It is always we; it is never me

My Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name

Thy kingdom come, thy will be done

On earth as it is in heaven.

Give me this day my daily bread

And forgive me my trespasses, as I forgive those who trespass against me

Lead me not into temptation, and deliver me from evil

For thine is the kingdom, the power, and the glory, forever and ever.

Did you notice something different about the way I said that prayer?  It was a personal prayer, wasn’t it? It was a prayer for me, not for we. And why not? Since I am responsible for my own sin, my own decisions, my own prayer discipline, don’t I need my own prayer?  Why don’t we say, “my father, my daily bread, my trespasses?”

Perhaps the main reason is that Jesus literally dictated the Lord’s prayer as “Our Father.” The words can be found in Matthew chapter 6, verses 9-13. “Pray then, this way,” Jesus says: “Πάτερ ἡμῶν” the prayer begins. Our Father. “Τὸν ἄρτον ἡμῶν” – our daily bread. Not me--we. Not mine—ours.

OK, so what was Jesus thinking? No one knows the mind of Christ entirely, but the Gospels tell us that his central message was that the kingdom of heaven was drawing near. And the kingdom of heaven has everything to do with relating to each other, living together, in a wholly new way—coming from darkness into light, selfishness into maturity, foolishness into wisdom, “me” into “we.” We bring the kingdom closer by inviting Christ into our hearts and into our lives as the means of our reconciliation and restoration, to each other and with all creation. It may start with me—and I am surely blessed by it—but it is not about me. And it is not just for me—but for all of us: for the whole world, for whom we pray.  It is not my church. It is not your church. It is our church. Church is about community.

The first thing Jesus did in his earthly ministry was to form a community. He called the 12 disciples, and shared his life with them, teaching them what it meant to live together in Christ. Paul is trying to do the same in our Epistle reading. He calls the Ephesians to be a community held together by the spirit of Jesus Christ amongst them. He wants them to imagine a world where politicians put away false rhetoric and become truth-tellers. Where parents and bosses move from acting in anger to leading in gentleness. Where the ultimate goal of justice is to restore an individual to productive membership in community instead of punishment alone. Where artists, writers, or musicians use their gifts to lift people up instead of degrading people and communities.

Who wouldn’t want to live in such a community – where bitterness and wrath and anger and malice are foresworn, and where kindness, compassion and forgiveness ruled the day? The early Christians hungered for it. They thirsted for it. So they formed communities to bring this kingdom closer to earth.

In the earliest days of our faith, many people were converted simply by observing these Christian communities. More than the preaching in the town squares and the philosophical debates about the true nature of Jesus’s divinity—what spoke to people was how Christians lived together in love, sharing what they had, encouraging each other in their suffering, extending extravagant, even risky hospitality to strangers and the sick—and with such joy! Such serene fearlessness! Even in the face of death. The communities they formed didn’t make sense in their times: Jews and Gentiles, rich and poor, women and men, slave and free--working together, side by side.  And there was something all these disparate people seemed to share—something that made them one, something that lit them from within. The seekers would watch them, and wonder—“What do they have, what do they know, that I do not? I want to be one of them. Maybe they will accept me.”

Paul knew that whatever we say, whatever we pray—it’s our life together that is our testing and proving ground. Jesus said, what you have done to others is what you have done to me. Conversely, if you want to know about this Jesus movement—you can’t just read about it. You have to come together with Jesus followers. That’s why all of Paul’s letters were concerned with community life.  

Now this is not to say that Paul’s message does not apply to individuals. Individual actions matter. In our sacrament of baptism, we must respond, “I will.” In the sacrament of marriage, we must respond, “I will.” But these are responses to questions asked by the community. We are being asked, “are you willing to make your ‘me’ a we?” By saying yes, we affirm our relationship to the whole. This is just not to “get” something for ourselves, it is a promise to the community.  So Paul’s admonitions are not about “being the best Christian you can be” —they are about how to join with others in Christ to be transformed in community. They reflect the truth that our salvation is not found in living for ourselves alone. This is why Paul says: “We speak the truth to our neighbors for we are members of one another.” There is never just me. There is also “we.”  

Paul preaching: 4th century fresco

My friends, we are still not very good at life together. Twenty centuries later, we still need to hear what the spirit was saying to those Ephesians. It’s not just the disdain for truth, the crudeness and disrespect in our civic dialogue, or the intolerance of difference that has infected our common life and divides us. It’s also our loneliness. Despite technologies that claim to bring us together, the proportion of American adults who say they are lonely has increased from 20 percent to 40 percent since the 1980s. Our consumer culture wants us to buy some experience or product that will fix that. The self-help industry wants us to think differently, to try harder, or reinvent ourselves. Whether declining faith and church attendance is a cause or an effect in our disconnection from each other is unclear, but it is certainly a factor. The church has certainly failed in many instances to embody a way of life that is might serve as an inspiration to others. 

The world seems to encourage an illusion of not needing a savior, of not needing each other. The communities receiving John’s Gospel, and Paul’s letters, had no such illusions. They hungered; they thirsted; they were persecuted; even afraid for their lives. They were intensely vulnerable, and so they banded together.

As for us? It is difficult for us to surrender our personal striving, for this exposes our vulnerability. And that is risky. How do we confess that despite what we have achieved, what we have earned, the experiences we have accumulated—we are still left with a hunger and a thirst?

This brings us back to our daily bread. For Jesus says, “I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.” Most of us can readily buy what we need to feed our bodies in the marketplace. This is not the bread of which Jesus speaks. No. We pray for the daily bread that money cannot buy--the bread that came down from heaven. It is the substance of Christ that sustains us and sustains our life together. This is the purpose of our common table. The bread we receive meets us in our vulnerability, and feeds us, as God sustained Elijah, when the journey had become too much for him.

Community is what church is for. Our presiding bishop calls us the Episcopal branch of the Jesus movement, which he describes this way: “In all things, we seek to be loving, liberating and life-giving—like the God who formed all things in love; liberates us all from prisons of mind, body and spirit; and gives life so we can participate in the resurrection and healing of God’s world.” The Jesus movement is a “we” movement—practicing the way of love together, bearing each other’s burdens, sharing God’s presence with each other.

I said “practicing” the way of love. We practice because we are not perfect. We are still learning how to “walk in love as Christ loved us.” We are still learning to give and receive each other’s gifts, how to trust each other in our vulnerability and our imperfections, comforted by knowing that “practicing” is all we are asked to do, and knowing that the source of our sustenance is infinite and unending. And so we pray to our Father in heaven for our daily bread for own sake and for the sake of others. We come forward with our tender hearts, in our deepest need, to receive the bread of life: the gifts of God for us, the people of God; Christ’s body for the whole body of Christ. 

Lectionary:  Exodus 16:2-4; 9-15; Psalm 78:23-29; Ephesians 4:1-16; John 6:24-35 

Preached August, 2018, St Gabriel Episcopal Church, Portland, OR