in our worship. It is something even
to have a form so rich in the associations of home and of church, of
the prayers of childhood, and the centuries of Christian worship. And
yet this prayer is first of all a protest against formalism. "Use not
vain repetitions," says Jesus, and then he goes on to give this type of
restrained, unswerving, concentrated prayer.

While the prayer, however, is a protest against formalism it is itself
extraordinarily beautiful in form. When a clear mind {202} expresses a
deep purpose its expression is always orderly, and the petitions of the
Lord's Prayer do not unfold their quality until we consider the form in
which they are expressed. Look for a moment at the order of these
petitions. There are two series of prayers. The first series relate
to God, His kingdom, and His will; the second series deal with men,
their bread, their trespasses, and their temptations. The Lord's
Prayer, that is to say, reverses the common order of petition. Most
people turn to God first of all with their own needs. The Lord's
Prayer postpones these needs of bread and of forgiveness, and asks
first of all for God's kingdom and His will. Thus it is, first of all,
an unselfish prayer. When a man comes here and prays the Lord's
Prayer, he, first of all, subordinates himself; he postpones his own
needs. He subdues his thoughts to the great purposes of God. He prays
first for God's kingdom, however it may come, whether through joy and
peace or through much trouble and pain; and then, in the light of that
supreme and self-subordinating desire for the larger glory, the man
goes on to ask for his own bread and the forgiveness of his own sin.

[1] See also, F. D. Maurice, _The Lord's Prayer_, London, 1861; Robert
Eyton, _The Lord's Prayer_, London, 1892; H. W. Foote, _Thy Kingdom
Come_, Boston, 1891.

{203}

LXXXI

THE LORD'S PRAYER, II

OUR FATHER

_Matthew_ v. 21-25.

I have said that the Lord's Prayer is by its very form an unselfish
prayer. This same mark of it is to be seen in another way by the word
with which it begins. It does not pray: "My Father, my bread, my
trespasses." It prays throughout for blessings which are "ours." Not
my isolated life, but the common life I share is that for which I ask
the help of God. Even when a man enters into his inner chamber and
shuts the door, and is alone, he still says: "Our Father." He takes up
into his solitary prayer the lives which