Scripture Reading:

Matthew 6:9

“Pray then like this: ‘Our Father in heaven…’” (Matthew 6:9, ESV)

Pray Then Like This

Many of us have been praying for years, and yet we still experience seasons when prayer does not come easily or naturally. Some days our mind will not settle down. Other days our heart is just not in it. Most of us have known moments in prayer when words come slowly, if they come at all. And when that happens, it helps to remember how Jesus teaches his disciples to pray. He does not begin with a list to complete or a formula to master. He begins by drawing us close, showing us how to come home to God before we ever ask Him for anything at all.

That is one reason the Lord’s Prayer has never lost its place in the life of the church. It is simple enough for a child to learn, and yet deep enough to keep a mature believer praying all their days. In a few plain words, Jesus’ model prayer gathers up the whole Christian life. As one pastor-theologian put it, it is a compressed summary of the gospel and a guide to the whole business of living.1

My hope this morning is that, by the end of our time together, we would learn to pray with childlike confidence and reverent awe by understanding what we are really saying when we say, “Our Father in heaven…” (Matthew 6:9, ESV).

Prayer Begins With the Family

Let’s begin where Jesus begins, with the phrase “Our Father.” Right away I want you to notice that Jesus does not teach us to begin by addressing God as “My Father,” though Scripture certainly allows that. The psalmist can say, “O God, you are my God” (Psalm 63:1), and mean it truly. But Jesus deliberately teaches us to say, “Our Father.”

Why the plural possessive? Because prayer was never meant to be solitary. You do not come to God as a spiritual individualist, standing alone with your private thoughts and concerns. You come as part of a redeemed people. That single word, “our,” quietly but firmly resists the instincts of our age. We are trained to speak in the key of “me”: my truth, my journey, my spirituality.

If we are not careful, prayer can shrink into something inward and private, circling endlessly around our own needs. But Jesus will not allow prayer to remain there. When he places the word “our” on your lips, he widens your vision. He draws you out of a narrow, self-enclosed piety and into the broad, shared life of the church, where we learn to pray not only for ourselves, but with and for one another.

Paul states this truth plainly: “For through him we both have access in one Spirit to the Father” (Ephesians 2:18). This access is shared. The Spirit is one. The Father is the same Father to all his children. So even when you close the door and pray in secret, you are not praying in isolation. You come with others to the throne of grace. After all, we are children of one Father, and that truth should shape us.

When we pray to our Father, the sharp edges of our hearts ought to be worn down. Prayer to our Father should interrupt our bitterness and make contempt harder to sustain. It should become increasingly difficult to despise those whom our Father has chosen to love. In the presence of our Father, it should feel unnatural to beg for mercy while holding onto resentment towards a brother or sister. By the time we later say, “forgive us our debts,” the soil has already been tilled by that quiet, steady word “our.” God is “our Father.” Not mine alone. Ours, together.

So let that first word reform your prayers. If they have become small and self-contained, ask the Spirit to enlarge them. Each time you begin to pray, ask the Father to make you mindful of his people and faithful in love toward them.

Prayer Rests in Adoption

Now, if the first word draws you into the family, the second word tells you how you came there: “Our Father.” This may be the most surprising word in the whole prayer. We have spoken it since childhood, and familiarity can soften its force. But pause for a moment and consider what Jesus is doing. God has many true and worthy names. Scripture calls him Lord, Judge, Creator, Shepherd, Rock, and King. Every one of them is good and could have been used in this prayer. Yet when Jesus opens the door of prayer for his people, he places one name on their lips above all the rest: “Father.”

And this relationship is not a casual one. It is established at immeasurable cost. John chooses his words carefully when he writes: “To all who did receive him, who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God” (John 1:12). We must be clear here: Fatherhood is not a vague warmth toward all humanity. It is a granted right, given to those who receive Christ. You do not drift into this fatherhood. You do not inherit it by birth or earn it by effort. It is given, and it is given in Christ.

Paul presses the truth even further. “You have received the Spirit of adoption as sons, by whom we cry, ‘Abba! Father!’” (Romans 8:15). Adoption is not just poetic language. It is legal language. It speaks of a sinner with no claim on God being brought into a new standing by sheer grace, given a new name and a new inheritance. Then the Spirit teaches the heart a new cry. Not simply “God,” but “Father.”

What did this cost? It cost the blood of the eternal Son. The one who could always say “Father” without hesitation took our place so that we might say “Father” without fear. At the cross Jesus cried, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Matthew 27:46). He endured abandonment so that sinners might be received. He bore wrath so that we might know blessing. He was treated as guilty so that we might be welcomed as children.

So do not make this word small. Each time you say “Father,” remember Calvary. You are not entering prayer on your own merits. You are coming clothed in Christ’s righteousness, washed in Christ’s blood, and accepted for Christ’s sake.

From this name flow two steady comforts.

The first is compassion. As the psalmist writes, “As a father shows compassion to his children, so the LORD shows compassion to those who fear him” (Psalm 103:13). God is not waiting for polished words. He is receiving his child. He knows your weakness. He calls you in spite of it all. He calls you out of the abundance of His love, not your worthiness.

The second comfort is access. As the author of Hebrews notes, “Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace” (Hebrews 4:16). Notice that we approach a throne, so we come with reverence, but it is also a throne of grace, so we do not stay away in fear. That confidence is not self-assurance. It is an assurance purchased by Christ.

And when you have sinned, you do not return as a stranger. You come as a child who confesses. “If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins” (1 John 1:9). Hear this clearly. Your adoption is not fragile. It was purchased by Christ’s blood, and it is held fast by Christ’s faithfulness.

For some, the word “father” carries real pain. Scripture invites you to learn true fatherhood from God. He is the measure by which all earthly fathers are judged, not the other way around.

Jesus himself gives us a picture. The prodigal comes home dirty and empty, and the father runs to meet him and clothe him. The father declares to all in earshot, “This my son was dead, and is alive again!” (Luke 15:24). That is the Father you address when you pray.

So set this name at the center of your praying. Before you bring your needs, take hold of your adoption. If you are in Christ, the truest thing about you is this: you are a child of the living God. Pray from there.

And if you are not in Christ, hear the invitation plainly. You cannot borrow this name without repentance and faith. But the door stands open. The Son who taught this prayer died and rose so that sinners might become sons and daughters of the King, and the Father’s house might become their home.

Prayer Holds Intimacy With Majesty

Now the last words I want to focus on this morning are the phrase Jesus uses to bind this opening address together: “Our Father in heaven” (Matthew 6:9). If we stopped at “Father,” prayer could slide into sentimentality, as though God existed mainly to affirm us. If we said only “in heaven,” we might imagine that we are praying to a distant and unapproachable God. Christ joins the two. In God, intimate love and holy majesty are not rivals. They belong together, and they must belong together in our prayers.

“In heaven” does not mean God is far away or detached from the details of your life on earth. It means he reigns. The phrase is not about distance but about dominion. “Heaven is my throne, and the earth is my footstool” (Isaiah 66:1). “Our God is in the heavens; he does all that he pleases” (Psalm 115:3).

Thus to pray “in heaven” is to lift your eyes from your weakness to his power, from your confusion to his wisdom. You come to a Father who loves you, and that Father rules all things. The hand that wipes away your tears is the hand that holds the universe together. Jesus teaches intimacy in prayer, but not casualness or irreverence. Affection must always be joined to reverence.

At the same time, this strengthens confidence. A kind but powerless father would offer little comfort. But our Father has all authority. No need is beyond his ability. No sorrow lies outside his wisdom. That is a deep comfort, because this sovereign God is our Father.

And this is why Jesus orders the prayer as he does. Because our Father reigns, we begin with his name, his kingdom, and his will before we speak of bread, forgiveness, and temptation. That order steadies anxious hearts. Our needs matter, and our Father knows them, but we are not meant to be ruled by them. Begin with God. Begin with heaven. Begin with the throne.

So linger there in your daily prayers. Set your day before the throne and place it under his rule. Say, “Our Father in heaven, you see and govern all things. I submit this day to you.”

Do you see the balance? The word “Our” rescues us from isolation. The word “Father” rescues us from fear. The phrase “in heaven” rescues us from triviality. Together they teach us to pray as beloved children who kneel before their heavenly Father and King.

Come Home and Come Near

As we draw our time together to a close, I want us to linger over a few simple words. If you are a believer in Christ, I want to urge you to use this privilege. Gather your brothers and sisters into your prayers. Take hold of your adoption as sons and daughters of the King. Bow under his reign with the words “in heaven.” And then make your requests known to him, knowing that he loves you and he is able. Hallow his name. Seek his kingdom. Submit to his will.

If you are spiritually weary, if prayer feels cold, begin again here. You do not need a flood of words. You need to return to the address. Whisper it if that is all you can manage: “Our Father in heaven” (Matthew 6:9). Say it slowly. Let each part do its work in your soul. Ask the Spirit, “by whom we cry, ‘Abba! Father!’” (Romans 8:15), to make this more than a formula, to make it a living reality.

And if you are outside of Christ, hear this plainly and kindly. You stand before God today as a creature before his Creator, as a sinner before his Judge. But the one who taught us this prayer is the very one who came to seek and to save the lost. He cried, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Matthew 27:46), so that those who trust him would never be forsaken. Turn from your sin. Lay down your arms. Receive the Lord Jesus by faith. Then you will find that God is not only your Creator and Judge, but your Father. Then you too may say with truth and joy, “Our Father in heaven” (Matthew 6:9), and know that heaven hears.