Last time, we looked at the geography of prayer. We don’t send our prayers off to a distant God in heaven. The word for “heaven” in our passage is plural in the Gospel’s original language. It’s “heavens,” which is also our word for sky. God inhabits the invisible space all around us. God is as close to us as the air we breathe.

The first and greatest gift of prayer is the Divine presence. This is the reward of prayer we receive when we close the door and quiet our minds. But then what? Prayer, by definition, includes words, not just presence. So, what do we say?

“Our Father, the God in our space, we hallow your name.” The prayer begins in a challenging place for many modern readers. It sounds patriarchal, as if it limits God to a male figure of authority. I’ve pastored people who cannot (or will not) bring themselves to call God “Father” because of the abuse of male authority. They find it challenging to honor this name because it has served as a tool of oppression.

While this brief article can’t address all the issues here, it can point out the larger invitation these words offer. The key here is “Our Father.”

Jesus tells us that even when we pray alone, we bring the rest of humanity with us. God is not merely my Father; God is our Father. “Our” is a possessive pronoun. He implies God belongs to everyone, just as the air is available for breathing. This availability of God — represented by “heavens” — is a shared gift. In fact, God is the source of us all, not a distant parent, but one who is as close as our next breath.

We humans want to believe that our group owns God. We think we are the ones God loves most because of our doctrines, nationality, practices, politics, etc. But when we do that, we create distinctions that justify the practice of hate. We cannot hallow the name of God when we limit the love of God. When we hear the word “hallow,” we often interpret it as “obey the Father.” Mothers used to say, “Wait until your father gets home,” meaning punishment was coming because you broke the rules. But there are deeper meanings of hallow.

One of my favorite breakfast meals is toast on the edge of being burnt, smothered in peanut butter, and dipped in cocoa. When I have this meal, I reconnect with my childhood. This was the meal we shared as a family. Even today, I “hallow” it with praises of “mmmnnn.” If you haven’t had this meal, you can’t truly hallow it because it’s outside of your experience. When we are alone in God’s presence, we come to appreciate this available God and feast on this presence.

But in this experience, “Our Father” reminds us that God is with us all. God is Our Father. When we don’t bring others with us, we diminish the quality of the experience because we’re missing a key ingredient: the love of God for everyone.

As the New Testament reminds us, how can I love a God I have not seen if I hate those I have seen? It’s hard to hallow a God who limits his presence to only us or our group. But when we experience God in our space and hallow this available God — even to those outside our group — it changes how we see others.

We all breathe the same air. Our shared atmosphere is God. Maybe our world would be much better if we could embrace the “Our Father.”

The next time you pray, take everyone with you. Do as Jesus commanded. Pray for those you perceive as the problem. And it will expand your humanity. “But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you” (Matthew 5:44).