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This is another sermon on prayer. A sermon. But there’s really only one thing I want to say. One thing. When we pray, we pray to our heavenly Father, who loves us. That’s all. We pray to our heavenly Father, who loves us.
That sounds simple enough. I wish it were. But it’s not. Not for me anyway. Because of something that happened years ago, when I was first a Christian. Such a little thing. It was a Saturday morning. A men’s breakfast. But an older man there said something I’ve never been able to forget. He was a staunch and stubborn, old-school Calvinist. A hard man. With a hard faith. A man who had no patience for ministers who preached about God’s love. “All this love, love! LOVE!” he complained. I can still hear it.
It was just a few words. But it poisoned my young Christian mind. And that poison lingers. As a result, whenever I hear someone talking about God’s love and whenever I start thinking about God’s love, I still hear that voice. I still hear those words. And I wonder if “all this love, love! LOVE!” is betraying the Gospel.
I know it’s not. Not betraying the Gospel. I’m sure of that. Because God’s love is the heart of the Gospel. But it seems like I have to convince myself about that over and over again. Because those words echo in my mind. So it’s hard for me to settle down permanently and to rest comfortably in the arms of God’s love. I bet I’m not the only one who has that problem.
I know how unworthy I am, unworthy of God’s love. You know it, too. We all know what the issues are. We face them every time we say the Lord’s Prayer. Let me make the list. First, we’re weak and dependent. So we pray, Give us. Second, we’re guilty. So we pray, Forgive us. Third, we’re lost. So we pray, Lead us. And last, we’re vulnerable. So we pray, Deliver us.
But why should God give us anything? Why should God forgive us anything? Why should God lead us anywhere? Or deliver us from anyone? Why?
The answer? The answer to my unworthiness? To your unworthiness? It’s there. The answer. There at the beginning of the prayer. “Here’s how to pray,” Jesus says. “Start your prayers this way: Father.” Father. God is our Father, our heavenly Father.
That takes us back to Hosea. Hosea and his wife—his wife who liked to sleep around. Together Hosea and his wife Gomer were acting out the story of God and Israel. And the kids? Nobody, especially Hosea—nobody was sure who their father was.
It was no different with God and Israel. Israel had been sleeping around. And God had been putting up with it. For so long. Always forgiving. Always embracing Israel’s children as his own.
But even God’s patience has its limits. “Enough!” God said. “I’m not going to have pity on you any more. I’m not going to love you any more. You used to be my people, my children. But not any more. And I am not your God!”
Why did it take so long for God’s patience to run out? Why didn’t God throw in the towel ages earlier? Here’s how God explains it, in Hosea 11. And this takes us right back to the beginning. When Israel was a child, God says—When Israel was a child, I loved him (v. 1). I loved him. That’s the beginning. That’s the foundation.
Except now, in Hosea’s time, there’s nothing left on that foundation. God is done with Israel. “I’m not your God any more. And you’re not my people any more. We’re through!” It’s over. It’s beyond hope. Or is it?
Listen to what God says next:
Yet the Israelites will be like the sand on the seashore,
which cannot be measured or counted.
In the place where it was said to them, “You are not my people,”
they will be called “children of the living God.”
God is not through with Israel. Not now. Not ever.
Why? Again, God explains it best, again in Hosea 11. After denouncing Israel, Israel who deserves every bit of what they have coming—after denouncing Israel, God says,
How can I give you up, Ephraim?
How can I hand you over, Israel?
My heart is changed within me;
all my compassion is aroused (v. 8).
Never mind what Israel had coming. That fate was overruled. Overruled by God’s heart. By God’s love.
The story of God and Israel is a love story. There’s love at the beginning. There’s love in the middle. There’s love at the end. Because that is who God is. The God of Israel. Our heavenly Father. God is love (1 John 4:8).
Okay, once again here’s that one thing I want to say. When we pray, we pray to our Father, who loves us. That’s all. We pray to our Father, who loves us. Here’s what that means. God loves you. Always God loves you.
You see where I’m going with this.
God is our Father, our heavenly Father. If that means nothing else, it means God loves us. Because that’s what fathers do. Good fathers. They love their kids. Love them no matter what. That means we can settle down permanently and rest comfortably in the arms of God’s love.
All this love, love! LOVE? It’s the Gospel. It’s where the Gospel begins. When God calls Abraham in love. And it’s where the Gospel winds up. When God sends his only Son to the world in love. And it’s the Gospel we live in the middle of. God is our Father, our heavenly Father. God loves us. Nothing is going to change that.
God may not like what we’ve been doing lately. God may have some tough lessons for us to learn. We might be right in the middle of a hard stretch, the hardest we’ve ever known. Regardless, God loves us. Because that is who God is. God is love. And God always loves. God loves all the way to the cross. That crusty old man whose words have been haunting me all these years? He had it wrong. He had it so wrong!
So whenever you pray—and maybe you pray every day, or maybe you haven’t prayed for six months or even six years—but whenever you pray, you’re praying to your heavenly Father. And your heavenly Father loves you. Always.
And that’s all I want to say on prayer today.
✠
In the Name of the Father
and of the Son
and of the Holy Spirit.
✠
Scripture Readings
Hosea 1:2-10
Psalm 85
Colossians 2:6-15
Luke 11:1-13