Needlepoint prayers and popsicle stick frames – been there, done that

For many of us who grew up in the church, it can be very easy to develop a “been there, done that” attitude towards just about everything religious.  We think we “know” things because we’ve heard them a thousand times.  And the more basic and simple the truths are, the more we think they somehow belong in a box in the attic with our Vacation Bible School popsicle-stick artwork.

Like the Lord’s Prayer. 

For me, the Lord’s Prayer brings up images of old needle-point and Sandi Patty — both of which probably need a little dusting off — and neither of which is all that inspiring to me.  I could probably say the whole thing backwards with just a little work.  I really can’t hear the Lord’s Prayer without thinking of a tediously long wedding song with a three octave range.  And as hard as I’ve tried, I can’t say it in any other translation than King James.

But I recently heard a teacher who encouraged his listeners to pray the Lord’s Prayer daily.  Literally.  Word for word.  As an actual prayer and not just as a “model prayer” as some might call it.

So I decided to try it.

It’s been an interesting exercise, and if nothing else it has brought focus and discipline into my life at a time where I needed it badly.

It has enlightened me more than I ever imagined, but there’s one story in particular that I’d really like to tell.

I’ve been tutoring a high school freshman from Guatemala.  It’s just one day a week, barely even for thirty minutes, so please don’t think that I’m trying to boast about my “good deeds”.   The point of this post is just to tell my story of experiencing the truth and beauty of the Lord’s Prayer.  (And since I can’t sing it like Sandy or needle-point it like Mamaw, this blog post is going to have to suffice.)

Every time I’ve gone to Midwood High School for the past three months I’ve prayed this Prayer.

I stop and kneel right in the middle of a crowded hallway and loudly recite this prayer in my most authoritative voice (with the aid of a bull horn) while a hoard of teenagers try to avoid tripping over me.   Sometimes they throw things at me.  And on two occasions, the security guard has had to escort me off the premises as I’m kicking and screaming about my First Amendment rights.

Oops, sorry.  Wrong story.  Mine’s not quite that dramatic.  ;-}

Actually, I pull into the visitor parking lot, frustrated by traffic, distracted by the conference call that I’ve just finished while driving, and check my BlackBerry for the call that I’m going to have to make as soon as I’m done tutoring.

Our Father Who Art in heaven,

I make sure I have my pre-algebra textbook, some paper and a pencil, and silence my cell phone.

Hallowed be Thy name.

I round the corner of the classic red brick southern colonial style building, double-checking to see if I really put the phone on silent.

Thy Kingdom come, Thy will be done

I walk past the tall white wood-framed windows, down the crumbling side walk, noticing the weeds in the lawn.  I’m too picky about weeds.  My daughter says I have OCPD.  I also wonder sometimes if I have ADD too.  So I quickly start the prayer over, because now I’ve forgotten where I left off.

Our Father, Who Art in heaven, Hallowed be Thy Name.

Thy Kingdom come, Thy will be done,

I approach the unwelcoming, out-of-place, metal doors that look like they belong on an industrial warehouse rather than a red brick school house.

On earth, as it is in Heaven.

I sign the visitor’s log and fill out a name tag.

Give us this day our daily bread.

I say Good Morning to the secretary.  I don’t think she knows my name, but I can’t say that I’ve done a good job at remembering hers either.  I should probably pay more attention.

And forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors.

Today, I’m actually early.  First block isn’t over yet, so I find a seat outside the office and soon start to worry about how I’m going to get everything done after I leave here.

Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.

And I wait for the bell to ring.

And then for twenty-five minutes or so I try to explain point-slope formulas for a line.

And y-intercept formulas.

And the Pythagorean Theorem.

But sometimes we just talk about cars and what he’s going to do this summer.

None of it really feels like a kingdom and bread and debts and temptation.  But somehow it’s all related, and mumbling the words to this prayer has begun to help me make a connection.  Maybe I can’t explain all of the theology, but I know as I leave the building that somehow I’ve seen a glimpse of a literal place – a Kingdom — where all things are as they should be, where kids have fathers who haven’t been deported, whose mothers aren’t working two jobs to make ends meet, and children don’t have to ride a bus across town to a last-ditch-effort school program that’s trying to get a handful of  kids back on track academically because the system has failed them miserably.

I don’t know how this all works, but I know that something “cosmic” has just happened that I can’t fully understand or explain.

But I have to leave, get back in my car, check the BlackBerry and continue my conference calls.

And I’m saddened that this brief relationship with this young man will probably be over in just a matter of weeks.  Father, please protect him…

… for Thine is the Kingdom, and the power, and the Glory forever.

Amen.