It's Missing 3. The Lord's Prayercut

Hymns and songs almost invariably have bits missing, and even if the printed version doesn't then the performed version will.

More extraordinarily the central prayer of the Christian Church has a bit missing.

Our Father, which art in heaven,

Hallowed be thy Name.
Thy Kingdom come. 

Thy will be done in earth, 

As it is in heaven.

Give us this day our daily bread.

And forgive us our trespasses,

As we forgive them that trespass against us. 

And lead us not into temptation, 

But deliver us from evil. 

For thine is the kingdom, 

The power, and the glory, 

For ever and ever. 

Amen.

Here's the Roman Catholic version:

Our Father who art in Heaven, 

Hallowed be thy name; 

Thy kingdom come 

Thy will be done 

On earth as it is in heaven. 

Give us this day our daily bread; 

And forgive us our trespasses 

As we forgive those who trespass against us; 

And lead us not into temptation, 

But deliver us from evil.

My attendance at RC services is almost non existent - the last time I was left hanging by this version of the Lord's Prayer was in a fiercely evangelical church and the time before that in a middling cerebral Anglican church.

The rationale for the haircut prayercut seems simple enough - the oldest transcripts of the Gospels (usually but not universally deemed to be the most reliable) don't have the final doxology in.  

To me, the question is: What do we gain by taking it out?

The answer cannot be that it gives a better ending.  Mostly, when I've heard it in its truncated form, the leader adds Amen which is an unconscious admission that the truncated version doesn't feel that it ends right.   

The answer cannot be that the doxology doesn't fit the prayer.  The meaning of the doxology echoes the opening lines of the prayer about the kingdom and divine glory of God.  It reflects the grounds of confidence that we might be delivered from evil.

The answer must be that it is more Biblical.  This seems simple and straightforward enough.  Until we ponder that in the Roman Church being Biblical is hardly a stated priority with its varied forms of  hierarchical authority.  A Church that has in central liturgy a prayer

Blessed be the great Mother of God, Mary most Holy.

Blessed be her Holy and Immaculate Conception.
Blessed be her Glorious Assumption.

Blessed be the name of Mary, Virgin and Mother.

Blessed be St. Joseph, her most chaste spouse.

doesn't really need to exercise itself too much about being exactly Biblical!  Similarly, by his writings I am fairly sure that the Lead Vicar in the cerebral Anglican church I gave as an example doesn't believe the Lord's Prayer was actually uttered by the Lord.  So his problem with it is hard to understand too.

That leaves us with the Biblicist church who may have some grounds for leaving it out because it's not in the Bible (though surely most of our other prayers aren't either?)  But even that isn't straightforward because this doxology IS in the Bible - 1 Chronicles 29:

11 Thine, O Lord is the greatness, and the power, and the glory, and the victory, and the majesty: for all that is in the heaven and in the earth is thine; thine is the kingdom, O Lord, and thou art exalted as head above all.

Shall we just keep saying it, eh?

It's Missing 2. On the Brink

The Church has many reasons to be thankful for Matt Redman.  Matt has gone far past many contemporary worship lyricists in incorporating ancient words and biblical truths, some of which sit uncomfortably in the mindset of flashing lights, flashing teeth and flashing sales commercials which can substitute for true worship and togetherness.  I'm especially excited that the worship leader in our church loves this song because it is based on an amazing devotional poem by Robert Murray McCheyne.

McCheyne was younger than Matt Redman when he died and (I'm sure Matt wouldn't mind me remarking) made an even bigger impact in the terms of his day, especially in Dundee.  Like any devotional poem, not every verse should be sung.  In this poem - which is McCheyne's imagining of what he'd be grateful for when he reached glory - the second verse was included in only a few hymnbooks.  Unsurprisingly Matt (if he knew it existed) left it out of his consideration:

1. When this passing world is done,

When has sunk yon glaring sun,

When we stand with Christ in glory,

Looking o’er life’s finished story,

Then, Lord, shall I fully know—

Not till then—how much I owe.

2. When I hear the wicked call,

On the rocks and hills to fall,

When I see them start and shrink

On the fiery deluge brink,

Then, Lord, shall I fully know—

Not till then—how much I owe.

3.When I stand before the throne,

Dressed in beauty not my own,

When I see Thee as Thou art,

Love Thee with unsinning heart,

Then Lord, shall I fully know—

Not till then—how much I owe.

[continues]

There are three possible reasons to leave verse 2 out of hymnic consideration.  

The fact of hell.  That's enough for some, perhaps.  Yet if we only sing about spiritual positives we neuter those positives to an extent - verses 1 & 3 seem more worshipful to me in the light of this verse in between them.

The description of hell.  It is true that this is plucked straight from the church's tradition of horrors, though also from the words of the Lord Jesus . . .  Hell being eternal separation from God means that even the grimmest descriptors - far from exaggerating it - inevitably underplay what hell is really like.

The description of the saved.  This seems to me to be the best reason to leave the verse out.  Much as I admire McCheyne it is hard to see much Biblical justification (there is a little at a stretch) for a heavenly audience thankfully feasting on the spectacle of the lost on the brink of judgment.  I suppose that on the cross Jesus could have said to the repentant thief, referencing the unrepentant one, "You and I will be fine - wait 'til you see what happens to him".  But instead Jesus united the repentant thief to himself in paradise and the other was silently lost (as he shouted his insults) to the eternal salvation story.

If you have a life-saving hospital treatment you do not need to visit the mortuary to be any more knowledgeably grateful.

It's Missing 1. A Lost Peace

Missing things are often interesting.

Take jigsaw puzzles.  If it has a thousand pieces and, on using all that are available, one is missing then that is the one that gains all your attention.

To me this works in other things.  Not least hymns.  How many times, for example, have churchgoers sung the Wesley hymn And can it be and assumed (because it flows) that it is intact?  Well it isn't.

Including a little of the traditional verses four and then the final verse, here is the original verse 5:

. . . My chains fell off, my heart was free,

I rose, went forth, and followed Thee.

Still the small inward voice I hear,

That whispers all my sins forgiven;

Still the atoning blood is near,

That quenched the wrath of hostile Heaven.

I feel the life His wounds impart;

I feel the Saviour in my heart.

No condemnation now I dread;

Jesus, and all in Him, is mine . . .

For any worship leader or organist the advantages of removing this verse are obvious.  Its personal, reflective words would rudely interrupt the grand musical transition from the victorious end of verse 4 to the equally victorious beginning of the final verse.  The musician has an ally in many a theologian.  What's all this about hostile Heaven?  How could a cuddly god be hostile toward sin?  If god loves us she/he must at least love in a small way all the stuff we do - she/he could never inhabit a hostility?  Why, we'd have to put her/him on a register if she/he wasn't careful!

But then again.  What if God really hates sin?  What if having rose up and followed thee I begin to share his loathing of it.  Then I do not just need a tuba stop or drum roll of confidence - I need a whisper.  A whisper that God and I can walk together even though he hates sin and I still at times like it rather too much.

A Thought on National Poetry Day

In case you missed this . . .

http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/p034nv37

Cor! Um, quorum?

Quorum, noun: The minimum number of members of an assembly or society that must be present at any of its meetings to make the proceedings of that meeting valid.

Bishops and Popes probably have many things to think about.  What they probably never think about is a quorum.  The House of Commons (Parliament in the UK) has a quorum but neatly does not demand that it needs to be in attendance.  Or at least only for a vote.

From time to time as a Baptist Pastor quorums have occupied my thoughts because in our congregational way of running church we have to have them for our 'governing body of the church of Christ on earth' to be in existence.

I could occupy webspace with mildly amusing anecdotes about desperate efforts to cross the line over the years, but fortunately last evening our church achieved an evening so bizarre that I now only have to remember this one anecdote to keep any listener in bemused interest.  (Warning: you are unlikely to understand what follows on first reading [you may never understand it])

The story goes like this:

• 8:00pm  Not at all for the first time in my experience I am chairing a meeting that is not quorate at the start time.  We wait.

• 8:10pm  We're (I'm) getting bored.  We start anyway.  This is not the planned meeting [hereafter the Agenda Meeting] but an Informal Meeting that can still listen and talk but can't do the stuff like minutes and decisions.  We are one person short of a quorum.

• 8:20pm  Lady A arrives! We have a quorum!  We start the Agenda Meeting.

• 8:40pm  Man A has to go home.  We no longer have a quorum.  We start another Informal Meeting because we think there is one more latecomer who has said he will try to be there by 9:00pm.

• 9:00pm  Man B arrives!  We have a quorum again.  We resume the Agenda Meeting.

• 9:20pm  Lady B suddenly announces she needs to leave.  The meeting is no longer quorate, never to be quorate again.  We have a third Informal Meeting to round off the evening.

• 9:35pm We end.  Though something meetingy had ended in me long before . . .