Change, Thou Art Difficult

I wrote awhile ago about a particularly neurotic experience in worship. (If you missed it, look here.) It had to do with my congregation's reluctance to change the Lord's Prayer, moving out of "thy and thine" to "you and yours." (The sort of language change that generally happened, you know, hundreds of years ago, but that's okay.)

I decided to write a newsletter article about this, because a.) I needed something to write about for November and frankly, the annual "be thankful!" theme is getting old and b.) I like newsletter articles to give food for thought. Plus I'm not entirely sure where else to address this, given that I don't really want to spend a whole sermon on it and there aren't too many other options. (The music director and I have decided, however, that we'll likely use the Lord's Prayer as our theme for Lenten midweek services, and "prayer" as a general Lenten theme. That should be fun.)

At any rate, the article is below. (Wherever you see "This Congregation," the actual name of my church appears, but it's been altered to protect the stubborn.) If you have any thoughts, please comment. It can't get much longer than this - I'm pushing the boundaries already - but I'd love to hear other opinions. I wilt be forever grateful for thine gracious words.



There’s an old joke: “How many Lutherans does it take to change a light bulb?” Answer: “Change?” (I said it was an old joke, not necessarily a great one.) The implication, of course, is that Lutherans aren’t big on change. That’s partly true, though I think it’s more of a general human tendency than just a Lutheran one. Change is hard. Especially when we weren’t looking for it.

Our biggest changes in the last few months at This Congregation have largely revolved around the new hymnal. New songs, new liturgy pieces, new book (small print, I know – the large print edition is coming in 2009), new version of the Apostles’ Creed. These adjustments we have handled with considerable grace and good humor, all things considered. For all that we claim not to like change very much, This Congregation has long been a congregation at ease with many changes, able to bend without breaking and learn to try new things.

But oh, it has been hard to change the Lord’s Prayer, hasn’t it? For some of us more than others, but on the whole, that’s the one piece which has certainly caused the most consternation, and about which I’ve been asked the most questions. “Why did we change the prayer? What was wrong with the old one? What if I don’t want to pray the new one? Why fix something if it isn’t broken?”

I’m not sure I can address all those questions here, but it seemed like one place to try. At the very least, I’d like to encourage you to think hard about why change is sometimes a good idea, even when it makes you uncomfortable for awhile, or when it’s a change you don’t really want. Changes in worship are always a challenge. But they do give us opportunity to think about why we worship, how we worship, and what we’re really doing when we gather on a Sunday morning.

The Lord’s Prayer appears in both Matthew and Luke’s gospels (Matthew 6:9-13; Luke 11:2-4). In Matthew, Jesus instructs the disciples to pray “in this way,” perhaps meaning that the prayer itself is a pattern to be followed for all our prayers, not simply something to be recited. It comes in the midst of Jesus’ reminder that his followers should not pray for show, nor should they worry about using big, fancy, religious words. Instead, he encourages them to pray simply, for, as he says, “your Father knows what you need before you ask him” (Matt. 6:8).

In Luke, the setting is a bit different. In Matthew, Jesus’ instruction on prayer comes during the Sermon on the Mount; in Luke, it occurs later in Jesus’ ministry, right after he has reminded Mary and Martha not to keep themselves so busy that they lose track of what really matters. Luke’s version of the prayer is also quite a bit shorter, mentioning nothing about God’s will being done or delivering us from evil. Neither gospel contains the words which traditionally close the prayer: “for thine is the kingdom, the power, and the glory, forever and ever.” I encourage you to read both versions and note some of the differences between the two.

The traditional version – the one with “thy” and “thine” and “art” – originated in 1662 and was slightly altered in 1928. It came from the Church of England Prayer Book. Both those versions, as well as the newer ones, are based on Matthew’s version of the prayer, instead of Luke’s. Since Jesus would have prayed in Aramaic, an ancient language related to Hebrew, any English version is a translation of the original.

The version we now pray on Sundays comes from the English Language Liturgical Consultation, an ecumenical body. It was formed in 1969 by many mainline churches to help develop not only prayers, but also the lectionary (the series of biblical readings we hear on Sunday mornings). The hope was that all churches, regardless of denomination, would be able to share some key things in common: the Lord’s Prayer, the Creed, and a lectionary. The “new” version of the Lord’s Prayer is not that new, since it was released in 1975. In fact, it was actually in the green hymnal!

History aside, the real struggle is about something else. Why should we change a prayer to which we have become so attached? The world already changes so fast, so often – why can’t some things stay the same? Is change for its own sake really a good thing?

These are important questions. And yet, there are also some others. Why do we have such a hard time changing our words for this prayer? Is our reluctance to change a real, theological, spiritual issue – or are we just stubborn? (That Norwegian blood runs deep, doesn’t it?) It’s uncomfortable to feel that you don’t know this prayer anymore. But then again, a little discomfort in our faith lives causes us to think. It causes us to ask pay close attention to what we are praying instead of simply reciting words from memory. That’s worth doing every once in awhile, even though it is hard.

I know that on my deathbed, I will very likely pray, “Our Father, who art in heaven…” That version of the prayer is simply imprinted in my brain, and it will always be so. And no one will ever force you to pray the new version if you truly can’t do it. But if you are struggling, ask yourself why. Wrestle a bit with change. Try on a little discomfort.

When Jesus originally taught the disciples how to pray, they were probably uncomfortable too. After all, they had grown up with traditional Hebrew prayers; they had memorized those since childhood, and here Jesus was giving them something quite different. Many Jewish prayers begin with the phrase, “Blessed are you, O God, King of the universe,” and Jesus’ prayer doesn’t begin with those words at all. It was probably a hard change for them.

A little change now and then can help keep our prayer lives vibrant, alive, and growing. Growing pains are inevitable. But we can pray about that too. No matter what words we use.