John 17:20-26
"I ask not only on behalf of these, but also on behalf of those who will believe in me through their word, that they may all be one. As you, Father, are in me and I am in you, may they also be in us, so that the world may believe that you have sent me. The glory that you have given me I have given them, so that they may be one, as we are one, I in them and you in me, that they may become completely one, so that the world may know that you have sent me and have loved them even as you have loved me. Father, I desire that those also, whom you have given me, may be with me where I am, to see my glory which you have given me because you loved me before the foundation of the world.
"Righteous Father, the world does not know you, but I know you; and these know that you have sent me. I made your name known to them, and I will make it known, so that the love with which you have loved me may be in them, and I in them."
Jesus has left the building. Sort of.
I mean, on Thursday, the liturgical calendar reminded anyone who pays attention to that sort of thing that it was the Festival of the Ascension where, 40 days following Easter’s resurrection, Jesus left for Heaven; to the other side of eternity; to be with God, the Father, in a different way.
And this bit of John’s Gospel we just heard is part of what the same people who pay attention to such things call Jesus’ “farewell discourse.” Only this long goodbye – which is three chapters long in John’s version of the story – really has more to do with his pending crucifixion and death, than it does with his ascension into Heaven. Which is to say, we’re all over the place, chronologically and liturgically, this morning.
But the nutshell of it all, no matter which leave-taking you focus on, is that Jesus is, or has, or will be leaving soon when we hear him praying this morning.
And I’ve always have a hard time with this passage – wrapping my brain around whatever in the world it is Jesus is trying to say and pray and convey. It’s clumsy, right? All of this talk about "being one as we are one…" About "I in you and you in me and them in us…." And about "being made known, knowing this and making that known…" It all sounds like a bunch of gibberish, really.
And I’m okay with that. I always like to remind myself and whoever’s listening that it's okay to be a little confused, here. It helps me to recognize that Jesus is praying – that he's having a conversation with God and that it's not practiced or scripted. I actually wonder if it was ever really meant for anyone else to hear. And I wonder who actually did hear it. Did he know someone was listening or was it something he told someone about afterward? Whatever the case, it's nothing more – and certainly nothing less than – a prayerful conversation between a Son and his Father; between a man and his God; from the Savior of the world just before he leaves his people and heads off to his crucifixion.
And even though it’s clumsy, there is something very meaningful about what Jesus prays. "God, make my disciples one just like you and I are one. Bind them together in a way that matters. Call them together in my name. Remind them that I am yours and that they are mine. Keep them focused on your grace and glory and help them to share what I've taught them about love with the world where they live."
And I have to imagine Jesus would have been a bit upset or anxious or scared, here – not just because of all the pain and suffering and death that was in his future – but because he knew he would be saying goodbye to his friends… his family… his followers. Even if that whole resurrection thing panned out like it was supposed to, things were going to be different going forward, and Jesus would be leaving – eventually.
And, we know Jesus knew enough about this band of misfits he called “disciples” to be more than a little concerned – if not anxious and scared – as he prepared to leave them. He knew about guys like Peter who could be temperamental, stubborn, impulsive, and lose their faith. He knew about guys like Thomas who would doubt and demand proof at all costs. And he knew about men like Judas who could be bought and sold for a small chunk of change. And he probably knew about the danger they’d be in, too, if they actually followed through with their commitment to follow him into all that was to come. It's no wonder Jesus prayed.
And, remember, Jesus wasn't just praying for the handful of disciples who would be left when he left. He was praying for us, just the same. It's right there in the first sentence of this Gospel passage, "I ask not only on behalf of these, but also on behalf of those who will believe in me …" Jesus was praying for all those who would call themselves followers and all those who would claim to be disciples or church members or Partners in Mission, or whatever.
And he prayed that we would be one … not that we would be successful as disciples or that we would remain sinless in the eyes of God or that we would prove equal to the task of spreading the Good News, even. He didn’t pray that we would make the most money, or get the best job, or have the nicest house. Or that we would graduate or get into the best school, either. He didn’t pray that we would read our Bibles or go to the right church or vote this way or that. Jesus prayed, simply, that we would… somehow… by God’s grace… be one.
In a world that tries to divide rather than unite, Jesus prayed that we would be one.
In world that would separate rather than gather together, Jesus prayed that we would be one.
In a world that would sooner fight than embrace; that points out differences before celebrating common ground; that labels people according to lifestyle, race, nationality, political party, income level, denomination, and more … Jesus prayed that we would be one; not just with each other, but one with the whole wide world; one with the kingdom of God, to which he bore witness and brought to life in our midst and for our sake.
We have some discussions coming up, on Wednesdays in June, beginning this week, that might put some of this to the test – these discussions about American Idolatry and Christian Nationalism, I mean, and the corrupt theology and bad politics that, as the author of our book explains, “betray the Gospel and threaten the Church.” These will be hard, holy conversations that a lot of people … a lot of faith communities … a lot of Christians … more men than women, apparently … aren’t willing to engage.
These are hard conversations because we have let corrupt theology and bad politics divide us, in terrible ways, in this country. These are hard conversations because denominations like ours have lost – or demanded that we not foster – the ability to talk about the ways that faith and politics intersect in the world around us. These are hard conversations, because we give too much power to the ways the world works to separate us – and keep us apart.
But I believe Jesus’ prayer is a hard, holy invitation to wrestle with what it means to be one, in the face of that. Not that we “go along to get along…” Not that we ignore or deny the very meaningful ways we differ, one from another… Not that we dismiss the way our politics can impact, if not harm, the most vulnerable among us…
But that we recognize the way God’s grace, love and mercy, is meant to inspire us to come together – to do the hard work, to have the holy conversations – as one – humbly; in repentance, when necessary; with a spirit of generosity and sacrifice for the sake of the other; until all know about the love we have been promised and the love we proclaim and the kind of love Jesus practiced and prayed for, in this Gospel.
And I believe Jesus' prayer is answered – not just through hard, holy conversations – but every time we gather here, in worship, with all of our differing opinions and ideas about so many things. For me, it’s why life in the Church and the work of the Church still matters.
When we gather around the water of baptism, all of the world’s labels and liabilities are washed away, and we are reminded of the grace that loves us all, in spite of that.
When we gather around the table for holy communion – where we eat bread and drink wine and receive forgiveness and the promise of redemption – we are one with the body of Christ and one in the eyes of God and one with our neighbor, whether we like it or not.
And I need this. Because I know that the sinful, broken, stubborn parts of myself are not – by my own understanding and strength – able to reconcile or unite spiritually with or forgive or love, for God’s sake, the sinful, broken, stubborn parts of all those with whom I differ and disagree, these days.
But here, around this altar and at that font, what makes us one isn't that we always agree or get along or do the right thing. What makes us one, in this place, is that God calls us children. What makes us one is that God loves us whether we deserve it or not. What makes us one is that grace and forgiveness and mercy and love come to each and every one of us – in bread and wine, in the waters of baptism, in community with one another, and by the forgiveness of our sinful, broken, stubborn selves through the patient, loving, grace of our creator.
And it helps me to imagine – and give thanks for the notion – that the master of the universe is praying for me, for you, and for all of us together – and until we get it right.
Amen
