It’s comprehensive.
It’s clear.
It’s complete.
It’s the pattern of all prayer.
It’s the Lord’s Prayer.

This prayer takes us on a journey, up, down, and then up again. Like an elevator, it transports the soul through every floor between heaven and earth. At its best, it feels like a divine innovation, designed to help us move, spiritually, from where we are to where we need to be. But when that “elevator” breaks down, when our prayers feel unanswered or stuck between floors, we can’t help but ask: who’s to blame?

That’s the kind of question Nicholas White wrestled with, quite literally, one Friday night in October 1999. He was a production manager in the McGraw-Hill building, a tower connected to Rockefeller Center in New York. After a long shift, he stepped outside for a cigarette break. The night air cleared his mind. He walked back in, pressed the elevator button, and headed back up to the 43rd floor. But then, a jolt. The elevator stopped. The lights flickered. Then nothing. Nicholas waited. He pressed 43 again. Then every button. Then the emergency button. Silence. He waved at the security camera. He spoke into the phone. He yelled. No answer. Time passed. He tried not to panic. He thought about work. No one was expecting him. He thought about his friends, no weekend plans. He laid down. He smoked the rest of his cigarettes. At one point, he pried open the elevator doors and found only a concrete wall and the spray-painted number 13. He was stuck, literally, between floors.

After 41 hours, a voice came through the intercom: “Is there anyone in there?” “Yes!” Nicholas shouted. “What are you doing in there?” the voice asked. He could hardly believe the question. Eventually, the security guard walked him through the steps to get the elevator moving again. Dazed, Nicholas asked, “What day is it?” The guard replied, “Sunday.” Nicholas was let down, literally and spiritually, and he never wanted to return to that building again.

Sometimes life feels like that. Stuck. The buttons we press don’t work. Our prayers feel like they go unanswered. We feel trapped like God is watching from a distance, arms folded. That’s how it can feel, but that’s not the kind of prayer Jesus teaches.

The disciples, still young in their faith, wanted a shortcut to power. “Lord, teach us to pray,” they asked,” as John taught his disciples.” Their request was practical, maybe even strategic. Prayer was a mark of a teacher’s followers. They wanted to be like Him. They wanted results. They wanted success, so Jesus gives them, and us the Lord’s Prayer.

Luke’s version is shorter than Matthew’s. No “Our Father,” just “Father.” No “Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.” No closing doxology, that was added later for public worship. But what Jesus does give is a pattern. A beginning: “Father, hallowed be thy name.” A request: “Give us our daily bread.” A confession: “Forgive us… as we forgive.” And a plea: “Lead us not into temptation.” It may be brief, but it’s anything but shallow. It’s a lifeline for every moment when we feel suspended between the floors of faith and frustration.

Luke may have left out the line “Thy will be done,” but that truth is at the heart of the prayer. We don’t pray to control God; we pray to surrender to Him. To ride with Him from the basement of despair to the highest heaven. Jesus tells us…
God is comprehensive; He’s in it with us.
He’s clear. He opens doors we cannot.
He’s complete. He provides what we need, even when the wait is long.

Nicholas White’s story is a cautionary one. Afterward, he couldn’t shake the anger. He couldn’t bring himself to go back. Some of us feel that way with God. We get stuck. We lose trust. But the gospel invites us to return, again and again, to the God who does not leave us stranded.

So when you feel stuck, when life halts somewhere between “Our Father” and “Amen”, say the Lord’s Prayer. Say it slowly. Say it when your soul feels heavy. Say it when the walls close in. Say it not to get what you want, but to trust the One who knows what you need. Because in Jesus Christ, we receive our daily bread. At His table, through His broken body and poured-out blood, we are reminded that even in the greatest moment of being “stuck” on the cross, Jesus opened the way to the top floor: resurrection, life, and glory forever.

Up, down and up again, “For thine is the kingdom, the power, and the glory, forever and ever. Amen.”