Our Father Who Art in Heaven
“We’ll leave the light on for you.”
(Slogan of Motel 6, Dad’s preferred place to stay when traveling)
"Matt, I know it's last minute, but would you make some opening comments and pray to begin our family gathering here before Dad’s funeral mass?”
"Of course," I heard myself saying. This seemed to be the only fitting response to my brother's question. But now what?
I am a preparer, a planner, one who thinks long about things before doing them. But in just five minutes I would be standing before my entire extended family, and being the first to speak at this very significant and emotion-laden milestone. I felt my mind spooling up instantly into hyperdrive, while my already overloaded emotions moved over to make room for these new emotions that came with this sudden-yet-wonderful request. This might have been totally immobilizing were it not for the instant help that came from two trusted sources.
For some reason some wise words from my past came to mind. I once served as Executive Officer to a colonel during my Air Force days. One day during that year of working very closely together, Colonel Thad Sandford mentioned that when he was occasionally asked to say an invocation at a gathering he would use the Lord's prayer as a template and put it in his own words. Hmm … would that work in this moment?
"Our Father, who art in heaven …" Yes, that will work.
Having attended evangelical churches for the prior fifteen years, my prayer style had become more off-the-cuff and personal. In contrast, most in my family were practicing Catholics, and praying out loud tended to be limited to reciting the Lord's Prayer, which we had done as a family on a few occasions. So I thought that prayer would be within everyone's comfort zone, and I took Colonel Sandford's advice as I walked up to make some opening comments and lead a family prayer. But I had no idea how uniquely profound it would feel to stand with Dad's open coffin just in front of me, and the rest of our large family sitting in row after row facing us.
Despite the intensity of that moment, I could feel that God was right there with me. He somehow gave me the words, along with the peace to share them in what I hope was a gentle, loving way. God enabled me to briefly explain how radical it was when Jesus taught his followers to pray by addressing God as "our Father." In his day, this would have been considered deeply inappropriate by the Jewish leaders. But as he often did, Jesus was teaching in unexpected ways. He taught his followers to address God as "our Father" to help them learn to approach God with reverence as our holy, heavenly Father while at the same time to experience and know him as our loving, caring Father.
In those moments as I spoke to my family, I was very aware that I was standing beside Dad, who I had come to know so much better over the seven years since our cross-country trip together back in 2001. At the same time I was sharing thoughts about God, the heavenly Father I had also begun to know so much more deeply over those same seven years. Meanwhile, my heart longed to know that everyone in that room had come to a personal and saving knowledge of Jesus, so we could all be assured of full family togetherness even after death. I wanted my words to encourage anyone who might be far from God to turn back toward him, yet I knew it was important for me to do so without offending or upsetting. What a whirlwind of intertwined ideas and emotions!
The last photo of Dad and me
But God breathed calming peace into our midst with just a few words:
"Our Father, who art in heaven …"
These words were so laced with layers of meaning in that moment! God was indeed in heaven, and yet somehow also right there with us in this time of grief. Meanwhile, my sense and my confident hope was that Dad was now with God in heaven. I don't recall the finer details of my couple-minute sharing, but I vividly remember the sweet-yet-painful emotions that swirled in my head and heart as I shared and took in the profound view of my father, his body surrounded by his extended family in that room, and yet somehow, at the very same time, he was enjoying those most beautiful first days sitting face-to-face with his eternal father as they sat side-by-side on the front porch of heaven.
Always one to plan ahead for upcoming tasks, Dad had six sons. Caskets have six handles. Go figure!
Soon our voices and hearts united around those familiar opening words and the rest of the Lord's Prayer. "Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed is thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven …" As we spoke these words in unison to God our Father, I know they had a richer and sweeter sense of meaning and deeper relevance for each of us … and for Dad.
Our father, who art in heaven … indeed.
[scroll down for author’s reflections and some questions to ponder]
Author’s Reflection
Having just finished writing a story on my birthday that was about my birthday a few weeks ago, this week I found myself writing this "Our Father" story on Father's Day. I guess it made me feel like I was honoring Dad on the day that is much about doing just that. I find that these stories just seem to flow when they flow, so when that happens I try to seize the moment and "write when the writing is good." In fact, I was putting the finishing touches on this story right as my son and his family arrived to join us for a Father's day barbecue.
I suppose writing is similar to relationships in this sense – naturalness is an essential ingredient. It is good to write when the words naturally flow, and it is good to have the same sort of openness and flow when we spend time with one another.
I hope this is what my father is experiencing with God now. As I hinted about at the end of my story above, I like to imagine Dad sitting with God on the front porch of heaven, sipping glasses of lemonade or, of Dad get's his choice, a cold bottle of beer. I imagine Dad and God looking over something that had just been finished, enjoying the feeling of accomplishment and closure. This is just like we did many times after finishing a hard day's work on a project in the yard or the house. But in this case, I imagine that what they are looking out at and reflecting upon is not so much a project involving wheel barrows or electrical wires or paint cans. Rather, I see them looking out over a well-lived life, rich with highs and lows, accomplishments and shortcomings, and dripping with love.
I wonder what they might be chatting about on that porch?
Mom (holding me) and Dad (wearing a tie for some reason) surrounded by the children they made so many beautiful sacrifices for and loved so well.
No doubt God would offer Dad an "attaboy" for his years of loving sacrifice in supporting his wife through thick and thin, and working together to raise us eight kids and teach us well and point us toward God. I can see them revisiting sweet memories and enjoying retelling old stories, much like Dad and I got to do on our 10-day cross-country drive. I imagine Dad asking about the special children he always had a heart for, ones he selflessly and quietly built handicapped ramps for or discretely sent cards with money to help their families make ends meet. As God affirmed him for these sweet deeds, Dad would humbly try to change the subject, but God would still manage to speak truth about the goodness in Dad’s heart.
I think God would also gently steer their conversation toward the heavy pile of difficult things Dad had experienced in his life. These were things Dad rarely if ever talked about – at least not with us. Growing up with parents who dealt with serious alcoholism. Serving in the Navy during World War Two. Supporting his wife as she faced debilitating cancers, chronic pain, and the heart disease that took her life way too early. And probably, as we all have, some private struggles and shortcomings that likely only he and God knew about. While heaven is a place where there are no more tears and where all is forgiven, I still think there are conversations to be had with God to process and understand the meaning and the greater story behind the joys and the hardships of our lives and those we love. And so, in my imagination at least, Dad and God sat on that porch, having a very real conversation, enjoying togetherness while also looking out over a lifetime of experiences.
In the mix of that conversation, I also envision God taking his turn to share more of his story with Dad. His experiences of joys and heartbreaks, his projects and creative works – including one most-special creation that went astray, and his painful deployment of his only son to rescue his lost family. Stories of old, retold face-to-face, heart-to-heart, over a cold beverage on a hot day, while a cool breeze of sweet peace flows gently across the porch and brings true and lasting healing.
While I can imagine all this, I can't know what Dad experienced exactly, or what we will each experience when our turn comes. But I do know that God is good and loving and that he fulfills all his promises. And I know that we get foretastes of the sweetness of heaven as we endeavor to be real with God and with one another day-by-day. And I hope that we do all get to eventually experience such front-porch times with God when we ultimately see him face-to-face. Yes, this is my confident hope for me and for you and for everyone.
Real time with our father, who art in heaven.
Imagine yourself sitting on the front porch of heaven, reflecting back on your life and times, and enjoying finally being with the one who made you, loves you, and launched the rescue mission that enabled you to find your way back to him in the end.
REFLECT:
What do you call God when you speak to him? Father? Lord? God? Something else? (God has many names and titles in the Bible.) Where did you learn to address him this way, and how do you feel about it?
If you could sit on a porch with God right now and talk to him about something, what might that be? What would you share with him or ask him about?
Let’s Chat …
I’d appreciate hearing your impressions and feedback below. Or send me a message about your own related experiences and insights. Thanks for joining the journey of discovery.
