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."

The timing for this reading from Jesus’ “farewell discourse,” as it’s called in theological circles, couldn’t be much more timely, or ironic, or funny, or sad, or something – depending on your perspective – these days.

If you watch enough cable news, I mean, you know there’s an awful lot of talk about “coming together;” about “party unity;” about “uniting around the presumptive nominee;” about “bringing people together” and such, in the realm of presidential politics in our country. It seems laughable to me – supremely ironic – that any of this pretends to really be about “unity” at this point, no matter on what side of the aisle you sit, or which candidate you support. The whole process – in spite of the language of “unity” we use to describe it in these “United” States – seems to be all and only about opposing parties, divisive differences, choosing sides, naming winners and losers, and so on.

Indeed, part of the plan and expectation for this so-called “unity” is to go after it, to promise to achieve it somewhere down the line, in the future. “Unity” is like a carrot our candidates dangle before us, just out of reach, that will be achieved at or after their respective conventions; or something we’ll all have no choice but to work toward, come November, when the final vote has been cast.

But back to Jesus, and his “farewell discourse.”

I always have a hard time with this passage – wrapping my brain around whatever in the world it is Jesus is trying to say.

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.

But that’s okay, I think. It's okay to be a little confused, here. It helps me to realize that Jesus is praying – that he's having a conversation with God, the Father, and it's not practiced or scripted. I actually wonder if it was ever really meant for anyone else to hear. It's nothing more – and certainly nothing less than – a prayerful conversation between a Son and his Father; between a man and his God; between the Savior of the world just before he leaves his disciples to head off to his own crucifixion.

And even though it may be hard to figure out at first, 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."

It's a nice prayer. It’s a lovely sentiment. But it seems like Jesus might be a little bit upset or anxious or scared, here, which makes sense – 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 disciples. He would be leaving his friends and family. 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. (On Thursday of last week, actually, Christian churches all over the world celebrated the commemoration of Jesus’ ascension into heaven.)

And, Jesus knew enough about this band of misfits he called “disciples” to be more than a little concerned, as he prepared to leave them. He knew about guys like Peter who could be temperamental, stubborn, impulsive, and weak. 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. (I won’t name names, of course, but they sound like they could be running for president, really: temperamental, stubborn, impulsive, weak; bought and sold for a small chunk of change.) It's no wonder Jesus prayed.

And Jesus wasn't just praying for the eleven or so 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, "I ask not only on behalf of these, but also on behalf of those who will believe in me through their word…" 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 build the best wall or have the best foreign policy or develop the greatest tax plan or that we would win any election. 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 so on… 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 as we understand it.

And we don't always see that. We don't always want that. We do a lot, if we're honest, to keep that kind of unity from happening. But I believe Jesus' prayer is answered, in spite of ourselves, when we gather here, in worship, with all of our differing opinions and ideas and ideologies 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 – where we’ll welcome little Blake McCain, today – all of the world’s labels and liabilities are washed away. We are reminded of the grace that loves us all, just the same.

When we gather around the table of holy communion – where we eat bread and drink wine and each receive forgiveness and the promise of redemption and second chances – we are one with the body of Christ and one in the eyes of God’s love 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 my self are not – by my own understanding and strength – able to vote for, let alone reconcile or unite spiritually with the sinful, broken, stubborn parts of all those with whom I disagree.

But here, around this altar and 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.

Amen

Occasionally I have prayed that the Biblical story of the giving of the tongues at Pentecost would take place in my own life – typically when I have been sitting at a desk with a language exam in front of me. I would pray and pray that the Holy Spirit would descend from heaven and fill me with the ability to translate a paragraph or conjugate the list of verbs. Often at such times I would feel the presence of the Spirit, but far from enabling me to speak a new language, it always bore the same annoying message: “You should have studied more!”

In my life I have studied five foreign languages: Spanish, French, Chinese, Ancient Greek, and Biblical Hebrew. Lest you think I’m saying that in order to impress you, let me clarify. I’m not saying I know five languages; and I certainly don’t remember enough of even one of them to consider myself bi-lingual.

Some of my best friends are bi-lingual. One spring break in college I accompanied four such friends on a trip to Mexico. Not the resort areas of Mexico, but a trek through the heart of Mexico – staying with local people, exploring off the beaten path. I was the only one who didn’t speak fluent Spanish. There is nothing quite as unnerving as being in a large group and being the only one who doesn’t understand what is being said. It was humbling and disconcerting. Whether it was just the five of us, or when we were with a group of locals, every time the group laughed I automatically assumed they were laughing at me.

We’ve probably all felt this way at one time or another. When we don’t understand what is going on or what is being said, we feel powerless. When we feel powerless we become defensive and stand-offish; everyone becomes a threat. And when we view and treat others as a threat, we give others cause to say things about us in that language we don’t understand. It is a vicious cycle built upon the irrational fear of the other: the other person, the other idea, the other perspective.

It is this context of fear and the inability to comprehend that the story of the apostles at Pentecost begins. In the last few days they have witnessed the betrayal and execution of their teacher. The betrayer, once their brother, died a brutal death. Their teacher, once dead, was alive, but had once again left them. They had little understanding of what was happening to them. They were terrified of the violent world outside their door. So, the apostles stayed huddled together in the relative safety of their home.

Into this scene, a loud noise, like the sound of a rushing wind, filled the house. Divided tongues (I don’t know what divided tongues are, but the writer says it was something like a flame) came to rest on them and they began to speak other languages. They began to speak in a way that made sense to the people outside their doors.

This story plays off of a similar story from the Old Testament about people speaking other languages – the Tower of Babel. In that story, the people of the earth used their one common language to conspire to build a monument to their own greatness and ascend to a level where they would become their own Gods. As punishment, God tore down the tower, scattered the people, and made them speak in various languages.

The Pentecost story picks up where Babel left off. The people are scattered across every nation under heaven; each nation and culture speaking their own language. God sends the Holy Spirit to enable the disciples to speak to and listen to people from every race, religion, and nationality. There is no call for a common language, but rather a call for common understanding:

The Holy Spirit fills the disciples with the common understanding that God’s promises are inclusive. This common understanding is so crystal clear that even Peter gets it (this is the same Peter who elsewhere in the gospels is always the one who says and does things that prove he hasn't quite grasped what Jesus is trying to teach him). Endowed with this new common understanding, Peter finally understands the message the prophet Joel brought from God centuries before when he said, “I will pour out my Spirit on all people..sons and daughters…young men…old men…even slaves…everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved.”

Each of us, at one time or another, realizes we are afraid of the world outside of the walls we have built around our lives. We don’t understand the languages being spoken around us. We don’t understand the younger generations; we don’t understand the older generations; we no longer understand our generation.

Into such scenes, we pray for a loud noise, like the sound of a rushing wind, to fill our homes and our church. We pray for divided tongues (whatever they are) to come and rest on us – to give us the ability to speak to and comprehend the languages, customs and ideas of people who are different from us. We pray that the Spirit would enable us, as disciples of Jesus, to speak in a way that makes sense to the people outside our doors.

Into our homes and into our church we pray for a new experience of Pentecost.
We desire an experience of the Holy Spirit that will remind us that we are God’s beloved creation and as such we are so much greater than our insecurities, fear, and pain. We desire an experience of the Holy Spirit that will send us out as God’s beautiful hands and feet in the world – revealing joy where there was pain, and hope where there was loss.

This is a curious and tumultuous time in the life of the worldwide church. There are voices on either side of church walls instigating hatred and fear towards the other. There is great apathy on the part of Christians who mistakenly think their faith is simply a ticket to heaven, as opposed to a way of life.

The solutions to the problems facing the church will not be solved by advocating intolerance, arrogance, isolation and disillusion. Rather, we cling onto hope in the face of despair; peace in the presence of hatred; and unity in spite of our division.

The Holy Spirit is the mighty wind that will blows the church into new and unexpected places of ministry. No one here knows where the Spirit will take us. Being a disciple of Jesus in this windstorm will bring the church, and you along with it, to unexpected places, and unexpected grace. It may only be in retrospect, and with inspired interpretation, that one day we can look back and recognize the Spirit’s driving wind rather than simply a frighteningly chaotic storm.

May the noise of the Spirit instruct you in the ways of peace. May the wind of the Spirit propel you along pathways filled with new people speaking unfamiliar languages. May the fire of the Spirit burn away your fears and insecurities and free you to live as the beautiful creature God made you to be. Amen.

"Party Unity" – John 17:20-26

"Divided Tongues...Whatever They Are" – Acts 2:1-21