It was hot, and we were on a beach at Kootenay Lake of British Columbia, enjoying fun and relaxation with family. Somehow the conversation turned to God, and my 17-year-old has some pretty strong ideas about religion. He, like his older two brothers, had the privilege of growing up with a pastor as a dad.
A pastor dad.
A verbose, verbal-processing, pastor dad.
So you might understand my bewilderment when my Catholic school attending, mass/liturgy every week kind of Catholic school, 17-year-old son, starts to quote the Lord’s Prayer and said:
“Our Father, who aren’t in heaven.”
My daughter in Love stopped him – “What did you say?”
My son repeated himself.
She replied, “Did you say aren’t?” “God aren’t in heaven?”
My son replied “Yes” with a look of what’s your issue?
She replied “I think it goes Our Father who art in heaven …”
My son straightened up, his face contorted with a “What, wait, really?”
“All this time I thought it was aren’t in heaven. In all the liturgies through school, I thought they were saying aren’t. That’s how I thought it was said.”
The two of them, doubling over with laughter were in a race to see which one could tell pastor dad that his kid had been screwing up the Lord’s Prayer all these years.
I’m sure at first my mouth hung open in disbelief, a flash of embarrassment and then we all began to laugh together.
Through my laughter, I asked him “Really? You didn’t think aren’twas weird?” To which he replied. “Dad, I think art is weird!”
“But, son”, I pursued, didn’t it seem strange to think that God aren’t in heaven? Besides the bad grammar, if God aren’t in heaven, then where is God?”
He replied, “I didn’t think much of it ‘cause you always keep saying God is with us.”
Selah.
