Is God Father to everybody? Yes, to everybody. He is Father to the humblest, the poorest, the most degraded. God said, “Let us make man in our likeness,” and in the image of God created He him. All men belong to God’s family, and upon all some trace of the family likeness is to be seen. The old Greek poet, whose words Paul quoted in his memorable speech at Athens, had a glimpse of this truth when he wrote, “We also are his offspring.” Yes, God is the Father of all men! That is the truth that has been rediscovered within the last half century, the truth of the Universal Fatherhood of God, and a blessed and glorious truth it is. That many men have forgotten God and rebelled against Him does not affect the reality of His Fatherhood. Absalom turned out a wayward, disobedient son. He brought trouble, shame, and distress upon his father David. But the son’s wickedness could not destroy the father’s love. When news came that Absalom was dead, David wept long and sore, and the agony of his broken heart found expression in that pathetic cry, “O my son Absalom, my son, my son Absalom; would God I had died for thee, O Absalom, my son, my son.” And you can parallel that story of David and Absalom from modern life. I read of a young man who had sunk into a life of excess and sin and shame. He brought disgrace upon all connected with him, and one by one men turned their backs upon him. One only clung to him—his poor old father. The one who had suffered most at his hand was the one who continued to bear with him. “Why don’t you turn him out?” said his friends to the long-suffering old man. “I cannot,” replied he; “I am his father.” Those are hints, suggestions of the truth about God. God is the Father of men, and though men sin, the Father still loves. That is what Jesus would teach us in that most precious of all the Parables—the Parable of the Prodigal Son. God is Father not only to the obedient son, but He is Father also to the son who has strayed into the far country and is wasting his substance there with riotous living. The Father’s heart yearns for that absent and wayward child; and when that son returns in his rags and with penitent heart, it is the dear word “Father” that leaps to the prodigal’s lips, and it is with the word “Son” that the father welcomes him home again. Yes, God is the Father of all. His love embraces all—the lost, the ruined, the undone. His family is co-extensive with the race. But let me go on to say—paradoxical as it may sound—that though God is the Father of all men, all men are not sons. Wendt, the great German scholar, puts it in this way, “God always is the loving Father of all men; nevertheless, men must become sons of the Heavenly Father by attaining His spirit of gratuitous, forgiving love.” That is the Bible teaching I myself firmly believe. This old book proclaims the Fatherhood of God, and yet talks about men becoming God’s sons. It talks about receiving the spirit of adoption whereby we cry, Abba, Father. The right to become children of God, it says, is given to those who receive Christ and believe in His name. In a word, while God is the Father of all, men become His sons only through Jesus Christ. Possible sons all men are; but sonship becomes actual and real only in Jesus Christ. It is those who are in the home, who experience the father’s tenderness and care, who know what sonship means. The son who has wilfully left home, who has taken his life into his own hands, who has wandered into the far country, he cannot know what a father’s sympathy and love mean. He has deprived himself of the privileges of sonship. It is only the child who has remained at home who is obedient to the father’s commands—it is only he who can really be called a son at all. He alone knows the blessings of sonship. He alone knows the father’s affection and love. Christ came into the world to show us the Father, to seek lost children and bring them back again home. Those who receive Him into their hearts receive the spirit of adoption. They know what sonship means. They speak the name “Father” with a new accent. It becomes to them invested with a richer and fuller meaning. God is the Father of all men. Yes, but specially of them that believe.
Now this new name, “Father,” Christ places at the very commencement of the model prayer. This name is to be the very basis of our prayer. To pray aright, certain things are required in him who prays. The Psalmist asked himself this question one day, “Who shall ascend into the hill of the Lord and who shall stand in His holy place?” Who has the right to worship God and pray to Him? That is the Psalmist’s question translated into present day speech. And he proceeds to answer the question he himself asks. And this is the answer he gives, “Who has the right to worship and pray? He that hath clean hands and a pure heart, who hath not lifted up his soul unto vanity nor sworn deceitfully.” But the Psalmist’s answer is one of blank despair. For who is there whose hands are clean? Who is there whose heart is pure? Where is the man who has not lifted up his soul unto vanity? Brethren, when we look upon ourselves what do we see but sin! SIN! SIN! and the cry that breaks from our lips is the terrible cry of the leper of old—Unclean, unclean. If we have to wait till our hands are clean and our hearts pure we shall never, never ascend unto the hill of the Lord or stand in His holy place. But thank God there are no impossible conditions of that kind to be fulfilled before you and I can pray. What right have I, sinful man, to pray? What warrant have I for coming boldly to the throne of grace? Well, brethren, I have no right but that which this name gives. I have no warrant save that which the name “Father” supplies. That is my right—not that I have clean hands or a pure heart, but that I am a son, and He, the Almighty God, is my Father. I have read a story somewhere which says that when one of the Roman Emperors was entering Rome in triumph, a little child darted through the ranks of the soldiers who lined the road and made for the gorgeous car in which the Emperor was seated. Some of the soldiers tried to restrain the little one and said to him, “It is the Emperor.” “Your Emperor,” said the little one, “but my father.” That was the little child’s right to sit even in the triumphal car. And so some would say, “What right have you, a poor sinner, to approach the King of Kings and Lord of Lords, before whom Cherubim and Seraphim veil their faces with their wings and continually do cry?” What right? Well, the right this word gives. Lord of the Universe? Yes. Maker of the worlds? Yes. King of Kings? Yes. But my Father. Who shall dare keep child and parent apart? When ye pray, say “Father,” said our Lord. Let us preface every prayer with that blessed word. It is our claim upon God. No prayer can be too bold; no petition can appear presumptuous when we have commenced by saying “Father.”
But this word not only supplies our warrant for prayer, it also suggests to us the spirit in which our prayers must be offered. We must pray in the spirit of filial trust, in the spirit of childlike confidence. “He that cometh to God,” says the Apostle, “must believe that He is.” We must believe first of all in the reality of God. To many God is a name and nothing more. The world to them would be no emptier than it is if there were no God at all. We must first of all believe that God is. But that is not all. The Mongol, the Hindoo, the African savage believe that God is; but no one would say that their devotions illustrate the true spirit of prayer. No: we must not only believe that God is, we must also believe He is a REWARDER. We must believe He is eager to bless. Some would have you believe that God is the helpless creature of His own laws, bound and held captive by them, and therefore unable to listen or to answer the cry of men—like one of those great stone impassive deities of Egypt, that sit there with staring eyes, and hands on knees, the very picture of impotence and helplessness. If God were no more than that, prayer would be a mockery, a delusion, a sham. But the God we are asked to believe in is a Rewarder—a Father more eager to bless us than any earthly parent is to answer the request of his child. And Christ puts this word in the very front, in order to help us to come with boldness, in order to beget within us a spirit of childlike expectancy and trust. I fancy when I hear some prayers, that we imagine God keeps His heart bolted and barred, and that we have, by the importunity of our petitions, to force and batter our way through. That was the kind of notion Job had. You remember his cry, “Oh, that I knew where I might find Him.” Well, what would Job do if he did find Him? “Oh,” says Job, “I would order my cause before Him, and fill my mouth with arguments.” Job thought that every blessing had to be wrung out of the hands of God. “I would fill my mouth with arguments,” as if nothing were to be had from God except by hard and importunate pleading. “Fill your mouth with arguments?” What need is there for that? Go to Him and call Him “Father”—that is all the argument you need. Brethren, we receive not, because sometimes we ask amiss. The old book says that according to our faith it shall be done unto us. We have received little, because our faith has been so little. We have treated God as if He were close, economical, niggardly. This word “Father” is here to teach us confidence, trust, faith, holy boldness; to inspire us with that perfect love which casteth out all fear. Let us go to God in the childlike spirit of a simple trust; let us use this golden key to His great treasure house, which He has placed in our hands; when we pray, let us say “Father,” and we shall find that before we call He will answer, and while we are yet speaking He will hear.
“Father,” that is how the prayer begins in Luke’s version. That glorious word stands alone in all its royal simplicity. Matthew in his version expands that into “Our Father, which art in heaven.” “Our Father!” No word in this old book is meaningless, and this little word “our” gives us a glimpse of the splendid truth. It is not the singular, but the plural possessive pronoun that our Lord bids us use, not “my Father,” but “our Father.” Of course it is legitimate to use the singular pronoun “my,” and say “MY Father.” There come times when, with a great rush of feeling, we realise that God loves us as individuals, and then we take refuge in the first person singular, just as Paul did when he said “The Son of God loved ME, and gave Himself for ME.” In fact, religion never becomes real and vital until it becomes individual and personal, until we can say like Thomas, “My Lord and my God.” But in this prayer Christ would have us think not simply of ourselves, but also of others—not simply of blessings peculiar and personal, but of blessings shared. So we are to say, not “my Father,” but “OUR Father,” and by doing so we have linked ourselves to all others who pray this prayer. “Our,” that is the pronoun of partnership. We have said “OUR Father” in this church this morning, we have confessed that we have the same Father. But people who are the sons and daughters of the one Father must be brothers and sisters the one to the other. So that when we said “our Father,” we did more than simply proclaim God’s Fatherhood—we proclaimed our BROTHERHOOD. And I will not confine myself to this congregation. It is not simply the brotherhood of those of us who meet week by week in this Congregational Church that we proclaimed when we said “our Father,” we proclaimed the brotherhood of the race. Not my Father simply, but OUR Father—for He is the Father of all! The great truth of the Fatherhood of God implies the correspondingly great truth of the brotherhood of man, and universal brotherhood depends upon the universal Fatherhood. You cannot have this brotherhood of man, except by getting them to kneel together and say “our Father.” The link that binds men together is the possession of a common Father. When we address God by that sweet name, we awake to the fact that we are all members of one great family, bound to one another by the strongest and dearest of ties. Oh! we pray for the time when jealousy, pride, hatred and war shall cease, when “man to man the world o’er shall brothers be for a’ that!” I will tell you when that time shall come. It shall come when you can get all men everywhere to kneel down and begin their prayer with these grand but simple words “Our Father.”
“Then shall the whole round earth be every way
Bound by gold chains about the feet of God.”
“Our Father, who art in Heaven,” says Matthew. Our Father is high and lifted up, He is “in Heaven.” That does not mean that God is not with us here on earth. He is the High and Holy One who inhabits eternity; but He is also the one who dwells in the lowly and the contrite heart. But as Dr. Morison puts it, “On earth there are spots, hearts at least and many of them, where God is not. He is not admitted. He is shut out. But in heaven He is all in all. In a peculiar fulness of acceptation, then, God may be said to be in Heaven.” But this little phrase, “who art in Heaven,” is something more than a topographical direction. It is more, shall I say, than God’s postal address. This little phrase tells us what kind of a Father we have. I do not think it at all fanciful to say with Dr. Stanford, that, as Heaven is the place of perfection, “our Father, who art in Heaven” may be interpreted to mean, “our Father, who art the one perfect Father.” But whether this interpretation is legitimate or not, the idea is a true and Scriptural one. God is the model—the pattern Father. Paul says that “of Him every fatherhood in heaven and earth is named.” You can look at the tender relations that bind the best of fathers to the best of sons here on earth, and I tell you they but faintly illustrate the tender relations that bind God to you. He is the one perfect Father. He is perfect in LOVE. “No earthly father loves like Thee, no mother half so mild.” Mothers may forget their children but God will never forget us. Parents may turn their backs upon us, father and mother may forsake us, and even then God will take us up. He is perfect in wisdom. Earthly parents are not always wise. They are sometimes unwise in severity; they are oftener, I think, unwise in their love; and many a child’s character has been injured, if not ruined, by the unwisdom of its parents. But God is all wise. He is always thinking upon His children for their good. In perfect wisdom, perfect love, He is working for the best. He is perfect in helpfulness.
Human love can do much, but there are times when human love is helpless. Have you ever seen a mother watch by a sick child? I have seen a little one lie in her cot with fevered brow, fighting for life. I have seen her eyes make mute appeal to her mother, and I have seen the mother sitting there in torment and agony, watching the death struggle going on and powerless to help, the very picture of impotent, defeated love. But God is perfect in helpfulness. There is no limit to His power. He will be a refuge for us in trouble; He will make our bed in sickness; He will make us conquerors over temptation; when we pass through the waters He will not suffer them to overflow us; and when we enter the valley, into which no human friend can accompany us, God will be with us still, His rod and staff they will comfort us. “Our Father, who art in Heaven,” one other idea the words suggest to me. “Heaven” is spoken of in the Bible as the place of dominion and authority. “The Lord hath prepared his throne in the heavens,” says the Psalmist, “and His kingdom ruleth over all.” In another psalm we get the picture of kings and princes plotting together to destroy the kingdom of God. “He that sitteth in the heavens,” in the place of supreme dominion, “shall laugh.” Your governors and kings are not the true rulers of the universe; they may fret and fume and bluster as they will, but they are only puppets in the hands of Him who sitteth in the heavens. When, then, our Lord teaches us to say, “Our Father, who art in Heaven,” the blessed truth conveyed by it is, that our Father is in the place of supreme dominion, that love rules the universe. It is the truth proclaimed by the little silk weaver as she passed through the streets of Asolo and sang, “God’s in His heaven—all’s right with the world.” What a blessed truth this is, and what peace and strength it brings into the soul when it is realised and felt. Paul had realised it, so he could say, “I know that all things work together for good.” That President of the Orange Free State had realised it, whose favourite word was, “All will come right,” which word stands engraved to-day on his tombstone! Yes! what peace will be ours when we remember our Father is in Heaven. I remember hearing my friend Mr. Hopkin Rees, one of our devoted Chinese missionaries, telling about one of his converts in that far-off land, who had to bear much from heathen relatives when she became a Christian. They beat her, locked her up in a room, and tried to starve her into surrender. How do you think that poor woman sustained herself? I will tell you. By the thought that her Father was in Heaven, and that “all would come right.” Mr. Rees had translated an old Welsh hymn into Chinese, the last line of every verse in which runs, “Fy nhad, sydd urth y lliw.” It cannot sound as sweet in any other tongue, but this is a rough translation, “My Father’s at the helm.” And that was the song that poor woman sang day after day, “My Father’s at the helm.” Yes! He’s at the helm! Let not your heart be troubled! “Your Father’s at the helm.”
“Our Father, who art in Heaven.” The gospel is in that phrase. I have not been able to translate into language the half of the beauty and glory I myself have seen in it. You must find out for yourselves, by experience, the joy and peace it can bring into life. This name is ours to use; the love implied in it is ours to enjoy. Not one of us need go through life alone; not one of us need be orphaned and poor; not one of us need carry a troubled anxious heart. For Christ has taught us to see love on the Throne, and to call to the Almighty and Everlasting God who fainteth not, neither is weary, “Our Father, who art in Heaven.”