.

Because the love of our Father is the cornerstone of this plea for his name and his kingdom and his will.

If you stood as an enemy of God, his reign and will would be your nightmare.

But if you are Christ’s disciple, then you stand reconciled to God.

All of the love of the Father for the Son, who stood as your representative, is poured out on you.

And because you stand reconciled to God, because you stand in his favor, his honor and his reign and his will is your good.

Our reconciliation to God, our adoption in Christ, is so central to our faith that every prayer should start and end in its reflection.

Our Father

So Jesus teaches us to pray, “Our Father.”

The way Jesus uses these words is fascinating.

Did you know that when Jesus is reflecting on our need for forgiveness, he says, “your Father.”

Because Christ has no sin.

And when he’s teaching his disciples about his unique, eternal relationship with the Father, he says “my Father.”

Because we are creatures, and we are adopted into sonship.

And after he’s crucified and raised again, he comforts his disciples by assuring them that he goes to “my Father and your Father.”

Because his victory over death is the foundation of our adoption.

We’re told, then, to pray to “Our Father, in Heaven.”

This is not only a reflection on God’s love, but the first in a series of reflections on his distance.

Not in a negative sense — Jesus has comforted us with a promise that the Father is not far from us.

He’s with us in secret as we pray.

He sees our secret righteousness.

But in some sense this is a reflection of God’s distance.

His impermanent distance.

You’ll see what I mean if you keep reading.

“May your name be hallowed”

“May your kingdom come”

“May your will be done”

Where?

Here.

Like it is in heaven.

The implication, then, is that his name isn’t honored here.

His kingdom hasn’t yet come here.

His will isn’t yet done here.

At least in the way it’s done in heaven.

So even when we cry out to our Father, our cries are anchored in our longing that he would dwell, once again, with his people.