Or what man is there of you, whom if his son ask bread, will he give him a stone?
This question comes from Jesus's most famous teaching, known as the Sermon on the Mount, delivered to a large crowd on a hillside in Galilee. It appears in a section on prayer where Jesus is encouraging his listeners not to hold back from asking God for things. He makes a simple, common-sense argument: no decent father, when his hungry child asks for bread, would hand him a stone instead. The question is rhetorical — Jesus isn't waiting for an answer, because everyone knows the answer. He is building toward a larger point: if ordinary, imperfect human parents give good things to their children, then God, who is perfectly loving, will give far more generously to those who come to him.
Father, I confess that I sometimes come to you already expecting a stone. Forgive my low expectations of your goodness. You are better than the best father I have known or imagined. Today I'm bringing you a real request — not a polished one, just an honest one. Hear me. Amen.
Jesus doesn't start with the ideal father. He starts with the ordinary ones — the real ones, the ones in the room, the ones who sometimes lose their temper or get it wrong. Even they don't hand their hungry child a rock. The bar he's setting isn't high. It's almost shockingly low: even the most fumbling, imperfect parent still tries to feed their kid. He seems to know that not everyone in the crowd had a father who was safe or present. And he still makes the argument, because even at the minimum — even with human floors — the point holds. Sometimes we bring our prayers to God already braced for a stone. We half-expect silence, or a cold refusal, or something worse than what we asked for. That guardedness often comes from real places — from people who were supposed to give good things and didn't. But Jesus is asking you to look at even the most ordinary act of human care — a parent feeding a child at the kitchen table — and let that recalibrate something. You can ask. You can knock. The door is not locked against you, and the one on the other side is not withholding to make a point.
Why do you think Jesus chose such a domestic, unheroic image — bread, a father, a child at mealtime — to make a theological claim about God's character and prayer?
When you pray, do you find yourself genuinely expecting good things, or quietly bracing for disappointment? Where did that posture come from?
This verse rests on the image of God as a good father — but what do you do with that image if your experience of a father was absent, unpredictable, or harmful?
How might genuinely believing that God gives good gifts change the way you respond to other people — especially those who come to you with real needs?
What is a specific request you've been holding back from God — something you've been afraid or embarrassed to ask for? What would it take to actually ask?
If ye then, being evil, know how to give good gifts unto your children: how much more shall your heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to them that ask him?
Luke 11:13
Behold the fowls of the air: for they sow not, neither do they reap, nor gather into barns; yet your heavenly Father feedeth them. Are ye not much better than they?
Matthew 6:26
Or what man is there among you who, if his son asks for bread, will [instead] give him a stone?
AMP
Or which one of you, if his son asks him for bread, will give him a stone?
ESV
'Or what man is there among you who, when his son asks for a loaf, will give him a stone?
NASB
“Which of you, if his son asks for bread, will give him a stone?
NIV
Or what man is there among you who, if his son asks for bread, will give him a stone?
NKJV
“You parents — if your children ask for a loaf of bread, do you give them a stone instead?
NLT
If your child asks for bread, do you trick him with sawdust?
MSG