Our Father: The Audacity of the Lord's Prayer

When Jesus taught His disciples to pray, He could have begun with anything. He could have started with "Almighty God" or "King of the Universe" or "Holy One of Israel." Instead, He gave us permission—no, a command—to begin with the most intimate word imaginable: "Father." Not just any father, but "Our Father, who art in heaven."

This begins our journey through the Lord's Prayer, that perfect prayer which Saint Augustine called "the summary of all holy desires." Over the coming days, we will explore each petition, discovering how these few lines contain everything we need to know about prayer, about God, and about ourselves. But everything depends on getting the beginning right. As Teresa of Ávila wisely observed, how we understand these first words determines whether our prayer will be a duty or a delight, a monologue or a conversation, an exercise in religion or an encounter with Love Himself.

 

The Scandal of "Our"

Notice that Jesus doesn't teach us to pray "My Father." From the very first word, we are confronted with a profound truth: we never pray alone. Even in the solitude of our rooms, even in the silence of our hearts, we begin with "Our."

This little word contains a revolution. In a world that prizes individual spirituality and personal enlightenment, Christ insists that we cannot approach God as isolated individuals. As Cyprian of Carthage wrote in his treatise on the Lord's Prayer, "We do not say 'My Father, who art in heaven,' nor 'Give me this day my daily bread'... our prayer is public and common, and when we pray, we pray not for one, but for the whole people, because we the whole people are one" (De Dominica Oratione, 8).

Martin Luther, in his Large Catechism, emphasizes this communal dimension: "God thereby teaches us to recognize that we are all brothers and sisters, children of one Father, and that we should therefore love and help one another as brothers and sisters do" (Large Catechism, III, 62). Even in the Protestant tradition, which so strongly emphasizes personal faith, Luther recognized that the Lord's Prayer makes private Christianity impossible.

Think about what this means practically. When you pray "Our Father," you are praying with the Christian struggling with doubt in Tokyo, with the grandmother fingering her rosary in Mexico City, with the teenager questioning everything in suburban Ohio, with the martyr facing death in Syria. You are even praying with that person in your life who has hurt you most deeply—for they too, if they are in Christ, share this same Father.

 

The Audacity of "Father"

But the real scandal isn't just the "Our"—it's what comes next. We dare to call the Creator of galaxies, the One who holds atoms together, the Ancient of Days... "Father."

Teresa of Ávila, in her Way of Perfection, marvels at this audacity: "O my Lord, how like a Father You show Yourself to be! ... How is it, Lord, that in so few words You have filled our understanding with so much love and given us so much to think about that all the books in the world would not suffice to explain this prayer?" (Way of Perfection, Chapter 27). She understood that this single word "Father" contains the entire Gospel.

The Aramaic word Jesus likely used was "Abba"—a term of intimate endearment. As Paul tells us, it is the Spirit of adoption who enables us to cry "Abba, Father" (Romans 8:15), the same Spirit who descended upon Jesus at His baptism when the Father declared, "This is my beloved Son" (Matthew 3:17).

Here we touch upon something profound: when we pray "Our Father," we are not simply using a metaphor. We are participating in Christ's own relationship with the Father. Thomas Aquinas explains that we become sons and daughters of God "by participating in the likeness of His natural Son" (Summa Theologiae, III, q. 23, a. 1). When we say "Father," we say it in Christ, with Christ, through Christ.

John Chrysostom puts it powerfully: "He bids us call God Father, in order to remind us of the grace we have received in baptism, wherein we were adopted as sons... and that we might not fall from this nobility" (Homilies on Matthew, 19.4). Every time we begin the Lord's Prayer, we are remembering our baptism, reclaiming our identity, and refusing the orphan spirit that would have us approach God as strangers or slaves.

 

"Who Art in Heaven"

But lest we become overly familiar, Jesus immediately adds "who art in heaven." This isn't a statement about God's location—as if heaven were a place on a map. Rather, as the Catechism of the Catholic Church explains, "This biblical expression does not mean a place ('space'), but a way of being; it does not mean that God is distant, but majestic" (CCC, 2794).

Teresa of Ávila offers a beautiful insight here. She notes that saying "who art in heaven" actually brings God closer, not farther away: "Since You have a Father like this One who is in heaven, you can be sure that He will not fail you... Where is heaven? Wherever God is, there is heaven. You can believe without any doubt that where His Majesty is, there is all glory" (Way of Perfection, Chapter 28).

Luther adds another dimension, suggesting that "who art in heaven" distinguishes our true Father from earthly fathers: "He wants to draw our hearts away from the temporal, evil, imperfect fatherhood on earth and lift them up to the eternal, good, and perfect Fatherhood in heaven" (Large Catechism, III, 64). This reminds us that our Heavenly Father's love is perfect and unflawed.

Augustine brings these themes together beautifully: "'Our Father who art in heaven'—that is, in the saints and the just. For God is not contained in space... Heaven, Augustine insists, is wherever God reigns fully—and that can be in your heart right now" (Sermon on the Mount, II, 5.17).

 

The Union This Creates

When we truly understand these opening words, everything changes. We realize that prayer is not about informing God of our needs (He already knows them), nor about changing His mind (His will is perfect), but about entering into relationship—a relationship we don't create but one that Christ shares with us.

Gregory of Nyssa expressed this beautifully: "How great is the mercy of our Master! We are slaves who have revolted, runaways who have deserted... and He teaches us to call Him Father!" (On the Lord's Prayer, Sermon 2). This is pure gift, pure grace.

If God is truly "Our Father," then several things must follow:

Absolute Confidence: We can approach Him with certainty. Teresa of Ávila encourages us: "Since He is your Father, there is no trial He will not help you bear. He will sustain you in all things" (Way of Perfection, Chapter 27). A child simply comes to her father; she doesn't need a special appointment or ritual.

Universal Family: We must treat others as family. John Calvin, despite the theological differences between Protestant and Catholic traditions, agrees: "We cannot pray this prayer without praying for our enemies, for all humanity shares one Father" (Institutes, III.20.38). If someone is human, they are at least potentially our sibling in Christ.

Authentic Living: We must live as children of such a Father. Maximus the Confessor warns: "One who prays 'Our Father who art in heaven' while harboring hatred for his brother prays a lie" (Chapters on Love, 4.36).

 

Conclusion: Entering the Divine Dialogue

The simple opening phrase of the Lord's Prayer—"Our Father, who art in heaven"—is the most revolutionary statement in all of Scripture. It breaks down the walls of individual isolation ("Our"), shatters the fear of a distant deity ("Father"), and simultaneously anchors us to the perfect, eternal source of all love ("who art in heaven").

Before we even get to a single request, we are placed on holy ground: adopted into God's family, reconciled to humanity, and standing in the very sonship of Christ. This is not just how to start a prayer; it is how to start a life. It is the daily invitation to trade the orphan spirit for the spirit of Abba, to exchange our fragile independence for the unshakeable security of the family of God. Let us proceed into the coming days, exploring the petitions with this fundamental truth always on our lips and in our hearts.

 

In Our Father's Grace, through His Son,

Judah