I was praying during one of my lunchtime runs a few weeks ago. I often state two key words in my prayers. Those two words are “God” and “Lord”. As I curved up the concrete path leading to the former train trestle turned running/walking bridge over the Willamette River a different word popped into my mind, the word “Father”. The impressiveness of the thought caused me to pay closer attention because I sensed it was a quiet whisper from God in regard to my prayer. In fact, the thought was phrased more as a question rather than as a statement.
“Why don’t you ever refer to Me as Father?”
While this may sound like a simple question, the answer is really quite complex. There are many reasons why I’ve resisted referring to God as Father. The reasons hover in areas such as my relationship with my earthly father, lack of trust in the God of the universe, and tainted experiences from my cult days (hence my book From Cult to Christ). Maybe someday I’ll write a more detailed blog on these reasons, but right now I want to address this particular prayer on this particular run.
Jesus referred to God as Father many times (too many times to list here, but you’ll find a complete list on pages 347-8 in Strong’s Exhaustive Concordance of the Bible). When the disciples asked Jesus to teach them how to pray, He started with the words, “Our Father” (see Matthew 6:9 and Luke 11:2). When Jesus was in the garden of Gethsemane, His prayers were so intense with psychological stress, that He sweat drops of blood (a condition known as hematidrosis, see p. 260 of The Case for Christ by Lee Strobel). But even in all this intensity, Jesus referred to God as Father (see Matthew 26:39, Mark 14:36, and Luke 22:42).
So without waxing all-theological, what is the significance of this question I sensed in my prayer? Biblically speaking, what is a father? A father is someone who cares, someone who rescues, someone who’s a hero. A father is compassionate and yet can appropriately discipline when necessary. A father is there when you need him and even when you don’t. A father loves and respects you. A father also accepts you for who you are but won’t necessarily let you always stay the same, for a father is also a guide into maturity and adventure. And, of course, a father has children.
All of these attributes are true of God. These are the attributes He was trying to get me to realize in my prayer. Yes He is God, and yes He is Lord, but I can still come to this God of the universe as a Father, for He does love me and cares for me and my family. He doesn’t sit idly by but is an active participant in my life; at least He is if I let Him.
So now when I pray, I approach Him as my loving Father Who is extending His arms to embrace me in a big ol’ bear hug rather than approaching Him as a distant God on a distant throne with minimal care for my life. He is God and Lord, but He is also Father, which means I can follow Jesus’ example and pray, “My Father,” and I can know that He hears me.
