St. John’s Lutheran Church
27 July 2025 + Seventh Sunday after Pentecost
Proper 12 / Lectionary 17c
Genesis 18:20-32; Luke 11:1-13
The Rev. Josh Evans
I don’t know how Genesis 18 came to be paired with this gospel reading
from which we get the Lord’s Prayer –
except that it has to do with prayer(?) because Abraham “prays”?
And is that really what Abraham is doing here anyway?
In any case, here we are
presented with two of the most triggering and problematic geographic locations
in all of Scripture – Sodom and Gomorrah –
and it would be pastorally irresponsible for me (or any preacher, really)
to let such a text go by, uninterpreted,
as harmful as it has been for many,
while a Pride flag flies out front
proclaiming our welcome and affirmation for our LGBTQIA+ siblings.
So here it goes, the mini-sermon before the sermon:
The story of Sodom and Gomorrah and its destruction
has nothing to do with loving same-gender relationships
as we understand them today.
That’s not to say that the story is without its issues,
or to let these cities off the hook for their abhorrent behavior –
but what exactly was their abhorrent behavior
that warranted their example-making destruction?
One of the most direct indictments
actually comes from the book of Ezekiel (16:49):
“This was the guilt of your sister Sodom:
she and her daughters had pride, excess of food, and prosperous ease
but did not aid the poor and needy.” (NRSVUE)
Or in another popular translation:
“Now this was the sin of your sister Sodom:
She and her daughters were arrogant, overfed and unconcerned;
they did not help the poor and needy.” (NIV)
Different words, same idea.
And an assessment which lines up quite well
with the story itself from Genesis, where, it should be noted,
God has already decided to destroy the cities
before the infamous incident at Lot’s house –
in which the men of the city inquire
about the two strangers staying with Lot and his family:
“Bring them out to us, so that we may know them,” they demand.
To which Lot doesn’t just say no and let that be the end of it,
but offers his daughters instead:
“Do to them as you please.”
Father of the year award right there.
This is far from a story about loving same-gender relationships.
This is a story about gang rape –
a particularly egregious example of their notorious behavior
of inhospitality and mistreatment of strangers
and those who are different from them,
well attested to and documented in Ezekiel
and the other prophets and even the Apocrypha.
This is a story that underscores God’s overarching concern
for the poor and the oppressed
and the expectation of the people of God to take care of our neighbors in need
– and the consequences of abandoning the mandate to love our neighbor.
So, I’m not sure what this story has to do
with a gospel pairing on the Lord’s Prayer,
but here we are.
***
Sermon #2: The Lord’s Prayer…
Our Father in heaven,
hallowed be your name…
No, wait…that’s not right…
Our Father, who art in heaven,
hallowed by thy name…
Or is it:
Padre nuestro, que estás en los cielos…
According to Jesus, none of the above:
“Father, may your name be revered as holy.
May your kingdom come.
Give us each day our daily bread.
And forgive us our sins,
for we ourselves forgive everyone indebted to us.
And do not bring us to the time of trial.” (Luke 11)
Matthew’s version is even slightly different still.
And in neither biblical version is there a doxology
about the kingdom, the power, or the glory –
that’s a much later addition.
Which can leave one wondering:
Which is the “right” version?
Which just might be the unspoken question behind the disciples’ request:
“Lord, teach us to pray.”
What words should we use for prayer?
What is the “right” way to pray?
Whenever we talk about prayer,
it can feel like a list of “shoulds” and “should nots.”
This is how you should pray – and how you shouldn’t.
This is what you should pray for – and what you shouldn’t.
I remember learning two particular models of prayer growing up:
ACTS (Adoration – Confession – Thanksgiving – Supplication)
and JOY (Jesus – Others – Yourself).
In both cases, or so I was taught,
asking for stuff, especially for myself, should come last of all.
At first glance, it can even feel like today’s gospel story
is one more list of “shoulds” for prayer.
Jesus gives his disciples specific words to pray –
words which we have come to know as the “Lord’s Prayer.”
I’m not sure Jesus ever intended for his advice on prayer
to turn into a full-blown fixture in our liturgy every week –
the kind of prayer we seem to judge all other prayers by
because, after all, it is the Lord’s Prayer.
It can feel like another prescribed way of praying.
And for those of us who struggle with our prayer life,
it can make our own prayers feel inadequate.
In such cases, prayer feels more like a burden –
leaving us to wonder what words to use.
We don’t think we know how to pray.
Or we worry that our prayers won’t be “good enough,”
or that we’ll say the “wrong” thing.
And so we shy away from praying altogether,
especially out loud, especially in public.
“Lord, teach us to pray.”
As if to say:
Give us the “right” words…
so we don’t mess it up and embarrass ourselves.
And so Jesus does. Sort of.
Reflecting on these words this week, a colleague of mine puts it this way:
“I don’t think that Jesus offered this prayer in order to set off a centuries-long firestorm about the choice of language or translation. Instead, he offered a pattern, a model for prayer that aligns us with God’s will for us and the world. The prayer includes reverence and praise, petitions for the individual and the community, and honesty about the dangers of the world. We have said, sung and signed the Lord’s Prayer for centuries, in hundreds of translations and languages. It is not an unassailable monolith, but a model for our own prayer.” (JoAnn Post)
It’s not exactly an original thought,
but it is a helpful reminder:
These words are a model for prayer.
And in that model is freedom to contextualize,
to express our own local needs and the concerns of our world today.
If you were to look in the front part of the red hymnal,
you’d see a similar reminder,
in the order of worship for Holy Communion,
when it comes time for the “prayers of intercession,”
or what I prefer to call the “prayers of the people”:
“The prayers are prepared locally for each occasion,
using the following pattern or another appropriate form.” (ELW, p. 105)
And besides a short introductory call to prayer and concluding collect,
there are no set prayers, only an outline to guide our praying:
“for the church universal, its ministry, and the mission of the gospel;
for the well-being of creation;
for peace and justice in the world, the nations and those in authority, the community;
for the poor, oppressed, sick, bereaved, lonely;
for all who suffer in body, mind, or spirit;
for the congregation, and for special concerns.” (ELW, p. 105-106)
We are encouraged to make these prayers our own –
in our own words,
reflecting the concerns of this assembly,
in this time and place.
Which is why, or so I’ve learned,
it’s so difficult to write the prayers of the people for Sundays and Seasons,
the annual liturgy and music planning volume
from our denominational publishing house –
when contributors are tasked, (at least) a year ahead of time,
with writing prayers generic enough for congregations across the country,
from rural to inner-city, of every background and size and identity.
How am I –
at the time a pastor on the North Shore in suburban Chicagoland
in the summer of 2021–
supposed to know what a congregation in a small farming town
in the middle of Nebraska should pray for
on the First Sunday in Lent in 2023?
“Sundays and Seasons contributor, teach us to pray!”
As though I had the power and influence
to dictate the exact words that every congregation
in Evangelical Lutheran Church in America and
the Evangelical Lutheran Church in Canada
would pray on a given Sunday.
Instead, maybe my words,
whatever they were during Lent 2023,
however relevant (or not) they seemed almost two years after I wrote them,
were a bit like what Jesus was trying to do.
“Lord, teach us to pray.”
Okay, here’s one option…
a starting place,
an outline for petitions reflecting the wideness of God’s mercy
for the whole world,
a model for making these prayers, this prayer, your own.
Which brings us back to the Lord’s Prayer.
There is no right or wrong version.
Really, there is no “traditional” version –
because the very first question out of my mouth would be “whose tradition?”
Which is why I intentionally print in our bulletin,
every time we pray these words:
“You are invited to pray in whichever language or translation
is most familiar for you.”
Whether you prefer the thees and thous of King James’ English,
or the more contemporary words of modern English,
or another translation or language entirely:
“Eternal Spirit,
Earth-maker, Pain-bearer, Life-giver,
Source of all that is and that shall be,
Father and Mother of us all,
Loving God, in whom is heaven…”
like one of the forms offered in the New Zealand Prayer Book begins.
However we pray these words,
whichever words or language we use,
God hears our prayers.
There is a place for pre-written, prescribed forms of prayer.
After all, at the end of the day,
hymnal publishers have to print something on the page.
But that doesn’t mean that’s the only way to pray, or the only words to use.
Because prayer is, above all, a gift,
and not a burden.
Prayer is a gift that reminds us
who God is and what God promises us:
bread to share,
forgiveness to give and receive,
strength to endure trials.
Prayer is a gift that reminds us
we’re not alone.
After all, Jesus’ prayer is a communal prayer:
give us,
forgive us,
do not bring us…
Prayer is a gift that reminds us
about who God is:
bread-giver,
forgiver,
sustainer,
reliable,
faithful.
No matter what form our prayers take,
prayer is a gift that invites us into a way of life.
It’s not about us saying the right words, in the right order,
as though such a thing were possible.
It certainly doesn’t depend on our own worthiness.
Prayer, like the one Jesus teaches us,
is a confession of faith
in who God is and what God is capable of:
the one who promises to hear us,
love us,
forgive us,
and sustain us –
no matter what we say.