Is God Father to everybody? Yes, to everybody. He is Father

The Model Prayer

THE MODEL PRAYER

A SERIES OF EXPOSITIONS ON

“THE LORD’S PRAYER”

BY

J. D. JONES, M.A., B.D.

AUTHOR OF “THINGS MOST SURELY BELIEVED,” “THE GOSPEL OF GRACE,” ETC.

_THIRD EDITION_

LONDON

JAMES CLARKE & CO., 13 & 14, FLEET STREET, E.C.

PREFATORY NOTE

The Expositions in this volume were originally given as Sunday morning

lectures. They are printed in deference to the wishes of members of my

congregation, who, finding them helpful when first delivered, desire to

possess them in more permanent form. They do not lay claim to any

originality. I have derived help from many quarters, especially from the

expositions of the Lord’s Prayer written by Dr. Dods and Dr. Stanford

respectively. My thanks are also due to my friend Mr. E. Carr for many

valuable suggestions, and for kindly undertaking to see this little

volume through the press.

J. D. J.

_Feb., 1899._

CONTENTS

I.—The Disciples’ Request 9

II.—“Our Father” 25

III.—“Hallowed be Thy Name” 44

IV.—The Second Petition 62

V.—The Third Petition 82

VI.—“Daily Bread” 100

VII.—“Forgiveness” 117

VIII.—“Temptation” 137

IX.—The Model Prayer 157

I

The Disciples’ Request.

“And it came to pass, as He was praying in a certain place, that

when He ceased, one of His disciples said unto Him, Lord, teach us

to pray, even as John also taught his disciples.”—LUKE xi. 1.

It is my purpose, God willing, to give at intervals, on Sabbath

mornings, a series of expositions of that prayer which our Lord taught

His disciples to pray, which, because of its beauty, its spirituality,

its broad, loving charity, has well deserved the names “Epitome of the

Gospels” and “Pearl of Prayers.” But before I address myself to the

consideration of the prayer itself, I would like to clear the ground a

little—to explain its setting—to consider the circumstances that called

it forth, so that we may be able to appreciate and understand it the

better.

This prayer—the Lord’s prayer as we commonly call it, though I often

think it might be more appropriately called “The Disciples’ Prayer”—is a

prayer we learned at our mother’s knee; it is hallowed for many of us by

the fact that those who taught it to us at the first have exchanged

prayer for praise: earth for heaven. Their lips have been silent for

long years, but the prayer they taught us in our childhood, we repeat

morning and evening still! Ah! how many times we have repeated it! From

the very dawn of life this has been our prayer! We repeated it as

children! We are repeating it to-day, as grown up men! Some of us are

repeating it as old men! This prayer is one of the dear familiar things

of life. But there is a danger in our very familiarity with this

beautiful prayer. The peril is that by using it so often, it may become

to us a mere form of words; the danger is that when we repeat it, we may

do so mechanically—that we may say the Lord’s Prayer _without praying_.

“Familiarity breeds contempt,” we say. People who live in the Alps think

nothing of the splendid scenery that we English people go hundreds of

miles to see. The dwellers in inland towns long for the time to come

which will allow them to spend a brief holiday by the sea. They are

fascinated, spell-bound by the changeful, mysterious, beautiful ocean.

There are on the other hand, those of us who live in towns like this,

who allow weeks and months to pass by without ever visiting the shore.

There is ever this danger, that through our familiarity with them, the

beautiful things around us should lose their beauty, and appear

common-place in our eyes. That is the danger we are in with regard to

this “Pearl of Prayers.” It is one of the familiar things of life, and

our very familiarity with it may have dulled our sense of its beauty.

Frequent usage may have dimmed our perception of its sweet simplicity,

and its soaring spirituality. There is the danger of its becoming on our

lips a mere form of words. There is the danger of its becoming, instead

of a real, throbbing, living prayer, a cold, heartless, formal

utterance.

The next best thing to saying a new thing, is to say an old thing in a

new way. Originality consists not so much in discovering new truth, as

in making old truth real and vital. The painter does not invent the

beauty of nature which he depicts on his canvas, he simply brings it out

and makes it visible. “I never see the kind of things you paint in your

pictures,” said a lady one day to Turner, the great artist. “Don’t you

wish you did, madam?” was the painter’s reply, The fault was in the

lady’s vision. The artist saw beauties in nature which were missed and

unheeded by the crowd, and painted them for us on his glowing canvases.

The preacher sees wonders and glories in old and familiar things—glories

missed or unheeded perhaps by those who have less time to read and

ponder this grand old book. It is his business to bring them out, to

show to his people the peerless beauty there is even in the most common

and familiar things. Buttercups and daisies are common little flowers.

They cover our fields. They carpet our meadows. We cannot take a walk in

the fields in summer without treading hundreds of them under foot. They

are so cheap and common that no one ever thinks of making a posy of

daisies, unless it be our children, and they often enough fling the

little flowers away before they reach their homes. Yet there is beauty

in the daisy, and a glory in the buttercup. It is only familiarity that

has made us blind. We should think them beautiful perhaps if they were

as rare as orchids. And even as it is, we need only listen to a lover of

flowers as he describes to us the delicacy and beauty of the daisy and

the buttercup, to realise that even these—the commonest flowers that

bloom—reveal something of the glory of God. Probably there is no form of

words so absolutely and universally familiar as the Lord’s Prayer. I

would like, if I can, to reveal to you some of its wonder, and beauty,

and glory. There are, in this old familiar prayer, heights we have never

scaled, depths we have never sounded. I want, if I can, to help you to

realise its meaning, to feel its power, to grasp the sweep of its

demands, so that this—the most familiar of all prayers—may be on our

lips, fresh, real, vital; so that we may pray, not with the lips only,

but with the understanding also, so that when we use these sacred words,

whether it be in public or in private, we may not simply repeat the

Lord’s Prayer, but really and truly _pray_. To bring out the full

meaning of this familiar prayer, to illustrate its truths, to point out

the demands it makes—that is the aim I have set before myself in this

series of expositions which I purpose to deliver.

I would first of all call your attention to the circumstances of the

origin of this prayer. My text sets these forth. Jesus Christ had been

praying. He was a man of prayer. His favourite temple was the mountain

top. Away from the noise and bustle of the town, in the solitude of the

mountain summit, in the solemn hush and silence of the night, Jesus

Christ prayed. No one can talk much with God without bearing about with

him visible results of that high fellowship. Moses, after he had been on

the mount with God, came down with a countenance that had caught and

retained some of the divine glory. His face shone. John G. Paton, the

heroic missionary, tells in his autobiography how his saintly father

would withdraw every day to talk with God, and as children he and his

brother used to notice with wonder and awe the beautiful light upon

their father’s face when he came forth from that interview. Do not think

me fanciful when I say that I believe that the Master’s face in the

morning used to proclaim plainly in what sacred communion He had been

spending the night. The halo of the old painters may be fancy, but I am

sure that there would be a radiance about the Saviour’s face, an aspect

of such unruffled serenity and calm upon His countenance, as would

proclaim to all that Jesus had been spending the night in holy

fellowship with God. There were many things to try our Lord in life—the

malignant hatred of the Pharisees, the persistent blundering of the

disciples; and often when Jesus left the mountain He was tired, worn,

weary, but after His night of prayer Jesus always came down from the

mountain peaceful, calm and strong. And I cannot help thinking that His

disciples must often have noticed that expression of calm and peace on

their Master’s face after His nights of prayer. It quickened within them

the desire to pray as their Master prayed, that they too might enjoy the

like peace and strength. And that leads me to remark in passing that

people are to be convinced of the supreme value of prayer—not by tracts

about prayer, not by eloquent and clever sermons which profess to

explain away all the difficulties connected with prayer, _but by seeing

in us the effects of prayer_. When they see us calm, happy, and strong

in the midst of the difficulties and worries and cares of life, they

will want to know the secret, and so they too will be led to pray. Was

it not so with these disciples? Jesus had gone apart to pray. And when

He ceased, one of his disciples said unto him, “Lord, teach us to pray,

even as John also taught his disciples.” They wanted to be in command of

the secret of peace. They wanted to be in possession of the key to God’s

storehouse of power. “Teach us to pray.” And it was in answer to that

request that Jesus gave to them the “Pearl of Prayers.”

Now, looking at this request of the disciples for a moment, will you

notice that it is:

I. _A Confession of Need._ “Teach us to pray.” We ask the question

sometimes, “Why do men pray?” Why do men pray! We might just as well

ask, “Why does the nightingale sing? Why does the eagle soar into the

boundless blue?” The nightingale sings because it was made to sing; the

eagle soars away because its pinions were made for flight, and man prays

because he was made for prayer. “Teach us to pray.” That is just the cry

of men who must have their instincts satisfied. Man was made to pray.

This is the cry that gives expression to the necessity of his nature.

“Lord, teach us to pray.” Let me remind you that this is not a need

which Christianity has created. Oh, no! the need is in the very make and

constitution of a man. Christ only satisfied the need. Prayer is as old

as man himself. The first man is far removed from us; in outward

circumstances we are utterly unlike him, but we are like him in this

respect, in our need of prayer. Society to-day is very different from

the primitive simplicity of society in the time of the patriarchs; but

we are like Abraham and Isaac and Jacob in this respect—we all pray. The

Bible is a book of prayers. It is the great prayer-book of the world.

All the prayers in it are not on the same spiritual level. In many you

will find much that is mistaken. But there they are—the prayers of

Abraham, Jacob, Moses, David, Solomon, Elijah, Hezekiah—all bearing

witness to the same need, the same instinct. And I will not confine what

I am saying to the men who are mentioned in the Bible. This sense of

need is universal. God made man for Himself, and wherever you find man

you find his heart and flesh cry out for the living God. The African who

worships his fetish, the Hindoo who prostrates himself before his idol,

even those poor, benighted people who do their praying by machinery—all

these by their acts bear witness to the universal need. Indeed, it is

this sense of need that makes the wide world one. When an infant is in

need of anything it cries, and the cry of the little one is its prayer.

When we men are in need of anything we _pray_; we may pray in a hundred

different ways; we may utter no spoken word, but pray we must. In this

respect, men the whole world over are the same. North and south, east

and west, whereever you find man, you find him with this instinct for

God, under this necessity to pray. It was because these twelve disciples

felt that necessity that they made this request eighteen hundred years

ago to the Man who was best able to answer it, “Lord, teach us to pray.”

II. This request of the disciples is _a confession of ignorance_. “Teach

us to pray,” said the disciples. Prayer was a necessity to them. But

_how_ were they to pray? What were they to _pray for_? These disciples

felt that there might be a right and a wrong way of praying; that there

might be a right and a wrong in the things prayed for. And they judged

rightly. Prayer is the key to the treasure house of God, but it will lie

useless in man’s hand until he is shown how to use it. So here comes the

Confession of Ignorance, “Lord, teach us to pray.” “We know not how, nor

what to pray for—Thou must show.”

“Teach us to pray!” Teach us _how_! for there is a right and wrong of

praying. Man _must_ pray—he cannot help himself. But how he blunders in

his attempts at prayer sometimes. Look at the Hindoo cutting and maiming

himself! Look at the Mongol with his praying machine! Ah, yes, man needs

to be taught _how_ to pray. I think the disciples wanted to know what I

may call without irreverence the “etiquette” of prayer. “Wherewithal

shall I come before the Lord and bow myself before the High God?” that

was their difficulty. They knew not how they were to enter into the

presence of the great King. If a man wishes to be presented to the King,

he must obey all the formalities of Court etiquette, and to many that

seems rather a formidable task. Perhaps these disciples thought there

were equal difficulties in the way of approach to the throne of the

Heavenly grace. They wanted to know the etiquette of God’s court. “Teach

us to pray. We know not how.” Do we need an intermediary at the throne?

Do we need to be introduced to Him that sits thereon? By what name shall

we address Him? “Lord, teach us to pray. We know not _how_.” And here

Jesus instructs their ignorance. “You need no intermediary, go boldly to

that Throne yourselves; you need no introduction to Him that sits

thereon—He knows you, calls you by your name; address Him not as King,

Judge, Lord—call Him Father.” It was in answer to their confession of

ignorance that Jesus taught His disciples _how_ to pray.

But further, these disciples knew not what to pray _for_. They did not

know what they were to ask for in their petitions! Nor do we! We are

“the sons of ignorance and night.” We do not know what is best for us! I

often think that if God wished to be unkind to us, He has only to answer

our prayers; for we ask Him for things that can only do us harm. The

little child often begs for things that look nice, or are pleasant to

the taste, but the mother, who knows the harm that would result if these

things were given says “No.” We are like little children in our

ignorance, and have often asked our Heavenly Father for things that

would only injure us. We have all of us to make this confession of

ignorance. We have all of us to acknowledge “We know not what to pray

for.” We all need to go to Jesus with this request, “Lord, teach us to

pray.” And He will teach us. He will tell us what to pray for. He will

tell us what _He_ prayed for. He will tell us how He told out to His

Father all His desires, but ended every prayer with these words,

“Nevertheless, not my will but Thine be done,” and He will give us the

assurance that whatsoever we ask of the Father in His name after the

Spirit of His prayers, the Father will give unto us.

III. This request of the disciples is a confession that _the old prayers

are no longer good enough_. “Lord, teach us to pray,” they said. Had,

then, these disciples never prayed before? Yes, many a time, every day

of their lives, and probably several times each day. I imagine that

before Jesus called the twelve, they had been what the world would call

“religious men.” In fact, we need not imagine it, we know it. Several of

them had been disciples of John the Baptist before they became disciples

of Jesus. The Jews were, we are told, particularly conscientious in the

matter of prayer. Three times a day they withdrew for devotion. And

these disciples were good Jews, strict Jews, punctilious in their regard

for all points of ritual. We are justified, therefore, in saying that

the disciples all through their lives had been attentive to the duty of

prayer. What, then, is the explanation of this request “Lord teach us to

pray?” Well, the explanation is simply this: _the old prayers no longer

satisfied them_; even the prayers John the Baptist had taught them

seemed strangely deficient or inappropriate. After living with Jesus,

after hearing Him preach, after listening to His words about God, the

old stereotyped prayers seemed to lose all their beauty and power. The

disciples felt they could not pray them any longer. They had received

from Jesus a new revelation of God, and this new revelation of God

created the need for a new prayer. There is a familiar ballad the first

line of which runs, “I cannot sing the old songs.” Some change has taken

place in the singer’s feelings which makes the old song inappropriate,

impossible. It was so with these disciples. They could not pray the old

prayers, because their hearts were changed. We all know something of

this kind of feeling. Sometimes I look back over old sermons, and very

often I have to say to myself, “I could not preach that again.” God has

been teaching me during the years of my ministry, and leading me into a

fuller knowledge of the truth. In sermons, as in wellnigh everything

else, “_Time makes ancient good uncouth_.” It was so with the twelve.

They had been to school to Christ; from their great Master they had

learned many a new and glorious lesson about God, and the result of

their new knowledge of God, their larger, grander conceptions of His

character, was the absolute necessity for a new prayer. They had

outgrown the old ones in which they had been brought up. They no longer

expressed their feelings or satisfied their needs. You have an

illustration of what I am trying to point out in the history of Paul. He

was a prominent man in religious circles before he became a Christian.

He was scrupulous in his observance of religious duties. After the

straitest sect he lived a Pharisee, and if the Pharisees were

punctilious about one thing more than another, it was their prayers. But

yet, in the account of his conversion, Scripture, after describing Saul

as alone and blind in the house in the street called Strait, adds this

remark, as if recording a new fact in Saul’s history, “Behold he

prayeth.” Saul had said his prayers thousands of times before, but now,

for the first time, he was praying the new prayer, which a sense of his

own sin and the gentleness of God had made necessary. Oh, yes, when

religion is a formality then a prayer which is also a formality will

suffice. But once we see the love of God, once we feel our own

unworthiness, we shall find the old formal prayers will no longer

suffice. We shall need a new prayer then, and like these disciples we

shall come to Christ with the request, “Lord, teach us to pray.”

Notice what the disciple adds, “As John also taught his disciples.”

Christ might imitate John in the act of teaching, but in the prayer

taught Jesus was no imitator. Here Jesus was grandly, supremely

original. This was a new prayer He gave. John could not have given it.

No _man_, however saintly and good, could have given it. It surpasses

the best efforts of man as the sunlight surpasses the starlight. No one

but the Son, who lay in the bosom of the Father; no one but the Son, who

had intimate knowledge of the very heart of God, could have taught this

prayer, for it opens with a New Name for God—the name Father—and no man

knoweth the Father but the Son.

This short but perfect prayer is the Master’s answer to the request of

His disciples. They say that prayer is never answered! This “Pearl of

Prayers” is the best refutation of that statement. It was given in

answer to prayer. “Lord, teach us to pray,” said the disciple, and the

answer to his request was this prayer, which has met the needs and

expressed the desires of God’s people throughout all generations. And so

this prayer itself becomes the best proof of the truth proclaimed in our

hymn,

Beyond our utmost wants

His love and power can bless,

To praying souls He always grants

More than they can express.

II

“Our Father”

“After this manner therefore pray ye, Our Father which art in

heaven.”—MATT. vi. 9.

“When ye pray, say Father.”—LUKE xi. 2.

I said last Sunday morning that in the prayer He taught, Jesus was

grandly, supremely original. That originality appears in most striking

fashion in the invocation with which the prayer opens. The prayer Jesus

taught His disciples to pray begins with a new name for God, “When ye

pray, say _Father_.”

In the Old Testament God is very seldom spoken of as Father, and when

the name _is_ used, it is always with reference to the _nation_ of

Israel and not to individuals—that is to say, the name “Father,” the few

times it occurs in the Old Testament, stands for a _national_ not a

_personal_ relationship. The Old Testament has many names for God—names

that tell of His might, His power, His majesty. It speaks of Him as

Jehovah; it speaks of Him as the great “I am”; it speaks of Him as

“King” and “Lord”—but from Genesis to Malachi you will not find a single

instance of an individual speaking of God as “Father.” Moses did not

dare to use this name. David, the sweet singer of Israel, missed this

note of tenderness from his songs. Isaiah, in the sweep of his passion

and genius, never took this name into his lips. It was left to Jesus

Christ to tell us God’s best and truest name. It was left to Him to say,

“When ye pray, say Father.”

I suppose no one can pass from the Old Testament to the New without

being conscious of a change of atmosphere. Between the books there is a

difference of theological climate. It is the difference between

starlight, clear but cold, and the warm and gracious sunlight; it is the

difference between law and gospel; it is the difference between debt and

grace; it is the difference between fear and love; it is the difference

between servitude and sonship; it is the difference between Sinai and

Calvary. And the whole of this vast difference is made by this word

“Father.” That name is written large upon every page of the New

Testament, and that new name has brought with it a new joy and gladness

into the world.

This name “Father” is a new name. It is a name _no one but Jesus could

have revealed to men_. We could never have known God the Father save

through the Incarnate Son. Men only saw God _from the outside_. They

only judged Him by His works. They were impressed by His greatness, His

wisdom, His power, as revealed to them in the wonders of earth and sea

and sky, and they named Him accordingly. But men felt that, after all,

wisdom and power and might were only _parts_ of God’s ways; they felt

there was a secret about God which they had not been told, and they had

to confess that, strain as they would, there were clouds and thick

darkness about Him through which no eye could pierce. But here we get a

view of God, if I may so speak, _from the inside_. Here you have God’s

heart laid bare. Here you have light thrown upon the inmost nature of

God. The secret hidden from prophet and psalmist and seer is here

declared to the world in this name “Father.” Who could have given God

this name? Who could have discovered this grand secret? Who could have

thrown this light upon the Divine nature? Only Jesus—only the Son who

from eternity had lain in the bosom of the Father. The knowledge of God,

_the Father_, is only to be gained through the Incarnate Son. “No man

knoweth the Father save the Son, and he to whomsoever the Son shall

reveal Him.” And it seems to me that one of the chief ends for which

Christ came to earth was just to tell us this new name, and so to bring

sunshine into our souls and hope into our lives. In Bethlehem, in

Nazareth, in Galilee, in the garden of Gethsemane, on the Cross of

Calvary, Jesus was spelling out for us this new name, revealing to us

that God is more than wisdom, more than power, more than justice; that

God above and beyond everything else is Love. So the very opening phrase

of this “Pearl of Prayers” brings us the best news ever whispered into

the ears of men. It tells us that love is at the heart of all things. It

tells us that God is our Father and we are His children.

Is God Father to everybody? Yes, to everybody. He is Father to the

humblest, the poorest, the most degraded. God said, “Let us make man in

our likeness,” and in the image of God created He him. All men belong to

God’s family, and upon all some trace of the family likeness is to be

seen. The old Greek poet, whose words Paul quoted in his memorable

speech at Athens, had a glimpse of this truth when he wrote, “We also

are his offspring.” Yes, God is the _Father_ of all men! That is the

truth that has been rediscovered within the last half century, the truth

of the Universal Fatherhood of God, and a blessed and glorious truth it

is. That many men have forgotten God and rebelled against Him does not

affect the reality of His Fatherhood. Absalom turned out a wayward,

disobedient son. He brought trouble, shame, and distress upon his father

David. But the son’s wickedness could not destroy the father’s love.

When news came that Absalom was dead, David wept long and sore, and the

agony of his broken heart found expression in that pathetic cry, “O my

son Absalom, my son, my son Absalom; would God I had died for thee, O

Absalom, my son, my son.” And you can parallel that story of David and

Absalom from modern life. I read of a young man who had sunk into a life

of excess and sin and shame. He brought disgrace upon all connected with

him, and one by one men turned their backs upon him. One only clung to

him—his poor old father. The one who had suffered most at his hand was

the one who continued to bear with him. “Why don’t you turn him out?”

said his friends to the long-suffering old man. “I cannot,” replied he;

“I am his father.” Those are hints, suggestions of the truth about God.

God is the Father of men, and though men sin, the Father still loves.

That is what Jesus would teach us in that most precious of all the

Parables—the Parable of the Prodigal Son. God is Father not only to the

obedient son, but He is Father also to the son who has strayed into the

far country and is wasting his substance there with riotous living. The

Father’s heart yearns for that absent and wayward child; and when that

son returns in his rags and with penitent heart, it is the dear word

“Father” that leaps to the prodigal’s lips, and it is with the word

“Son” that the father welcomes him home again. Yes, God is the Father of

_all_. His love embraces _all_—the lost, the ruined, the undone. His

family is co-extensive with the race. But let me go on to

say—paradoxical as it may sound—that though God is the Father of all

men, _all men are not sons_. Wendt, the great German scholar, puts it in

this way, “God always is the loving Father of all men; nevertheless, men

must _become_ sons of the Heavenly Father by attaining His spirit of

gratuitous, forgiving love.” That is the Bible teaching I myself firmly

believe. This old book proclaims the Fatherhood of God, and yet talks

about men _becoming_ God’s sons. It talks about _receiving_ the spirit

of adoption whereby we cry, Abba, Father. The right to become children

of God, it says, is given to those who receive Christ and believe in His

name. In a word, while God _is the_ Father of _all_, men become His sons

only through Jesus Christ. _Possible_ sons all men are; but sonship

becomes actual and real only in Jesus Christ. It is those who are in the

home, who experience the father’s tenderness and care, who know what

sonship means. The son who has wilfully left home, who has taken his

life into his own hands, who has wandered into the far country, he

cannot know what a father’s sympathy and love mean. He has deprived

himself of the privileges of sonship. It is only the child who has

remained at home who is obedient to the father’s commands—it is only he

who can really be called a son at all. He alone knows the blessings of

sonship. He alone knows the father’s affection and love. Christ came

into the world to show us the Father, to seek lost children and bring

them back again home. Those who receive Him into their hearts receive

the spirit of adoption. They know what sonship means. They speak the

name “Father” with a new accent. It becomes to them invested with a

richer and fuller meaning. God is the Father of all men. Yes, but

specially of them that believe.

Now this new name, “Father,” Christ places at the very commencement of

the model prayer. _This name is to be the very basis of our prayer._ To

pray aright, certain things are required in him who prays. The Psalmist

asked himself this question one day, “Who shall ascend into the hill of

the Lord and who shall stand in His holy place?” Who has the right to

worship God and pray to Him? That is the Psalmist’s question translated

into present day speech. And he proceeds to answer the question he

himself asks. And this is the answer he gives, “Who has the right to

worship and pray? He that hath clean hands and a pure heart, who hath

not lifted up his soul unto vanity nor sworn deceitfully.” But the

Psalmist’s answer is one of blank despair. For who is there whose hands

are clean? Who is there whose heart is pure? Where is the man who has

not lifted up his soul unto vanity? Brethren, when we look upon

ourselves what do we see but sin! SIN! SIN! and the cry that breaks from

our lips is the terrible cry of the leper of old—Unclean, unclean. If we

have to wait till our hands are clean and our hearts pure we shall

_never, never_ ascend unto the hill of the Lord or stand in His holy

place. But thank God there are no impossible conditions of that kind to

be fulfilled before you and I can pray. What right have I, sinful man,

to pray? What warrant have I for coming boldly to the throne of grace?

Well, brethren, I have no right but that which this name gives. I have

no warrant save that which the name “Father” supplies. That is my

right—not that I have clean hands or a pure heart, but that I am a son,

and He, the Almighty God, is _my Father_. I have read a story somewhere

which says that when one of the Roman Emperors was entering Rome in

triumph, a little child darted through the ranks of the soldiers who

lined the road and made for the gorgeous car in which the Emperor was

seated. Some of the soldiers tried to restrain the little one and said

to him, “It is the Emperor.” “_Your_ Emperor,” said the little one, “but

_my_ father.” That was the little child’s right to sit even in the

triumphal car. And so some would say, “What right have you, a poor

sinner, to approach the King of Kings and Lord of Lords, before whom

Cherubim and Seraphim veil their faces with their wings and continually

do cry?” What right? Well, the right this word gives. Lord of the

Universe? Yes. Maker of the worlds? Yes. King of Kings? Yes. But _my

Father_. Who shall dare keep child and parent apart? When ye pray, say

“Father,” said our Lord. Let us preface every prayer with that blessed

word. It is our claim upon God. No prayer can be too bold; no petition

can appear presumptuous when we have commenced by saying “Father.”

But this word not only supplies our _warrant for prayer_, it also

suggests to us the _spirit in which our prayers must be_ offered. We

must pray in the spirit of filial trust, in the spirit of _childlike

confidence_. “He that cometh to God,” says the Apostle, “must believe

that HE IS.” We must believe first of all in the _reality_ of God. To

many God is a name and nothing more. The world to them would be no

emptier than it is if there were no God at all. We must first of all

believe that God is. But that is not all. The Mongol, the Hindoo, the

African savage believe that God is; but no one would say that their

devotions illustrate the true spirit of prayer. No: we must not only

believe that God is, we must also believe He is a REWARDER. We must

believe He is eager to bless. Some would have you believe that God is

the helpless creature of His own laws, bound and held captive by them,

and therefore unable to listen or to answer the cry of men—like one of

those great stone impassive deities of Egypt, that sit there with

staring eyes, and hands on knees, the very picture of impotence and

helplessness. If God were no more than that, prayer would be a mockery,

a delusion, a sham. But the God we are asked to believe in is a

REWARDER—a FATHER more eager to bless us than any earthly parent is to

answer the request of his child. And Christ puts this word in the very

front, in order to help us to come with boldness, in order to beget

within us a spirit of childlike expectancy and trust. I fancy when I

hear some prayers, that we imagine God keeps His heart bolted and

barred, and that we have, by the importunity of our petitions, to force

and batter our way through. That was the kind of notion Job had. You

remember his cry, “Oh, that I knew where I might find Him.” Well, what

would Job do if he did find Him? “Oh,” says Job, “I would order my cause

before Him, and fill my mouth with arguments.” Job thought that every

blessing had to be wrung out of the hands of God. “I would fill my mouth

with arguments,” as if nothing were to be had from God except by hard

and importunate pleading. “Fill your mouth with arguments?” What need is

there for that? Go to Him and call Him “Father”—that is all the argument

you need. Brethren, we receive not, because sometimes we ask amiss. The

old book says that according to our faith it shall be done unto us. We

have received little, because our faith has been so little. We have

treated God as if He were close, economical, niggardly. This word

“Father” is here to teach us confidence, trust, faith, holy boldness; to

inspire us with that perfect love which casteth out all fear. Let us go

to God in the childlike spirit of a simple trust; let us use this golden

key to His great treasure house, which He has placed in our hands; when

we pray, let us say “Father,” and we shall find that before we call He

will answer, and while we are yet speaking He will hear.

“Father,” that is how the prayer begins in Luke’s version. That glorious

word stands alone in all its royal simplicity. Matthew in his version

expands that into “_Our_ Father, which art in heaven.” “_Our_ Father!”

No word in this old book is meaningless, and this little word “our”

gives us a glimpse of the splendid truth. It is not the singular, but

the plural possessive pronoun that our Lord bids us use, not “_my_

Father,” but “_our_ Father.” Of course it is legitimate to use the

singular pronoun “my,” and say “MY Father.” There come times when, with

a great rush of feeling, we realise that God loves us as individuals,

and then we take refuge in the first person singular, just as Paul did

when he said “The Son of God loved ME, and gave Himself for ME.” In

fact, religion never becomes real and vital until it becomes individual

and personal, until we can say like Thomas, “_My_ Lord and _my_ God.”

But in this prayer Christ would have us think not simply of ourselves,

but also of others—not simply of blessings peculiar and personal, but of

blessings shared. So we are to say, not “_my_ Father,” but “OUR Father,”

and by doing so we have linked ourselves to all others who pray this

prayer. “_Our_,” that is the pronoun of partnership. We have said “OUR

Father” in this church this morning, we have confessed that we have the

_same Father_. But people who are the sons and daughters of the one

Father must be brothers and sisters the one to the other. So that when

we said “_our_ Father,” we did more than simply proclaim God’s

Fatherhood—we proclaimed our BROTHERHOOD. And I will not confine myself

to this congregation. It is not simply the brotherhood of those of us

who meet week by week in this Congregational Church that we proclaimed

when we said “our Father,” we proclaimed the _brotherhood of the race_.

Not my Father simply, but OUR Father—for He is the Father of all! The

great truth of the Fatherhood of God implies the correspondingly great

truth of the _brotherhood of man_, and universal brotherhood depends

upon the universal Fatherhood. You cannot have this brotherhood of man,

except by getting them to kneel together and say “our Father.” The link

that binds men together is the possession of a common Father. When we

address God by that sweet name, we awake to the fact that we are all

members of one great family, bound to one another by the strongest and

dearest of ties. Oh! we pray for the time when jealousy, pride, hatred

and war shall cease, when “man to man the world o’er shall brothers be

for a’ that!” I will tell you when that time shall come. It shall come

when you can get all men everywhere to kneel down and begin their prayer

with these grand but simple words “Our Father.”

“Then shall the whole round earth be every way

Bound by gold chains about the feet of God.”

“Our Father, _who art in Heaven_,” says Matthew. Our Father is high and

lifted up, He is “in Heaven.” That does not mean that God is not with us

here on earth. He is the High and Holy One who inhabits eternity; but He

is also the one who dwells in the lowly and the contrite heart. But as

Dr. Morison puts it, “On earth there are spots, hearts at least and many

of them, where God is not. He is not admitted. He is shut out. But in

heaven He is all in all. In a peculiar fulness of acceptation, then, God

may be said to be in Heaven.” But this little phrase, “who art in

Heaven,” is something more than a topographical direction. It is more,

shall I say, than God’s postal address. This little phrase _tells us

what kind of a Father we have_. I do not think it at all fanciful to say

with Dr. Stanford, that, as Heaven is the place of perfection, “our

Father, who art in Heaven” may be interpreted to mean, “our Father, who

art the one perfect Father.” But whether this interpretation is

legitimate or not, the idea is a true and Scriptural one. God is the

model—the pattern Father. Paul says that “of Him every fatherhood in

heaven and earth is named.” You can look at the tender relations that

bind the best of fathers to the best of sons here on earth, and I tell

you they but faintly illustrate the tender relations that bind God to

you. He is the one perfect Father. He is perfect in LOVE. “No earthly

father loves like Thee, no mother half so mild.” Mothers may forget

their children but God will never forget us. Parents may turn their

backs upon us, father and mother may forsake us, and even then God will

take us up. He is perfect _in wisdom_. Earthly parents are not always

wise. They are sometimes unwise in severity; they are oftener, I think,

unwise in their love; and many a child’s character has been injured, if

not ruined, by the unwisdom of its parents. But God is all wise. He is

always thinking upon His children for their good. In perfect wisdom,

perfect love, He is working for the best. He is perfect in

_helpfulness_.

Human love can do much, but there are times when human love is helpless.

Have you ever seen a mother watch by a sick child? I have seen a little

one lie in her cot with fevered brow, fighting for life. I have seen her

eyes make mute appeal to her mother, and I have seen the mother sitting

there in torment and agony, watching the death struggle going on and

powerless to help, the very picture of impotent, defeated love. But God

is perfect in _helpfulness_. There is no limit to HIS power. He will be

a refuge for us in trouble; He will make our bed in sickness; He will

make us conquerors over temptation; when we pass through the waters He

will not suffer them to overflow us; and when we enter the valley, into

which no human friend can accompany us, God will be with us still, His

rod and staff they will comfort us. “Our Father, who art in Heaven,” one

other idea the words suggest to me. “Heaven” is spoken of in the Bible

as the place of dominion and authority. “The Lord hath prepared his

throne in the heavens,” says the Psalmist, “and His kingdom ruleth over

all.” In another psalm we get the picture of kings and princes plotting

together to destroy the kingdom of God. “He that sitteth in the

heavens,” in the place of supreme dominion, “shall laugh.” Your

governors and kings are not the true rulers of the universe; they may

fret and fume and bluster as they will, but they are only puppets in the

hands of Him who sitteth in the heavens. When, then, our Lord teaches us

to say, “Our Father, who art in Heaven,” the blessed truth conveyed by

it is, that our Father is in the place of supreme dominion, that love

rules the universe. It is the truth proclaimed by the little silk weaver

as she passed through the streets of Asolo and sang, “God’s in His

heaven—all’s right with the world.” What a blessed truth this is, and

what peace and strength it brings into the soul when it is realised and

felt. Paul had realised it, so he could say, “I know that all things

work together for good.” That President of the Orange Free State had

realised it, whose favourite word was, “All will come right,” which word

stands engraved to-day on his tombstone! Yes! what peace will be ours

when we remember our Father is in Heaven. I remember hearing my friend

Mr. Hopkin Rees, one of our devoted Chinese missionaries, telling about

one of his converts in that far-off land, who had to bear much from

heathen relatives when she became a Christian. They beat her, locked her

up in a room, and tried to starve her into surrender. How do you think

that poor woman sustained herself? I will tell you. By the thought that

her Father was in Heaven, and that “all would come right.” Mr. Rees had

translated an old Welsh hymn into Chinese, the last line of every verse

in which runs, “Fy nhad, sydd urth y lliw.” It cannot sound as sweet in

any other tongue, but this is a rough translation, “My Father’s at the

helm.” And that was the song that poor woman sang day after day, “My

Father’s at the helm.” Yes! He’s at the helm! Let not your heart be

troubled! “Your Father’s at the helm.”

“Our Father, who art in Heaven.” The gospel is in that phrase. I have

not been able to translate into language the half of the beauty and

glory I myself have seen in it. You must find out for yourselves, by

experience, the joy and peace it can bring into life. This name is ours

to use; the love implied in it is ours to enjoy. Not one of us need go

through life alone; not one of us need be orphaned and poor; not one of

us need carry a troubled anxious heart. For Christ has taught us to see

love on the Throne, and to call to the Almighty and Everlasting God who

fainteth not, neither is weary, “Our Father, who art in Heaven.”

III

“Hallowed be Thy Name”

“Hallowed be Thy Name.”—MATT. vi. 9; LUKE xi. 2.

Last Sunday morning we talked together of the new and beautiful name by

which Jesus taught us to address God when we draw near to Him in prayer.

“When we pray, say Father.” This morning we pass on to the consideration

of the first petition in the prayer itself. Between this first petition

and the invocation there is the closest and most intimate connection. In

the invocation Jesus gave us a new name for God. In the first petition

He teaches us to pray for grace, to honour that new name of “Father” by

thought and life.

This “Pearl of Prayer” divides itself naturally into two parts, and it

is a fact worth noticing that the petitions in the first half of the

prayer are all concerned with God’s honour and glory. Our first thoughts

when we kneel in prayer must be of God. Our first petitions must concern

themselves not with our own personal advantage but with God’s glory and

praise. This petition, “Hallowed be Thy name,” stands first, because it

is the first in natural order. For there is an order, “an order of

precedence” shall I say, in prayer. I have seen a volume of sermons by

Mr. Jackson, of Edinburgh, which bears the title “First things first.”

“First things first” is a rule we may well remember in our prayers.

“Seek ye first the Kingdom of God and His righteousness,” said our Lord,

and that precept is one for prayer as well as for life. Have you noticed

how faithfully Jesus Himself observed the rule He here laid down for

others? Examine His prayers, and you will find that with Him first

things always came first. The glory of God was always the master

petition in the prayers of Christ. He had to pass through times of sore

distress and pain and agony—and Christ was not above asking for relief,

deliverance, escape from the pain. But His own wishes were always kept

in a subordinate place, it was ever “God first” with Him. “Nevertheless,

not My will but Thine be done.” “Father, glorify Thy name.” That is the

true order in prayer—God first. But we oftentimes reverse the order.

Instead of “first things being first,” first things are often last and

last things often first. Our prayers are occupied mainly with our own

wants and needs and desires. It is a case oftentimes of “self first.”

When we pray even this prayer, the petitions that we utter with the

deepest fervour and earnestness are petitions for personal blessing.

“Give us this day our daily bread. Forgive us our trespasses. Deliver us

from evil.” But the true order is the one observed here, “God first.”

The King of all the petitions is the one that stands in the forefront.

The Westminster Confession says that the chief end of man’s life is “to

glorify God.” The old divines who drew up that confession had gained a

clear glimpse into the true relation of things. Above all personal

interest, above all selfish advantage, stands the glory of God. In the

soldier’s thought, far above any consideration of personal comfort or

safety, or even of life, stands the thought of the honour of the flag

and his country’s weal. And so in the Christian’s mind far above the

thought of self must stand the thought of God. “First things first.”

Before the prayer for daily bread, for forgiveness, for deliverance,

comes the prayer that God may have the glory due unto His name. My

object this morning is to point out, if I can, the sweep and grandeur of

this petition, so that we may understand what it is we pray for when we

say, “Hallowed be Thy name.” Let me first of all try to explain what is

meant by _the name of God_. As Bishop Westcott points out in his

“Revelation of the Father” no thoughtful person can read the Bible

without being struck by the importance which is attached to the Divine

names in the different books. And the _names_ of God are important

because they are revelations of God’s nature. You remember that when

Jacob wrestled with the angel till break of day by the side of the brook

Jabbok his last request to his antagonist was this, “Tell me I pray

Thee, Thy name.” What was it Jacob really wanted to know? I will tell

you. He wanted to know the nature, the character of the mighty Wrestler.

He wanted to know whether it was love or wrath that had constrained him

to pass through that terrible agony. “Tell me, I pray Thee, Thy name,”

tell me Thy character, reveal to me Thy heart, “to me Thy name, Thy

nature show,” that was the real meaning of Jacob’s cry. Well, the Bible

is a great book of “names.” If you will turn up your concordances, you

will find in them a long list of “names” for God. And the point to

notice is that every name applied to God means something; every name

tells us something about Him; every name is a light upon His nature.

When you hear a man’s name, it tells you nothing about his character.

You are not a whit nearer knowing what a man is really like for hearing

that his name is John, or David, or Thomas, or Joseph. The names of men

mean nothing, or perhaps it would be truer to say, their meaning has

absolutely no relation to character. They are mere labels. But it is

different in the case of God. Every name applied to Him is significant.

It expresses some aspect of His character. Men caught fresh glimpses

into the depths of the Divine nature, and their new knowledge they

expressed by a new name. So that the names of God are all of them keys

to God’s character. They help us to spell out the secret of His nature.

When then, you read of a man crying out, “Tell me Thy name,” you

understand that what Jacob really wanted to know was what God was. And

when you read of the Psalmist saying, “They that know Thy name, will put

their trust in Thee,” you know that what the Psalmist means is this—that

those who really _know_ God, who know His heart, _will_, cannot help

trusting Him. That, then, is the meaning of “God’s name,” it means the

character of God, as that character has been revealed to us.

When, where and how has that name been revealed to us? Well, it has been

revealed, as the writer of the letter to the Hebrews puts it, “by divers

portions, and in divers manners.”