Gospel: Luke 11:1–13
The Our Father isn’t just a set of words we repeat—it’s a prayer that slowly forms our hearts and reshapes our lives. Like a parent saying “I love you” each night, its repetition is meant to ground us in relationship, awe, mission, trust, forgiveness, and hope. Each phrase draws us deeper into what it means to live as children of God and builders of His kingdom.
Listen to homily here:
I was once visiting a kindergarten class, and during that visit, the teacher was helping the children learn the Our Father—the Lord’s Prayer. Perhaps you can remember back to when you first learned that prayer. I can’t really; I must have been very young, as you probably were too. For most of us, the Our Father is one of the first prayers we ever learned.
And it’s one we repeat frequently—at every Mass, and perhaps even every day. At times, that repetition might feel routine. We may start to lose sight of its meaning. We might wonder if there’s any value in repeating the Our Father so often.
But repeating certain words, even if familiar, does have value.
Consider this: when a parent tucks a child into bed at night, what are the last words they often say? Likely something like “Good night” or “I love you.” It’s not new information. The child already knows they are loved. But the repetition matters. Those repeated words give the child security. They shape the child’s heart. The daily ritual is not meaningless—it forms something deep and lasting.
The same is true for us when we repeat the Our Father. This is not mindless repetition. Every phrase is meant to form our hearts.
In today’s Gospel, Jesus teaches us this prayer—not as a formula, but as a way of shaping how we think, how we feel, and how we live. Let’s take a few moments to reflect on the meaning of the words we pray so often.
“Our Father, who art in heaven…”
Karl Marx once said that “religion is the opium of the masses.” He meant that religion is just a dull routine—rituals that pacify people and prevent change. But when we truly follow Jesus, nothing could be further from the truth. This opening line reminds us that religion is not primarily about rules or rituals—it’s about relationship. God is a loving Father, and we are His children. More than that, we are also siblings to one another, united as part of God’s family. The very first word—our—tells us this prayer is not just individual but communal.
“Hallowed be thy name…”
Some of you may have seen images from the James Webb Space Telescope—those stunning pictures of faraway galaxies and endless stars. I love looking at them. They fill me with awe and wonder at how vast creation is—and how small we are. That same sense of wonder is what this line of the prayer invites. To “hallow” means to make holy, to recognize God’s greatness. We are reminded here of the majesty of God—Creator of all things, immense in power and love.
“Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven…”
To follow Jesus is to be part of His mission. When He first began His ministry, Jesus proclaimed, “Repent and believe—the kingdom of God has come near.” He came to establish God's kingdom, and He invites us to help build it. That kingdom is one of justice, peace, and mercy. I once heard a powerful question to help us understand our mission: If God were fully in charge of the world—our family, our workplace, our country—what would God change? Once we’ve answered that, our task is to help make that change real.
“Give us this day our daily bread…”
Sometimes when people are going through difficulties, I ask, “Have you prayed about it?” They’ll say, “It’s too small—I don’t want to bother God.” But in this prayer, Jesus invites us to come to God with everything. Nothing is too small. Daily bread means our basic needs—both physical and spiritual. God wants us to be transparent, to speak to Him freely, and to trust that He cares deeply about every part of our lives.
“Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us…”
For me, this is one of the most hopeful—and most challenging—lines in the prayer. It reminds us that God is infinitely merciful. But it also calls us to forgive others, even those who have hurt us. As Jesus says elsewhere, it’s easy to love those who love us. The real challenge of Christianity is to forgive our enemies. This prayer reminds us that forgiveness is not optional—it’s central to the life of faith.
“And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.”
The Our Father ends on this note of realism: we are on a journey, and we will face trials. We are pilgrims, just like the people of Israel journeying through the wilderness. As we mark this year as a Jubilee of Hope, we remember: life is a pilgrimage. God doesn’t promise to remove all challenges, but He does promise to walk with us. We ask for His protection—not just from suffering, but from despair and evil. We ask to be kept close to Him.
The Our Father is an incredible gift. It is not just a prayer to be recited; it is a pattern for living. When we pray it—alone or in community—it slowly shapes our hearts, day by day.
So today, when we pray it again at Mass, let us not rush through the words. Let’s pray it attentively, knowing that in these familiar lines, Jesus is once again teaching us how to love, how to trust, and how to live.
