A political prayer: Praying the Lord’s Prayer in Caesar’s empire

Introduction

The temptation is often to hear the word “prayer” and think strictly in terms of religion and spirituality. Yet prayer is not simply a theological or pietistic act. Properly understood, prayer also has social and political dimensions. For example, during the Civil Rights Movement in the United States, Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel marched with Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. in Selma. When asked about his experience, Rabbi Heschel responded that, by marching, “I prayed with my feet.” His response evokes the anecdotal quote of Frederick Douglass: “I prayed for twenty years [to escape slavery], but received no answer until I prayed with my legs.” The words of both men evoke the social and political dimensions of prayer which can become embodied in tangible ways in the world.

The Lord’s Prayer is perhaps the most-prayed prayer in history, and yet it is most commonly understood in exclusively religious and spiritual terms. Many commentaries rarely, if ever, address the political implications of this prayer from Jesus. In the first century, however, there was no understanding of separation of religion and state as there is now; when Jesus taught the prayer, his disciples would not have thought it was restricted merely to spiritual matters. ¹ Jesus’s prayer promotes an alternative vision of the world, one distinct from and contestive of Roman imperial realities in the first century. Jesus prays to a Father, but not the Roman Emperor, known popularly as “the father of the fatherland.” Jesus invites his followers to pray for God’s will to be done on earth and for God’s kingdom to come, in contrast to Rome’s. The Lord’s Prayer appeals for enough bread for all and for debt forgiveness in a time in which both hunger and debt slavery were unfortunate realities for many.

Read and interpreted in its Roman imperial context, this prayer of Jesus takes on new layers of meaning that are profoundly political. It has a significant bearing on how people of faith live under the dominion of empire while seeking to realize fully an alternative vision of God’s kingdom and justice on earth. This prayer represents one way in which early Christians negotiated life in the first century Roman Empire as they prayed for a world that reflected God’s will, and not Caesar’s. It is a prayer that Christians—then or now—might not want to pray too loudly in the public spaces of empire. It invites followers of Christ to engage in the world in concrete ways that are transformative and even revolutionary. Whether in the first-century Roman Empire or twenty-first-century United States, praying the Lord’s Prayer is certainly political.

Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name ²

How does one start a prayer? Beginnings matter because they set a tone and context for all that follows. Prayers often address a deity in exalted fashion, in a manner that acknowledges the cosmic grandeur of the divine: “Creator of all,” “most holy one,” and “Great Spirit” might be an appropriate start. “Lord,” “Master,” or even simply “God” also seem like suitable forms of address. And yet, in the Lord’s Prayer, Jesus instructs his followers to begin with a much different form of address: “Our Father.” This address is a bold and significant way to begin a prayer.

Beginning a prayer in this way recognizes the relational dimension of being people of faith. Those who pray address God as “Father,” and those followers are a part of God’s family or a household of faith. God may be many other things (“Master,” “Creator,” and so forth), but first and foremost the Lord’s Prayer recognizes the familial nature—and even intimacy—of being in relationship with God. This relationship goes both ways: Nijay K. Gupta says that to address God as Father suggests that “the pray-er prays to the God who is known.” ³ In contrast, Gupta notes a poem from Catallus addressed to the goddess Diana: “Hallowed be thy name, whatever name you prefer” (Catallus, Poems 34). Praying to God as “Father” suggests relationship and intimacy between God and those who pray.

At the same time, this prayer is certainly not individualistic. Jesus does not address it simply to his Father or command disciples to say “My Father.” Rather, he says, “Our Father.” All petitions that follow are plural as well (e.g., “Give us this day our daily bread.”). In this sense, the prayer becomes unifying for those who pray it.

Of course, “father” imagery for God is not unique to Jesus or the New Testament. Numerous Jewish texts imagine God as the divine parent ⁴ or father of the Jewish people. For example, in speaking to Moses in the book of Exodus, God says,

Then you shall say to Pharaoh, “Thus says the Lord: Israel is my firstborn son. I said to you, ‘Let my son go that he may worship me’,” (4:22–23a)

Some of the Psalms speak to the Davidic king as God’s son, and thus God as divine father, as well:

He shall cry to me, “You are my Father,

my God, and the Rock of my salvation!”

I will make him the firstborn,

the highest of the kings of the earth.

Forever I will keep my steadfast love for him,

and my covenant with him will stand firm. (Ps 89:26–28)

Paternal language for God also shows up in the prophets:

With weeping they shall come,

 and with consolations I will lead them back,

I will let them walk by brooks of water,

 in a straight path in which they shall not stumble;

for I have become a father to Israel,

 and Ephraim is my firstborn. (Jer 31:9)

Thus, Jesus’s Jewish audience would not have been astonished to hear him start the prayer with “Our Father.” Gupta contends that while it is distinctive, it is not unprecedented. ⁵

Yet “father” language is not unique to the Jewish context of the Lord’s Prayer. Within the context of the first-century Roman Empire, the title “father” is also imperial imagery. As Warren Carter notes, pater patriae (“Father of the Country” or “Father of the Fatherland) was “a key imperial claim describing the Roman emperor’s identity and diverse roles in relation to his subjects.” ⁶ This title is attested by “numerous authors, inscriptions, and coins” from the first century BCE onward. ⁷

Beth Severy explains how, in the early period of the Roman Empire, Caesar Augustus experimented with different ways of conceptualizing his new and unprecedented relationship between himself and his empire, including roles of founder, savior, and benefactor. Severy observes that, over time, “Augustus and his contemporaries began to use a different set of images and cultural roles to describe his position—the images and roles of the Roman family.” ⁸ The family was understood as one of the fundamental units of society, with the paterfamilias, the oldest male figure, as its supreme authority. And so, “Augustus and his contemporaries began to understand his authority and caretakership of the state as that of a Roman father to his family.” ⁹ Severy notices how Augustus’s management of the state resembled the administration of households by republican men, ¹⁰ and how his role in the state began to be conceived as “the father of a Roman family” ¹¹ and a “benevolent patriarch of the state.” ¹² Thus, depictions of the emperor on public buildings, coinage, and so forth began to depict him as a father. ¹³

These developments culminated in Augustus’s formal acceptance of the title pater patriae, “Father of the Fatherland,” in 2 BCE. ¹⁴ In proposing this honor before the senate, Valerius Messala declared,

May it be good and auspicious for you and your house, Caesar Augustus! For in this way we think to be praying for the lasting good fortune of the res publica and happiness for it: the senate, in agreement with the Roman people, hail you as Father of the Fatherland. (Suetonius, Augustus, 58) ¹⁵

In addition to this parental imagery, the concept of the “domus Augusta [household of Augustus] . . . was applied to the imperial household, and pietas, a term for familial and religious devotion, came to be used to describe loyalty to it.” ¹⁶

Joel B. Green maintains that this feature of the Roman imperial ideology helps, in part, to maintain the imperial order. ¹⁷ This particular worldview disseminated to the far corners of Rome’s territory so that the empire was imagined as one large household, with the emperor as the father over all. ¹⁸ This large Roman household was composed of all the smaller social units and households of the empire, in hierarchical fashion, with the emperor as the paterfamilias, “the patriarch of an extended family,” the “father of the fatherland.” ¹⁹ All inhabitants were thus imagined as “obedient children to their symbolic father, the emperor.” ²⁰ Hollingshead observes, “The practices of the local household mirrored the relationship of the people to the princeps, and Rome to her gods. The empire was a household, as was the entire cosmos.” ²¹ Its inhabitants were to behave like children obedient to their father, the emperor. ²²

By inviting listeners to pray to God as “Father,” the language of Jesus’s prayer mimics Roman imperial ideology. It imitates the patriarchal context of the Roman Empire and the first-century world, where the father figure is dominant over the entirety of the household, and the emperor the supreme authority over the known world. Through the centuries, Christianity has all too often (and unfortunately) followed suit with regard to patriarchy.

The nature of “fatherhood” does not merely convey “authority” in the ancient world, however. A father not only established and ruled over the household, but he would also provide for and protect it, and ideally love and care for all who were a part of it. Part of praying the prayer of Jesus is to come to view the entire world as part of the household of God. However, that viewpoint alone is not enough. John Dominic Crossan argues that, through this prayer, disciples are invited to participate in “the powers and responsibilities of householding our world so that all alike have enough.” ²³ Moreover, Crossan insists that “in a justly run household all will have enough, but there will also be special care and concern for the more vulnerable ones.” ²⁴ Thus, God’s household should emphasize distinctive care for widows and orphans, “foreigners” and immigrants, and all those in need. ²⁵

While the beginning of the Lord’s Prayer imitates Roman imperial ideology in addressing God as “Father,” it also contests it. The prayer is addressed to “Our father in heaven.” No doubt exists which father should be the object of this prayer and devotion. Furthermore, by addressing God in heaven, disciples are reminded that God is above Caesar in the divine pecking order. Unlike the earthbound emperor, the God of Israel is omnipresent ²⁶ and is neither in Rome nor confined to a temple. This heavenly vantage point also facilitates God’s ability to provide for all, as David Garland notes:

God is not simply Father for us alone; God is Father over all the heavens and the earth. He is the one who sends his rain and shines his sun indiscriminately on the just and unjust alike (5:45). His love and care therefore extend to all the families of the earth. ²⁷

From heaven, God can extend God’s divine benevolence to all.

The Lord’s Prayer also hallows God’s name. This petition for God’s name to be set apart invites all to acknowledge the God of Israel as the one, true holy one. M. Eugene Boring remarks that this statement reminds disciples that while this “prayer is intimate and direct,” it is “not chummy.” Instead, it “preserves the awesome holiness of God and prays for it to be acknowledged by all.” ²⁸ To what extent is God’s name to be hallowed? Only among those who pray this prayer? If readers recall Isaiah’s prophecy that “To [God] every knee shall bow, [and] every tongue shall swear” (Isa 45:23), they will understand that it is to be hallowed across the entirety of the earth, including among those who might be tempted to hallow the name of some other god instead—including Caesar.

Finally and notably, the first biblical use of paternal language for God, canonically speaking, is in Exod 4 (quoted above), in which God calls Moses to save God’s people from captivity in Egypt. This point is significant: God’s people are called from enslavement by an imperial power to be children of God. ²⁹ For early Christians struggling under the weight of oppression within the first-century Roman Empire, this call would surely be good news, as well. “Father” is not simply a relational word, but also a liberating word, and a word of hope.

From the beginning, the words of this prayer shape a worldview in contrast to that of imperial Rome. The God of Israel, not the Roman Emperor, is the true divine parent of the world. Affirming God as Father necessarily creates tension with the prevailing political and cultural affirmation of Caesar as father. If Jesus were to ask US Christians today to pray to “Our president in heaven,” the imagery would imply an alternative to the US president in Washington, DC. The prayer suggests that Caesar is not who ultimately oversees the household of the world, but rather Jesus’s Father, the God of Israel. These words are a bold way to start a prayer.

Your kingdom come. Your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven

If God is portrayed as the divine Father over the entire earth, and Caesar is described as the father of the Roman Empire, whose will is to be done, and whose purposes will ultimately be accomplished on earth? Whereas imperial ideology envisions that Rome is the empire destined to rule the entire world for all time, and the emperor is the agent of the gods who fulfills their purposes on earth, the Lord’s Prayer appeals for the will of the God of Israel to be accomplished in the world instead. This prayer of Jesus asks for God’s kingdom (Greek: basileia) to be established on earth, implicitly supplanting Rome’s empire. If, prior to this point, any doubt existed that this prayer has political implications, there is no doubt any more. ³⁰

According to poets and historians, religious and political propaganda, temples, statues, and coinage, Rome’s dominion over the world was ordained by the will of the gods. ³¹ According to Cicero, for example, the Romans were the ones whom “the immortal gods wanted to rule over all peoples” (Phil. 6.19). ³² In Virgil’s Aeneid, a popular epic poem among Roman elites, the high god Jupiter declares, “For these [Romans] I place neither physical bounds nor temporal limits; I have given [them] empire without end” (Aen. 1.278–279). ³³ The idea that Rome ruled the world at the will of the gods was a pervasive notion in the first century. Even the Jewish historian Josephus insisted that “God was on the Roman side” (J.W. 5.368) during the Jewish Revolt (66–73 CE), and he argued that the Jewish people’s surrender to Rome’s legions was right. In his pro-Roman writing Jewish War, he reasoned that “without God’s aid so vast an empire could never have been built up” (J.W. 2.390–391).

Furthermore, Roman imperial ideology fostered the view that the emperor himself ruled as the agent of the gods and enacted the divine will on earth. Seneca, for example, records these words of Emperor Nero:

Have I of all mortals found favour with heaven and been chosen to serve on earth as vicar of the gods? I am the arbiter of life and death for the nations; it rests in my power what each man’s lot and state shall be: by my lips fortune proclaims what gift she would bestow on each human being; from my utterance peoples and cities gather reasons for rejoicing; without my favor and grace no part of the whole world can prosper; all those many thousands of swords which my peace restrains will be drawn at my nod, what nations shall be utterly destroyed, which banished, which shall receive the gift of liberty, which have it taken from them, what kings shall become slave and whose heads shall be crowned with royal honour, what cities shall fall and which shall rise—this is mine to decree. (Clem. 1.1.2) ³⁴

As these words of Seneca suggest, the Roman emperor wields the power of the gods on earth, and his authority, which stems from the gods themselves, is thus absolute.

Jesus’s prayer is therefore radical in that it offers an alternative vision in which the will and wishes of Israel’s God, not those of the gods of Rome, should be accomplished on earth. God’s kingdom cannot and will not be restricted to the heavenly sphere. Moreover, the prayer invites not only Jesus, but those who are praying the prayer, to become active participants in the inauguration of God’s divine rule on earth. Rather than the emperor, those who pray this prayer will become agents of the divine will on earth.

In the Synoptic Gospels, Jesus uses language about the kingdom of God throughout his ministry. ³⁵ His very first words in the Gospel of Mark are, “The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near; repent, and believe in the good news” (Mark 1:15). ³⁶ The words suggest that his ministry is oriented chiefly toward this work: the inauguration of God’s kingdom on earth.

Language about God’s kingdom (or “empire”) points toward what the world would be like if God’s reign were fully realized on earth. “It imagines,” Crossan contends, “how the world would be if the biblical God actually sat on an imperial throne down here below.” ³⁷ The language recognizes that the world as it is is not the way that it should be; as the world is presently ordered, it does not reflect God’s desire and vision for justice and equity. Moreover, discussion of God’s kingdom invites consideration of the ways in which the Roman Empire (or the US empire, or any other empire) has failed to create an equitable and just world for all.

What does God’s kingdom look like? The answer will become clearer as the prayer progresses (all have daily bread, debts are forgiven, and so forth). But Jesus’s own life, ministry, and teachings also offer plenty of indications. Boring contends, “The kingdom of God was not an ideal, a principle, or an abstraction, but was definitively revealed and embodied in the life and ministry of Jesus.” ³⁸ Parables, healings, and table fellowship (especially with all the “wrong sorts of people”—outcasts, misfits, and marginalized people alike) indicate Jesus’s own understanding of the full realization of the kingdom of God on earth. Crossan offers three defining characteristics of this kingdom: true peace, a world where all have enough to eat, and equality for all. ³⁹ Crossan cites a passage from the Sibylline Oracles that is roughly contemporaneous with Jesus and evinces this vision:

The earth will belong equally to all, undivided by walls or fences. . . . Lives will be in common and wealth will have no division. For there will be no poor man there, no rich, and no tyrant, no slave. Further, no one will be either great or small anymore. No kings, no leaders. All will be equal together. (Sibylline Oracles 2.319–24) ⁴⁰

Of course, these characteristics are a far cry from the realities of life in the Roman Empire. While Roman propaganda promoted a vision of the Pax Romana, a prosperous global peace, the reality was much more complex. Klaus Wengst contends that, rather being a true peace that benefits all, “the Pax Romana is a peace which is the political goal of the Roman emperor and his most senior officials and is brought about and secured by military action through the success of his legions.” ⁴¹ Indeed, Roman legions had tamed provinces such as Judaea into submission, occupation, and taxation, sometimes with mere threats, but often with bloodshed. These same legions were stationed around the perimeter of the empire, threatening any provinces that might dream of liberation. In many respects, “Roman Peace” was peace only in name. This same “peace” was sustained with threats of violence, including crucifixion, all for the benefit of the Roman elites.

So, how will God’s kingdom come in the midst of Rome’s empire? How will God’s will be done on earth as it is in heaven? A tension exists between acknowledging God’s sovereignty and reign in the present while also looking forward to a future in which God’s reign will be made complete and total. Writing in the fourth century, Gregory of Nyssa wrestles with the tension in this part of the Lord’s Prayer, asking,

Does this [petition] mean that the one who is already king of the universe should now become king? If God’s perfection is such that it cannot be improved, how can we believe that something that was not before will now come to be? ⁴²

As in the Gospels as a whole, God’s reign is both a present reality and future hope. It is something to acknowledge now, but also to work toward so it will be fully realized in the future. Jesus himself proclaims at the beginning of his ministry, “The kingdom of God has come near” (Mark 1:15). Boring observes how Jewish persons of Jesus’s day also recognized this tension. He notes they

not only praised God the eternal king, and took upon themselves the yoke of the kingdom, but they also prayed for the final coming of God’s kingdom in a way that would be manifest to all, would establish God’s de facto sovereignty in fact over a creation over which God was already king de jure. ⁴³

Yes, God reigns, but that reign is not yet fully realized on earth.

A word of caution is in order. To assume that the Lord’s Prayer is merely asking for divine intervention in the world is erroneous. God alone will not intercede in history, overturn all empires, and unilaterally establish God’s kingdom once and for all. All who pray this prayer are invited to become participatory agents of God’s will on earth and to collaborate in the ongoing work of the in-breaking of God’s kingdom. Recalling that Jesus sent his disciples out to “heal the sick, eat with the healed, and demonstrate the kingdom’s presence in that reciprocity and mutuality,” Crossan insists, “God’s kingdom is here, but only insofar as you accept it, enter it, live it, and thereby establish it.” ⁴⁴ The Lord’s Prayer is thus an invitation to collaboration between humanity and the divine.

Clarence Jordan’s translation of the Lord’s Prayer in his Cotton Patch version ⁴⁵ captures this sentiment well. As David May notes elsewhere in this issue of Review and Expositor, Jordan, in his translation of the Lord’s Prayer, renders the word “kingdom” (basileia) as “movement.” ⁴⁶ The word “movement” captures the sense that the kingdom of God is not only political, but also invites active participation and engagement in the world. Jordan, of course, was writing from his own context living through the US civil rights movement and recognized that “watching from the sidelines” was not an option for people of faith. Henlee H. Barnette observes that, for Jordan, “to be in the ‘God Movement’ was to incarnate in one’s life the ethics of the Kingdom: the ethics of love, justice, and compassion.” ⁴⁷ For those who first heard and prayed the Lord’s Prayer in the first century, the prayer similarly offered an invitation to participate in the coming and presence of God’s Kingdom on earth. Similarly, the church father Cyprian, writing in the third century, recognized the social and political dimensions to this petition, recognizing as well that living out “the will of God which Christ both did and taught” entailed both “justice in deeds” and “mercifulness in works.” ⁴⁸

Alice Burnette Greene challenges readers to see that the work of this petition includes “working with others in society to change the unjust systems that keep suffering in place.” ⁴⁹ Simply to offer handouts to the poor and oppressed is not enough; rather, disciples of Christ are invited to “work on mending the broken systems that keep hunger, poverty, illness, war, and other evils so thoroughly entrenched in our world.” ⁵⁰ This is the work of dismantling the empires of the world, ancient and modern. All who pray this prayer are invited to help fully realize a new vision of the world rooted in God’s own kingdom and will.

Of course, the Gospels recognize the ways in which the kingdoms and empires of this world are threatened by the coming of God’s own. At the very beginning of Jesus’s life, King Herod the Great tries to kill the newborn “King of the Jews” (2:1–18). Roman authorities (in collaboration with Jewish elites) will crucify and kill Jesus on a cross, an instrument of Roman imperial domination and control. ⁵¹ The coming of God’s kingdom inevitably comes into conflict with the kingdoms of the world, and it will surely be met with resistance.

Give us this day our daily bread

At this juncture in the Lord’s Prayer, the petitions shift subtly from a focus on God to a focus on humanity (notice the pronouns: “your name,” “your kingdom,” and “our bread,” “our debts,” and so forth). While this formal division is significant in the poetic beauty and flow of the text, a strong sense continues that God and humanity partner together in the world by means of this prayer, to work toward a world in which not just the wealthy, but all people have enough. This vision contrasts sharply with US life in the twenty-first century just as much as it was at odds with Roman imperial values in the first century.

First and foremost, this petition for “daily ⁵² bread” evokes the imagery of manna from heaven that the Israelites received each day as they wandered through the wilderness (Exod 16:1–36). In the Exodus narrative, God, in partnership with Moses and others, liberates the Hebrew people from captivity and oppression in Egypt. Yet as they set out in the wilderness, the newly freed Israelites begin to have second thoughts, wondering if perhaps they might in fact be better off continuing to live under the thumb of Pharaoh (16:1–4). At least in Egypt they knew the source of their next meal. In response, God provides daily food for the people, sufficient for each person and each family to sustain themselves, each according to their needs (16:16). The Exodus story reveals a divine economy in which hoarding is inappropriate and all have enough. Those who gather too much, whether out of fear or greed or a sense of entitlement, find that their extra manna rots. Those who are unable to gather enough for themselves, whether because they are sick or disabled or otherwise, discover that there is still enough to go around (16:18–20). On the sixth day of the week, each household gathers enough for 2 days, so they do not have to gather on the Sabbath day of rest. As tempting as hoarding might be, they cannot do so. They must trust that the God who saved them from Egypt will continue to provide for them on their wilderness journey ahead.

Centuries later, in the time of Jesus, Roman imperial writings and propaganda promoted a worldview in which the Roman Empire had established an era of surplus and abundance for all. Virgil writes in the Aeneid that Caesar Augustus’s reign inaugurated a golden era of prosperity:

Here is Caesar . . . this in truth is he whom you so often hear promised you, Augustus Caesar, son of a god, who will again establish a golden age in [Rome] . . . he will advance his empire . . . to a land which lies beyond our stars, beyond the paths of year and sun. (Aen. 6.788–797) ⁵³

The author Horace also envisions an age of agricultural abundance established with Augustus’s rule: “Bountiful in crops and cattle, may Mother Earth deck Ceres [the goddess of agriculture, corn, and the harvest] with a crown of corn; and may Jove’s wholesome rains and breezes give increase to the harvest” (Carmen Saeculare 29–32). ⁵⁴ As the agent of the gods on earth, the Roman emperor claimed to channel the blessings of the gods into a surplus of food and drink for all. Imperial propaganda broadcast this message: Roman rule was good for everyone. Even the Jewish philosopher Philo describes the beginning of one emperor’s reign (that of Gaius Caligula) by insisting that “great was the prosperity and well-being, the freedom from grief and fear, the joy which pervaded households and people” (Emb. 13). ⁵⁵

The reality, however, was much more severe for the vast majority of the inhabitants of the empire. Rather than enjoying an abundance of food, “the mass of the population lived at or near subsistence level.” ⁵⁶ For many households, debt, slavery, or starvation was one bad season or one meager harvest away. In an agrarian-aristocratic empire such as Rome, the wealth of the land was based on agricultural production. ⁵⁷ However, because the wealthy elite owned and controlled the vast majority of the land, farmers, fishermen, and other peasants did not fully enjoy the fruits of their labors. The agricultural wealth that peasants produced was taxed heavily by local elites. A small majority of wealthy landowners benefited most from the wealth and surplus generated by agricultural production. The poor members of society, however, routinely faced scarcity of food and other resources. ⁵⁸ During food shortages, families commonly slipped below subsistence levels, as they struggled to meet their basic caloric needs. ⁵⁹ As a result, sickness and disease were normative. Although Rome alleged that they brought prosperity and abundance to the empire, they failed to deliver for the vast majority of people, including Jesus’s earliest followers, who were largely peasants and artisans from Galilee. ⁶⁰

In this context, Jesus instructs his disciples to pray a very basic, humble request: “Give us this day our daily bread.” To pray for “daily bread” is not merely to ask God to meet one’s spiritual needs. ⁶¹ It represents a sincere desire and petition that God provide enough literal food to eat, because those who first heard and prayed the words of this prayer could not take having enough bread or food for granted.

Jesus’s own ministry reflects this concern. Feeding stories and meals abound in the Gospels. Six stories of the feeding of a multitude are reported in the four canonical Gospels. The so-called “Feeding of the Five Thousand” is the only miracle recorded by all four evangelists (Matt 14:13–21; Mark 6:31–44; Luke 9:12–17; John 6:1–14). ⁶² These meals reflect a divine desire to provide actual people with actual food. Moreover, note how Jesus instructs his disciples, saying, “you give them something to eat” (Matt 14:16). Jesus takes the food that they have, blesses it, breaks it, and gives it to the disciples to distribute (Matt 14:19). Evoking eucharistic language, the Matthean Jesus invites his disciples to make sure all are fed. As they do so, imperial claims of abundance come into tension with Jesus’s own ministry of providing food. ⁶³ Who is the true source of providence and food for all? Is it the elites of the empire, who are primarily invested in their own interests? Or is it rather Jesus and his followers?

Note that the Lord’s Prayer does not ask for God simply to give me my daily bread. The prayer invites us to pray collectively and corporately for our daily bread. Just as Jesus’s disciples are the ones to share food with the multitudes, those who pray today bear a corporate responsibility for just and equitable distribution of food. In the same way that the Lord’s Prayer invites collaboration with God in the coming of God’s kingdom on earth, this petition invites partnership with God in providing bread for all. For God’s will to be done on earth requires that all have enough; that includes food, as well as other basic necessities of life, including shelter, clothing, and safety. Justo L. González writes,

This petition . . . is not only a prayer but also a commitment. When we say “Give us this day our daily bread,” we commit to sharing that which we have that is superfluous, as well as to doing everything possible so that those who do not have enough may have more. ⁶⁴

Basil of Caesarea put it well in his fourth-century writing:

The bread that is spoiling in your house belongs to the hungry. The shoes that are mildewing under your bed belong to those who have none. The clothes stored away in your trunk belong to those who are naked. The money that depreciates in your treasury belongs to the poor! ⁶⁵

Those who have more than enough must consider carefully how they live out the words of this petition.

Greene remarks that, of the 10 states in the United States with the highest weekly church attendance, one might expect they “better reflect the kingdom of Christ than some of the states with lower attendance rates.” Nevertheless, she observes that five of these states also are among those with the highest poverty rates (Alabama, Arkansas, Louisiana, Mississippi, and Tennessee). ⁶⁶ If true, Christianity seems to be missing the mark with regard to this petition for “daily bread.”

Food insecurity continues to be a daily reality for many, even in the United States in 2021. The nonprofit organization Feeding America estimates that “42 million people (1 in 8), including 13 million children (1 in 6), may experience food insecurity in 2021.” Food insecurity also disproportionately affects persons of color. Only 1 in 12 White, non-Hispanic individuals are likely to live in a household affected by food insecurity, whereas 1 in 5 Black, non-Hispanic individuals contend with food insecurity. ⁶⁷ The life of abundance promised by “the American Dream” is out of reach for many.

Just as imperial promises of a golden age of abundance and plenty under Roman rule did not materialize, the Lord’s Prayer invites consideration of the promises and propaganda present in our own world today. Many politicians make or imply grand claims with their campaign slogans (former President Trump’s “Make America Great Again” comes quickly to mind). These promises often fall short, however. At the time of this writing, how President Biden’s promise to “Build Back Better” will play out remains to be seen. The Biden administration claims that their agenda, if implemented, will cut childhood poverty by as much as half; I, for one, hope they are right. ⁶⁸ Readers will have to judge the current administration’s success for themselves.

Regardless of how political leaders promote themselves and their agendas, the Lord’s Prayer should prompt followers of Christ to consider the economics of food, wealth, and abundance in their own lives and communities, as well as the dangers and unfairness of hoarding. If the God of Scripture provides just enough for God’s people each day, perhaps we, too, can become comfortable with just enough and work toward a world where all others have enough as well.

And forgive us our debts, as we also have forgiven our debtors

Each week in worship, English-speaking Christians are at odds whether to pray for forgiveness of “debts” or “trespasses” when they recite the Lord’s Prayer. In the Methodist church where I grew up and in the Baptist church that I now serve, we pray for God to “forgive us our trespasses.” In the Presbyterian seminary where I did my graduate studies, we asked God to “forgive us our debts.” Language and translation matter a great deal here; these two options have radically different implications for how we understand this petition of the Lord’s Prayer. One suggests a spiritualized reading involving divine forgiveness of sins. The other implies a much more worldly interpretation that recognizes the importance and impact of real-world economics and politics.

Regardless of translation, however, this petition about forgiveness is commonly spiritualized, so that it refers primarily or exclusively to forgiveness of sins. ⁶⁹ Willimon and Hauerwas, for example, initially acknowledge the economic dimensions of the word “debts,” but then go on to state, “We have run up a debt with God so large that all we can do is ask for forgiveness.” ⁷⁰ Although they go on to suggest some practical implications for this petition of the prayer, they give no sustained discussion of actual debt.

The Greek text of Matt 6:12 uses the words opheilēmata (NRSV: “debts”) and opheiletais (NRSV: “debtors”), derived from a verbal form meaning “to owe,” “ought,” or “be obligated.” Taken literally, the word refers to obligations to others, or “debts.” Black argues that in Greek, “opheilēma [the singular form] does not naturally suggest ‘sin’; it is a term operative in the world of economic contracts.” ⁷¹ Thus, consideration of how economics and politics inform an interpretation of this petition makes sense.

On the contrary, Luke’s version of the prayer differs from Matthew’s by rendering the noun in the first clause as hamartias, “sins” rather than “debts.” Although Luke retains the language of debt for the second half of petition (opheiletais, “debtors”), in all likelihood, Luke has intentionally spiritualized this first part of the prayer, in a departure from the common (“Q”) source that Luke and Matthew share. The NRSV renders Luke’s version appropriately as “And forgive us our sins, for we ourselves forgive everyone indebted to us” (11:4). One can easily imagine that this Lukan version has helped shape a strictly spiritualized interpretation of this petition throughout the centuries.

However, putting ourselves in the shoes of first-century Galilean peasants who find themselves living under Roman imperial occupation, taking the “debts” of this prayer at face value makes much more sense. After all, for peasants, debt would have been a more pressing daily concern than sin. A logical connection exists here between the previous petition (“Give us this day our daily bread”) and this one, as well: if peasants have enough to eat, and their daily needs are met, they are not forced to accumulate debt. ⁷² And yet hunger and the burden of debt were a constant pressure for many in Jesus’s time. ⁷³

Marius J. Nel refers to the reality of debt for so many in first-century Palestine as a “crisis.” ⁷⁴ He lists several complicating causes, such as the requirement for farmers to pay a quarter of all crops to Rome as a biennial tribute in the wake of the Roman occupation of Judea and Galilee. He also notes the mandatory temple tax, the occasional failure of crops due to droughts, and other reasons that engendered “an increase in the overall indebtedness of the general population of Palestine during the first century.” ⁷⁵ Douglas E. Oakman likewise notes the weighty tax burden imposed upon peasants, as well as the need to feed one’s own family and save part of the harvest to feed animals or plant next year’s crop. ⁷⁶ At worst, heavy financial burdens would drag down poor debtors into slavery. Debt enslavement and its resulting loss of freedom could become either a temporary or a permanent circumstance for non-elite persons and their families.

Nel notes, “The growing debt burden led to a strong expectation among the poor in Palestine that the coming Messiah would inaugurate the Jubilee of the Lord that would bring about their release from debt.” ⁷⁷ Lyndon Drake observes that indebtedness was one of the principal triggers for the Jewish Revolt (66–73 CE), ⁷⁸ and N. T. Wright points out that, when rebels occupied the Jerusalem temple at the beginning of that rebellion, the burning of debt records was their first act. ⁷⁹ These points suggest that debt was a significant problem for first-century Jewish peasants. Moreover, many held out hope that God would soon intervene.

In the Jewish context, the biblical vision of the Sabbath Year resonates strongly with the language of debt forgiveness. The Torah establishes an ideal of the forgiveness of debts and release of slaves every seventh year. Exodus 21:2, for example, clarifies that slaves (Hebrew ones, at least) shall be freed without debt. ⁸⁰ Crossan discerns a deep theological purpose to this liberation: “The reason behind that release of debt slaves is, of course, the very character of God as experienced by Israel in its release from forced labor in Egypt.” ⁸¹ The people of Israel knew what it was like to live enslaved under foreign domination, and God had set them free. Liberation is at the heart of God’s desire for God’s people; a biblical vision of the world is one in which debt and debt slavery are not allowed to run unchecked. As is so often the case in life, however, a difference exists between an ideal and what is actually practiced: Drake contends that pious (and wealthy) Jewish persons in Jesus’s day could avoid forgiving debts or liberating slaves by employing the prosobul, a Pharisaic legal innovation of that time. ⁸²

These daily economic realities provide a helpful backdrop for this petition of the Lord’s Prayer. Jesus is inviting his followers to pray for forgiveness of debts in the face of a heavy debt burden in the first century, engendered or exacerbated by Roman imperial occupation and taxation. He is doing so in a Jewish context in which the Sabbath year and debt forgiveness represent an ideal vision, and yet at a moment in time when there was probably very little actual relief for those suffering under debt’s crippling weight. Finally, he is teaching this prayer primarily to peasants, who in all likelihood were poor, non-elite debtors, rather than wealthy, elite creditors.

Therefore, while praying “forgive us our debts” may certainly reflect a desire for forgiveness of sins, it very likely evokes in its original context a sincere (and perhaps for many a desperate) request for deliverance from the crippling burden of financial debt and debt slavery. This argument coheres with Jesus’s economic concerns elsewhere in the Gospels. Jesus’s inaugural sermon in Luke 4:18–21 is representative, in which he announces good news for the poor, freedom for the oppressed and captives, and the year of the Lord’s favor, which evokes the image of the Sabbath and Jubilee years. Elsewhere Jesus advocates for lending money without hoping to gain in return (i.e., without charging interest; Luke 6:34–36), shares a parable of debt forgiveness (Luke 7:41–43), and tells a story of a dishonest manager who forgives his servants’ debts (Luke 16:1–9). ⁸³

The petition “forgive us our debts, as we also have forgiven our debtors” does three things. First, it asks for God’s intervention to release the prayer from debt. As in our modern world, debt can often be difficult, if not impossible, to eliminate. In fact, oftentimes divine intervention might seem to be the only hope for debt forgiveness. Second, this petition serves notice to the creditor of the debtor’s desire for freedom and reminds creditors of the burdens they impose on others. This reminder is not insignificant, especially in light of a third point: the verbal tense of the second clause in both English and Greek (“as we also have forgiven our debtors”) suggests that those who pray this prayer are already in the habit of forgiving the debts of others. This language makes a rhetorical “nudge.” If someone unaccustomed to forgiving debts finds themselves praying this prayer, they should be provoked to significant reflection: “Should I be forgiving debts? Should I be following the Torah’s injunction for Sabbath release of those enslaved by debt? What happens if I do not?” Incorporating the figurative/symbolic meaning of debts as “sins” in the first clause, the questions compound: “If I do not forgive my debtors, will God not forgive me of my sins?” The creditor may thus experience a sense of uneasiness while praying this petition. ⁸⁴ If offered sincerely, this prayer should lead to both meaningful reflection and action.

This petition about debt forgiveness speaks readily to many of today’s contexts. Our foremost concern in this regard should be to advocate for economic and political systems in which people are not crushed under the crippling weight of debt or debt slavery. To do so is to live out a biblical vision of justice. Although many (especially those with wealth and economic leverage) may still prefer to spiritualize “debt,” economic fairness and divine forgiveness are bound up together in tangible ways that lead to liberation for all.

Debt slavery takes different forms in the twenty-first century, but it still is a bleak reality for many today. Unethical lending practices, credit card traps, certain student loans, and payday lending should raise big flags for people of faith. Followers of Jesus could and should advocate on behalf of those caught in these traps and should work to dismantle the economic and political systems that allow such practices. ⁸⁵ Even as we petition God, “Forgive us our debts, as we also have forgiven our debtors,” we are invited to be participants in shaping a world free from debt and debt slavery. ⁸⁶

But even this participation may not be enough. Considering the background of the Sabbath year and debt release in the Jewish context, those who have suffered under enslavement and debt servitude deserve reparations. Recall the words of Deut 15:

And when you send a male slave out from you a free person, you shall not send him out empty-handed. Provide liberally out of your flock, your threshing floor, and your wine press, thus giving to him some of the bounty with which the Lord your God has blessed you. (Deut 15:13–14; italics mine)

Generosity should extend beyond mere debt forgiveness and freedom from slavery. One should not send a freed person out empty handed, but rather should give material support for the sake of equity and fairness. Crossan recalls a scene from the Exodus which further highlights this point:

So I will stretch out my hand and strike Egypt with all my wonders that I will perform in it; after that he will let you go. I will bring this people into such favor with the Egyptians that, when you go, you will not go empty-handed; each woman shall ask her neighbor and any woman living in the neighbor’s house for jewelry of silver and of gold, and clothing, and you shall put them on your sons and on your daughters; and so you shall plunder the Egyptians. (Exod 3:20–22; italics added)

Crossan argues that this “plunder” that the Israelites take from the Egyptians “is simply the back pay and ‘damages’ due to those who have been enslaved.” God desires that people receive compensation for their enslavement. Generosity that reflects the divine heart extends beyond mere debt forgiveness and includes reparations. This sentiment should certainly have bearing on contemporary discussions about reparations in the United States. ⁸⁷

Finally, this petition reminds us that the ways in which people of faith live in this world reflect and reveal God’s character. Jesus calls for releasing others from debts and debt slavery because God liberated the Jewish people from slavery. God desires liberation for all. When we pray this prayer, we forgive debts because God forgives our debts.

Grounding this prayer in its Jewish and Roman imperial context reveals this to readers, and also invites them to consider how this particular petition demands debt forgiveness and liberating justice even now. Those who pray this prayer should not only imagine but also try to embody a vision of the world different than that of the empire. Whereas empires saddle people with debt and slavery for the sake of the wealthy and elite few, the Lord’s Prayer imagines a divine household in which all have enough, and debts and sins alike are forgiven.

And do not bring us to the time of trial, but rescue us from the evil one

As with the previous petition, the tendency has been to make the meaning of the final two petitions of the Lord’s Prayer exclusively spiritual. Jesus instructs his followers to pray to avoid “the time of trial” or “temptation” (Matt 6:13; Luke 11:4). Many commentators, and in all likelihood most worshippers in the pews, interpret this text strictly in reference to the avoidance of personal sin: perhaps drinking, swearing, and the such. ⁸⁸ Interpretation is often complicated by questions of whether God “tempts” humanity or leads people toward sin. Tabling that question for a bit, however, and once again foregrounding the Roman imperial context of this prayer, allows new layers of meaning to emerge here. Reading these petitions with both communal and political dimensions, they invite people of faith to avoid giving in to despair or violence to inaugurate the Kingdom of God.

As discussed above, the Lord’s Prayer begins with a vision of a heavenly father in contrast to the “fatherly” Roman emperor. It also invokes the establishment of God’s kingdom, which necessarily conflicts with Rome’s empire. Further discussions have been of food supply, economics, and debt: worldly and political topics. To think that, suddenly, Jesus’s prayer would devolve into a concern for petty individual sins makes little sense.

Carter detects a meaningful connection between this petition and the doubt and despair Israel experienced at Massah during the Exodus. ⁸⁹ The Greek word for “time of trial,” peirasmos, refers to a period or process of testing, a test, or temptation. It appears in Exod 17:7 (and later in Deut 6:16) in reference to the Israelites’ doubt about God’s presence and intervention as they flee from Egypt. As the Israelites are suffering from thirst in the wilderness they wonder, “Is the Lord among us or not?” (Exod 17:7). At Horeb, God instructs Moses to strike a rock, which then releases water for them to drink.

In Jesus’s time, this doubt, or “temptation,” Carter argues, “derives from God’s apparent inactivity, [and] from the continuing, imperial status quo.” One can easily imagine Jesus’s followers wondering, “If God really intends to establish God’s will, justice, and reign, why has God not done so? Are human evil and imperial power too strong for God?” ⁹⁰ Thus, Carter contends that, with this petition, disciples pray “against despair, against being overwhelmed and paralyzed by this evil, against concluding that God is absent or has been rendered powerless.” ⁹¹

After praying the Lord’s Prayer for years or decades of one’s life, thinking God will never intervene may be tempting. Perhaps God will never fully inaugurate God’s kingdom, overthrow the empires of this world, and order society in a way that is just and life-giving for all. Perhaps daily bread and debt forgiveness will never become a reality. When Matthew and Luke put pen to paper in the latter decades of the first-century CE, surely this temptation remained, since Jesus had not yet returned. Perhaps God’s kingdom would never fully overtake the empire of Rome on earth. Perhaps a once-and-for-all divine eschatological intervention would never occur. A violent revolt against the empire then might begin to seem like a tempting option.

In his discussion of this petition, Crossan relates the stories of violent resistance to Rome during the period surrounding the life of Jesus. ⁹² Around the time of Jesus’s birth, revolts erupted in the wake of Herod the Great’s death around 4 BCE. To restore order, the Roman governor of Syria sent legions; the Roman armies crucified thousands in Jerusalem and burned down the city of Sepphoris in Galilee, enslaving its inhabitants. Jesus grew up in the shadow of this violence; Sepphoris was a stone’s throw away from Nazareth. Stories of Rome’s vicious response to this revolt were likely embedded in the memory of residents of Nazareth (much like many alive today will “never forget” 11 September 2001). In 66 CE, just three decades after Jesus’s death, Rome returned with its legions to the Jewish homeland when violence erupted in the Jewish Revolt. Crossan observes, “Jesus lived in the lull between two violent rebellions against imperial oppression in his Jewish homeland.” ⁹³ He contends that the “temptation” Jesus prays to avoid is thus the “temptation to violent resistance to Rome’s violent domination.” ⁹⁴ The context of Matthew’s Gospel shows support for this interpretation.

The most obvious connection to this petition in Matthew’s Gospel is in 26:41, in which the word peirasmos is used to describe “temptation” once again. While Jesus and his disciples are in the Garden of Gethsemane on the eve of the crucifixion, Jesus tells his followers to “stay awake and pray that you may not come into the time of trial (peirasmon); the spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak.” Jesus is not commanding his followers to avoid trivial personal sins here: something much more significant is at work. When the mob arrives with Judas to arrest Jesus, an unnamed disciple draws a sword and cuts off the ear of a slave of the high priest (26:51). This crowd, sent by the chief priests and elders, are representatives of Roman imperial power, and they arrive wielding swords and clubs—weapons of violence (26:47). ⁹⁵ Jesus rebukes the disciple, saying, “Put your sword back into its place; for all who take the sword will perish by the sword” (26:52). Violence only invites more violence, and in a cycle of escalatory violence the empire always wins. Interpreted in this light, Jesus is instructing his followers to pray to avoid the despair that leads to violence against empire and the forces of evil in the world. People of faith cannot and should not attempt to force with violence the coming of the Kingdom of God.

The petition for God to “rescue us from the evil one” (Matt 6:13) can also refer to the temptation to resort to violence. The ambiguous Greek text tou ponērou can be rendered simply “evil,” or “the evil one,” as the NRSV translation does. If the latter, then the prayer personifies the temptation toward violence as having its source in Satan, the violent one. N. T. Wright comments on the satanic nature of the temptation for humans to resort to violence:

When human beings worship that which is not God, they give authority to forces of destruction and malevolence; and those forces gain a power, collectively, that has, down the centuries of Christian experience, caused wise people to personify it, to give it the name of Satan, the Accuser. ⁹⁶

This violence erupted in 4 BCE in the wake of Herod’s death and again in 66 CE with the Jewish Revolt against Rome. This temptation to employ violence appears also in the writings of the Dead Sea Scrolls, some of which imagined the people of God participating in the violent arrival of God’s kingdom in order to overthrow the forces of evil in the world. ⁹⁷

As a contemporary example, Hill identifies a demonic presence in the violence of the Rwandan genocide in the 1990s. ⁹⁸ That conflict was, in many senses, kindled by the forces of imperialism that had carved up the African continent and left tribal conflicts and volatile power dynamics in their wake. Many expressions of racial and ethnic violence in the world have their roots in imperial systems; violence against Native Americans, White supremacy, and the brutal enslavement of Africans for centuries are three examples that come quickly to mind in a US context. As terrible as imperial violence and oppression can be, the prayer of Jesus points to a God who desires that resistance always take a nonviolent shape. As tempting as the lure of violence can be, the Lord’s Prayer urges people of faith to resist its seductive powers. It can never be a solution to imperial oppression and instead risks spiraling into further bloodshed.

Conclusion: For the kingdom and the power and the glory are yours forever

The doxological ending of the Lord’s Prayer that is familiar to most Christians today is not original to the biblical texts. ⁹⁹ Nevertheless, it provides a fitting conclusion to the Lord’s Prayer when read with an awareness of its imperial context. The doxology offers an alternative vision of the world ruled and ordered by God and not Rome. It also invites those who pray the prayer to choose God’s side in the conflict between two competing visions of reality.

The transition into this doxology is significant; the word “for” clarifies the reason the previous petitions are to be prayed. Why pray for daily bread? Why pray for debt forgiveness? Because God reigns, God whose kingdom will ultimately triumph in the world. God possesses ultimate power and glory, and not any empire.

When Jesus first offered the words of the Lord’s Prayer to his disciples, Emperor Tiberius sat on the throne in Rome. At that time, Rome claimed a worldwide and eternal kingdom. Yet the conclusion of this prayer claims that Israel’s God, and not Tiberius or any other would-be-emperor, reigns with power and glory. If any doubt existed before now that the prayer is political, this final note once again highlights this fact. Moreover, this conclusion demands a response. Willimon and Hauerwas contend that this final note “is a pledge of allegiance to a king and his kingdom that throws all our other allegiances into crisis.” ¹⁰⁰ This assertion is true in the twenty-first century just as it was in the first century.

Reading and praying the Lord’s Prayer today is political. Kneeling is political. This prayer offers a challenge to live in a way that reflects God’s kingdom in this world. It is a vision of a world with justice and fairness for all: a world in which wealth is not hoarded, but rather all have daily bread; in which debt is not a crippling burden for anyone; and in which violence no longer holds sway.

The Lord’s Prayer does not, however, demand allegiance to a particular political party of today. In fact, if anything, it casts suspicion on any attempts to conflate God’s will with a particular political ideology (Republican, Democrat, Roman imperial, or otherwise). It reminds us that, first and foremost, neither “our Father in Rome” nor “our Father in Washington” enacts the will of God on earth. Rather Jesus and his followers do. This continues to be a debated question, however. For example, many evangelical supporters of former President Trump have suggested that (and continue to suggest that) he represents the divine will and serves as God’s agent on earth. Such claims are idolatrous. The Lord’s Prayer invites political engagement in a whole host of ways, but not in a way beholden to one political party or another.

Finally, this prayer should remind people of their agency and responsibility in the world as people of faith. Praying this prayer with sincerity on a Sunday morning and then returning home, enjoying lunch, and forgetting about it is an impossibility. Praying this prayer should transform lives and, in turn, empower the transformation of the world. With a deeper awareness of the political and imperial context of the Lord’s Prayer, my own hope is that this will be ever more true.

Amen.