Wonderstruck (11 page)

The prayer begins with God. Unlike any other rabbi of his time, Jesus calls his heavenly Father “Dad,” or “Papa,” or what is known in Aramaic as
Abba
. The name represents intimacy, affection, respect—invoking the image of a parent whose love cannot be measured, whose approval cannot be earned. We do not cry out to an unknown God; our petitions are not sent “To Whom It May Concern” but are addressed to a father who abounds in love.

Jesus’ first petition is that God’s name, which embodies his character, be hallowed or honored as holy. This isn’t merely an acknowledgment of holiness but a call to holiness. More than a spiritual nod, the first words of the Lord’s Prayer are a powerful petition:

Peel back the curtain. Reveal your holiness. Transform us forever
.

The prayer reflects a renewed longing for God to make his name holy, not just in the heavens or in our world, but in our lives. Whenever we pray,
Hallowed be your name
, we’re affirming the holiness of God, asking for a more intimate knowledge of God. Heads bow. Knees buckle. Calling on God’s holiness exposes our impurity and displays his mercy.

The second and third petitions are simple but far from shallow. In asking that God’s kingdom come, we’re asking him to infiltrate every crevice of creation both now and in the future, in our hearts and in our world. God’s kingdom is established in the now and the not yet, that which is near and that which is still far, far away. This robust prayer calls on God to extend his peace and justice and love and renewal everywhere for all time. Those who use this expansive prayer no longer walk with heads down, looking inward, because the prayer for God’s kingdom challenges us to look all around for the abounding ways God answers.

The last set of petitions in the Lord’s Prayer is brief but multifaceted as they remind us of our physical and spiritual dependence on God at all times.
Daily bread
draws on the imagery of the manna God provided the Israelites in the desert
and was important for the people of Jesus’ time who were hired on a daily basis. The petition for each day’s bread addresses one of the most basic human fears: scarcity. Left unchecked, our fear of deprivation distorts the way we see ourselves, others, and God. Jesus’ request for daily bread combats this fear with the loving reminder that all things come from God—and he wants to give us more than crumbs.

We are also reminded that forgiving and being forgiven are intimately intertwined. A healthy relationship with God requires us to maintain healthy relationships with each other. To experience uninhibited daily fellowship with God, we must choose to forgive. If we harbor accusations in our hearts toward others, we’re not in a place to accept forgiveness from God. We cease to be a conduit of God’s mercy and grace. Any lack of absolution for others reveals we may have lost sight of all that God has forgiven us.

Jesus concludes with the request that God lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil. God never entices us with evil, but he does allow us to be tested and refined in our faithfulness. Sin will try to seduce us, challenging our fidelity and integrity. Though the presence of temptation in our lives is inescapable, through God’s grace, strength, and provision, we do not have to succumb to any taunts. We can live ready to flee temptations of the flesh, of the world, and of the devil, finding deliverance from them all.

Such a prayer must have been shocking to pagans who
thought they would be heard because of their many words.
¹⁴
Jesus suggests something stark and uncomplicated in approach yet unfathomable in breadth. In a handful of brief stanzas, Jesus awakens holy desires to draw us closer to God. Such a concise prayer is a powerful reminder that, at times, I need to say less in order to pray more.

How often have I rattled on with God and said nothing at all? Relying on clichés, throwaway phrases, and high language I’d never use in everyday conversation, I took prayer for granted and lost sight of the wondrous opportunity to draw close to God.

How much are you really saying to God when you pray? Where has “nonversation” replaced conversation in your prayers? What slight shifts in your own prayer life could reignite your relationship with God?

We all need to become more intentional about prayer, selective about our words, ready to meet our Abba Father in the syllables and the silence that emerge. The wonder of prayer is rediscovered in
who
we’re speaking to. Prayer is a mystical event by which we get to talk to the Creator of all—the One who fashioned our world with a few words—knowing that God not only listens but answers.

The months following Easter were marked by the temptation to forget Lent’s lessons and return to my old ways. Time coaxed me to pack away my resurrection reflections and newfound prayer life. But I resisted and continue resisting because I’ve rediscovered the wonder of prayer—more majestic than I
imagined. In those moments when I’m tempted to give in to my old ways, I recite the Lord’s Prayer and return to the discipline of three-word prayers. Holding tight to these spiritual treasures, I now count down the days until Lent comes again.

S
TEPPING OUT OF THE
A
IRSTREAM TRAILER
, I surveyed the office buildings filled with desks and computer screens. The energy of the city reverberated in the buzz of motorcycles, blaring car horns, and the barking of impatient taxi drivers. I took in a deep breath, imbibing the beauty of the skyline that is Cape Town, South Africa.

Most visitors opt for a familiar hotel chain, but Leif and I booked an off-the-beaten-path adventure at a “trailer park in the sky.” The Grand Daddy Hotel, known for its innovative lodging options, hauled seven vintage trailers onto its downtown rooftop and invited the city’s top interior designers to give them a splash of hipster. The stylists embellished each Airstream with its own theme, ranging from Elvis to the Wizard of Oz. We reserved Goldilocks and the Three Bears, a chrome trailer whose embellishments retold the classic fairy tale—complete with a
bear suit and Goldilocks outfit, which were intriguing until we calculated how many previous guests might have used them.

Grabbing a bite at a downtown eatery, I noticed a wiry blonde woman with flyaway hair and electric blue eyes wearing a name tag from the same gathering we were attending.

“Let me guess: you’re from Sweden or Norway,” I said.

“Close!” she said. “Montana.”

Sophia served as a professor of religious studies at a private university. As our conversation progressed, I appreciated Sophia’s joyful disposition, quick wit, and keen observations on all we were experiencing. More than anything, though, I soon discovered I could be myself with her. Like two teenagers who met at camp and swapped stories while roasting marshmallows underneath a starry sky, Sophia and I became inseparable.

Often God places people in our paths who spark internal joy simply by being themselves. I found such a gift in Sophia. After a few days of bemoaning being trapped in a conference center, Sophia and I decided to spend an afternoon playing hooky and exploring the city together. We spent hours shopping in open-air markets, touring the Apartheid museum, and visiting various historical locations. Toward the end of the afternoon, she asked where else I wanted to visit.

My mind flashed back to the night we checked in at the Grand Daddy Hotel. The clerk handed me a tourist map with all Cape Town’s attractions marked by colorful shapes. Scanning the
street names, restaurants, and popular tourist destinations, a place denoted by a tiny red diamond had captured my imagination.

“Let’s see the Jewel of Africa,” I said.

“What is it?” she asked.

“The map doesn’t say, but anything called the Jewel of Africa must be magical!” I assured her.

I estimated the journey required several miles of walking, but the hike promised a reward, I reasoned—after all, we were embarking on a grand adventure.

The ultimate portrait of a tourist, I held out my treasure map at the corner of a busy intersection, trying to navigate the best and safest path. Some of the narrower empty streets caused us to look over our shoulders and increase our pace. We stuck close together in this city renowned for its crime.

I learned more about Sophia’s story as we wove through the streets. During graduate school, Erik, a fellow student, asked her out on a coffee date. She agreed to meet him under a tree in the center of the school courtyard but soon forgot. Erik extended grace for her no-show and continued pursuing her. The rescheduled coffee date blossomed into an entire day together where they shared common experiences and dreams for the future. Love’s fingers grabbed their hearts and drew them together. One evening, Erik confessed he wanted to marry her. Sophia didn’t hesitate. More than anything, she wanted to spend the rest of her life with Erik.

The couple began whiteboarding their futures together. Despite his many strengths, Erik had one permanent weakness. Born with a congenital heart defect, he had undergone surgery as a teenager to repair a missing flap on one of his valves. Doctors told him he’d require open-heart surgery later in his life but during an annual checkup discovered the surgery was needed sooner than anticipated.

Driving to the hospital for the surgery, neither Sophia nor Erik worried about the outcome. The doctors had explained that any threat to Erik’s life or long-term health was less than 5 percent. The statistic was based on studies of patients who were often in poor physical health. Eric was young, athletic, in love.

The surgery was scheduled to last seven hours but required nearly twenty-one. Erik’s family and Sophia waited for updates. Somewhere around hour fourteen, Erik’s body stopped clotting blood. The doctors began administering pint after pint to keep Erik alive. When the surgery concluded, a machine kept Erik’s heart beating. His body refused to respond to the withdrawal of anesthesia.

A series of tests revealed a loose brain clot had destroyed his mental capacity. Erik’s major organs started shutting down. Two days after surgery, Erik died.

“I knew it was a possibility,” Sophia said. “But I never owned it. I never thought I’d leave the hospital to help plan a funeral.”

Sophia helped choose which friends delivered eulogies, served
as pallbearers, and performed music at his funeral. She held everything together until the crowd left. Then she allowed herself to feel the Gothic tones of loss and grief. When Erik died, a piece of her died too.

In the wake of his death, the support Sophia received felt hollow—as if people delivered balloons with the helium already leaking out. Many of the well-meaning but trite responses of friends and those in her faith community were more damaging than healing.

Some suggested the heart malfunction was a gift from God. Others alluded to the idea that his death was a result of sin—in her life or her fiancé’s. Still others questioned if she could ever date again. Almost as painful as the people who offered cruel comments were those who disappeared. Unsure of what to say or how to deal with the situation, some of her closest friends said nothing at all. Sophia found herself abandoned and isolated, wrestling with unanswerable questions.

But a professor at Sophia’s university refused to give up on her.

“This professor never felt he needed to correct me but rather made the journey with me, providing time and space to come to grips with what my faith looked like on the other side of Erik’s death,” she told me.

The professor asked tough questions of Sophia and allowed her to ask tough questions back. Neither balked. They wrestled
through ideas and emotions. At times, in the midst of confusion and apathy, he simply sat with her saying nothing at all. Months rolled by.

In fits and spurts, her faith developed a pulse. Sophia began to allow herself not only to feel but to come back to life again. Experiencing unconditional, radical compassion proved potent and transformative for Sophia. Love liberated her.

“Through Erik’s death, I’m more comfortable not always knowing the answers,” she said. “Though at the same time, I feel more confident in the core of what I believe and what I know to be true. The experience has informed the way I teach and allowed me to become gentler in how I do theology with others.”

“Where are you in the process of becoming alive again?” I pressed.

“Struggling, like the butterfly,” she said. “A cocoon is always dark and thick when you’re on the inside.”

“Do you still have questions for God?”

“Just a few million or so, but I did get one question answered.”

“What’s that?”

“The professor who reached out to me—the one who let me ask tough, ugly questions of life and God—well, I spoke to him awhile back and asked him why he didn’t let go, why he didn’t give up on me.”

“What did he say?” I asked, hanging on her words.

“He said he saw life in me.”

I stopped walking and lowered the map as her words hung suspended, thick, in the air. This professor, this chance acquaintance, saw life in Sophia and fought back hell to retrieve her. Others walked away; he refused to budge. Though hundreds of students filed through his classroom each semester, thousands roamed the halls of his prestigious school, he fought for one, this one, because in her he had seen life.