Thursday of the Eleventh Week in Ordinary Time
Lectio Divina
Theme: “Our”
1. Lectio
Gospel: Matthew 6:7-15
«”Our Father who art in heaven…”»
Saint Cyprian observed:
«”Above all, the Teacher of peace and Master of unity did not want prayer to be made singly and privately, so that whoever prayed would pray for himself alone. We do not say My Father, who art in heaven, or Give me this day my daily bread; nor does each one ask that only his own debt should be forgiven him; nor does he request for himself alone that he may not be led into temptation but delivered from evil. Our prayer is public and common, and when we pray, we pray not for one person but for the whole people, since we, the whole people, are one.”»
How astonishing that the first word Jesus teaches me to say is not my, but our. Before I ask for bread, forgiveness, or deliverance, I must first remember that I belong to a people. Even my most private prayer is never solitary. I stand before God as a member of a communion stretching across heaven and earth.
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2. Meditatio
I am back at our home now, though the strange paradox is that I never truly left home at all. I have returned from Scotland, yet while gazing upon the crofts and glens there, I discovered once again that the whole earth is “our common home.” As Pope Francis says, our common home is like a sister with whom we share our life and a beautiful mother who opens her arms to embrace us.
Travel has a way of enlarging the word our. Scotland was not mine, and yet I found brothers and sisters there. The Isle of Skye, the sheep upon the hills, the old churches, and the quiet roads all spoke the language of belonging rather than possessing. They reminded me that God made a world to be shared, not conquered.
The Church likewise regards all who sincerely seek truth, goodness, and beauty as companions on the journey and as precious allies in defending the dignity of every person and caring for creation. She listens, discerns, and interprets the signs of the times without fear. The wisdom of the Word of God does not compete with human knowledge, but illuminates it.
Saint John Paul II taught that the Church welcomes the insights of philosophy and the human and social sciences. Pope Francis likewise reminds me that the Church does not claim to provide a definitive opinion on every technical matter, but encourages serious and honest dialogue.
There is something wonderfully Chestertonian about this. Modern men often imagine that certainty means isolation. They seek salvation through specialization and expertise alone. But truth itself has a communal character. Wisdom grows when theologians converse with scientists, when farmers speak with educators, when philosophers listen to poets, and when ordinary people pray together.
I confess that I frequently pray as though God and I were conducting a private business transaction. Yet Christ insists that I begin with Our Father. The Lord does not teach me to say my daily bread, but our daily bread. He does not tell me merely to forgive those who trespass against me, but to enter into the great economy of mercy by which all of us survive.
Perhaps that is why I felt at home among the crofts of Scotland and now feel at home again at The Glenn. Home is not merely where I live. Home is wherever I learn again that everything I possess is first a gift, and every gift is meant to be shared.
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3. Oratio
Lord Jesus, You taught me to say Our Father, not because You wished to diminish my individuality, but because You wished to enlarge my heart.
Save me from the illusion that I can live, think, pray, or flourish alone.
Teach me to love Your Church, imperfect though she may be.
Teach me to rejoice in the wisdom You scatter throughout humanity.
Help me to welcome truth wherever it is found, and to recognize every person as one whom You call brother or sister.
When I am tempted to say “mine,” teach me to say “ours.”
When I become fearful of those who think differently from me, remind me that Your Spirit blows where He wills.
Grant me humility to listen, courage to speak, and charity to love.
May my prayers become wider, my vision broader, and my heart more like Yours.
Amen.
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4. Contemplatio
(Chestertonian Synthesis)
There is something delightfully absurd in the fact that the most personal prayer in the world begins with the least personal word.
Modernity continually whispers to me, “Be yourself.” Christianity replies, “Very well—but first remember whose self you are.”
The saints knew that individuality is not destroyed by communion; it is fulfilled by it. A violin playing alone may be beautiful, but a symphony is glorious.
God Himself is not solitude but Trinity. Heaven itself is not an endless private retreat but an everlasting feast.
And so I suspect that the first word of the Lord’s Prayer is one of the greatest revolutions in history. For empires are built upon the word my, while kingdoms of heaven are built upon the word our.
The tragedy of Babel was not that men built too high, but that they built too much for themselves.
The miracle of Pentecost was not that everyone spoke the same language, but that everyone could understand.
I returned from Scotland to The Glenn thinking I had come home. But perhaps home is not a place at all.
Perhaps home is wherever one can honestly say:
Our Father.
Thursday of the Eleventh Week in Ordinary Time
