May they be one, as we are one
John 17:1-11
After Jesus had spoken these words, he looked up to heaven and said, “Father, the hour has come; glorify your Son so that the Son may glorify you, since you have given him authority over all people, to give eternal life to all whom you have given him. And this is eternal life, that they may know you, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom you have sent. I glorified you on earth by finishing the work that you gave me to do. So now, Father, glorify me in your own presence with the glory that I had in your presence before the world existed.
”I have made your name known to those whom you gave me from the world. They were yours, and you gave them to me, and they have kept your word. Now they know that everything you have given me is from you; for the words that you gave to me I have given to them, and they have received them and know in truth that I came from you; and they have believed that you sent me. I am asking on their behalf; I am not asking on behalf of the world, but on behalf of those whom you gave me, because they are yours. All mine are yours, and yours are mine; and I have been glorified in them.
And now I am no longer in the world, but they are in the world, and I am coming to you. Holy Father, protect them in your name that you have given me, so that they may be one, as we are one.
By Rhoda Baer (Photographer) - This image was released by the National Cancer Institute, an agency part of the National Institutes of Health, with the ID 7451 (image) (next)., Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=24031310
It's very difficult to sing someone 'Happy Birthday' over Zoom. I know because I've been in group calls that have tried it, on multiple occasions. If we're being sensible, someone will suggest that we sing very slowly, and try to listen out for each other - but it's of no use. Each time, the result is a jumble of sound from which it's really hard even to pick out individual words, let alone a tune!
One of the things I miss most during life in lockdown is singing with other people, especially in a choir. I miss the deep sense of togetherness that it provided: each week, a group of us stood and breathed and and sang together as if we were one voice. I miss the sensation of hearing my voice nestled within a much broader sound, of being somehow within the beating heart of the music being made all around me. Interestingly, research has shown that the heartbeats of people singing together in unison quickly synchronize, as they inhale and exhale together.
In the world beyond choral singing however, unity often feels like a much less desirable outcome. Sometimes it can be understood to mean a blanket uniformity, or conformity to the most powerful in a group. Think of the nationalistic drives to ensure that everyone in Britain or America speaks English in public, or the recent backlash over a relaxation of the UK lockdown as the latest example of a Britain that's often felt to be 'London-centric'. At best, unity can feel like an unrealistic expectation - imagine a broad cross-party agreement creating widespread unity among MPs over, say, national strategy on Brexit, or managing this pandemic! Appealing as it sounds, there's a sense in which too many people would have to change their worldview or their priorities in order for that to happen.
Both of these understandings of can sometimes feature in conversations around Christian unity. Sometimes a top-down, centralizing or standardizing approach to church seems to be advocated, which feels like uniformity. At other times, though we often speak of the need for unity, pray for it and celebrate examples when we think it might have happened e.g. covenants between churches, there is still an unspoken sense that it would be impossible for us all to really 'be one'. What would that even look like?
Unity in our Church and in our world is a gift from God, breathed by the life-giving Spirit onto our broken and divided world. We cannot become one through our own efforts. But in this, as in all things, Jesus is our example: "Holy Father, protect them in your name that you have given me, so that they may be one, as we are one." Jesus is united with his Father and with humanity, by his closeness to them. Jesus prays 'Our Father', using the intimate Hebrew word 'Abba'. Jesus goes away by himself to spend time with his Father, listening to what he has to say. Jesus enters the lives of ordinary people at close quarters, forgiving sins, healing, eating, listening, speaking, laughing, crying. Jesus gazes repeatedly on the people in front of him with a long, loving look.
I think there is something in this closeness, this intimacy with God and with humanity, that is healing. But closeness does not always bring us joy, or even comfort. Sometimes being close to someone feels as if we are standing at the entrance to a furnace - like being close to Martha after the death of Lazarus, who screamed "Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died!" Sometimes it feels exhausting - like trying to stay awake in the Garden of Gethsemane, as Jesus weeps in anguish.
In all these experiences, though, there is a sense in which the intimate presence of another - and our presence to them - is something which restores, which heals division and which brings new life. Perhaps, rather than starting from 'unity' as either a standard of impossible perfection or a fixed entity to be imposed on others, we should start by trying to be present to our broken, divided world in all its imperfection. Like a cacophany of voices singing over Zoom, we are so often separated from each other as Christians - especially the messier, unsanitized details of each others' lives. What we bring to church is often far less than the fullness of who we are - and likewise, we are so rarely fully present to the others who have come to worship with us.
So, we need to cultivate spaces within the life of our church within which we can be truly present ourselves and witness to the presence of others. This is like opening up a field hospital in a hurting world, and is a task especially needed now as many of us struggle to practice presence in virtual spaces, over the phone or through physically distanced contact with others. Right now, it can feel so much harder for many of us to be with others, in their mourning and in their dancing. But if this time of pandemic makes us more attentive to those who have long been isolated from their church communities including those with disabilities or chronic health conditions, perhaps it may unmask wounds and divisions that we have been woefully inattentive to.
Perhaps this pandemic may cause a time of renewed healing in the church as we seek to be truly present to one another, wounds and all. And perhaps this practice of presence might somehow make us one, like singers in a choir standing side-by-side, breathing together, hearts beating as one. Especially in our present time of isolation, it is surely this healing of division - the work of the life-giving Spirit of God - that is the source of our unity.
After Jesus had spoken these words, he looked up to heaven and said, “Father, the hour has come; glorify your Son so that the Son may glorify you, since you have given him authority over all people, to give eternal life to all whom you have given him. And this is eternal life, that they may know you, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom you have sent. I glorified you on earth by finishing the work that you gave me to do. So now, Father, glorify me in your own presence with the glory that I had in your presence before the world existed.
”I have made your name known to those whom you gave me from the world. They were yours, and you gave them to me, and they have kept your word. Now they know that everything you have given me is from you; for the words that you gave to me I have given to them, and they have received them and know in truth that I came from you; and they have believed that you sent me. I am asking on their behalf; I am not asking on behalf of the world, but on behalf of those whom you gave me, because they are yours. All mine are yours, and yours are mine; and I have been glorified in them.
And now I am no longer in the world, but they are in the world, and I am coming to you. Holy Father, protect them in your name that you have given me, so that they may be one, as we are one.
By Rhoda Baer (Photographer) - This image was released by the National Cancer Institute, an agency part of the National Institutes of Health, with the ID 7451 (image) (next)., Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=24031310
It's very difficult to sing someone 'Happy Birthday' over Zoom. I know because I've been in group calls that have tried it, on multiple occasions. If we're being sensible, someone will suggest that we sing very slowly, and try to listen out for each other - but it's of no use. Each time, the result is a jumble of sound from which it's really hard even to pick out individual words, let alone a tune!
One of the things I miss most during life in lockdown is singing with other people, especially in a choir. I miss the deep sense of togetherness that it provided: each week, a group of us stood and breathed and and sang together as if we were one voice. I miss the sensation of hearing my voice nestled within a much broader sound, of being somehow within the beating heart of the music being made all around me. Interestingly, research has shown that the heartbeats of people singing together in unison quickly synchronize, as they inhale and exhale together.
In the world beyond choral singing however, unity often feels like a much less desirable outcome. Sometimes it can be understood to mean a blanket uniformity, or conformity to the most powerful in a group. Think of the nationalistic drives to ensure that everyone in Britain or America speaks English in public, or the recent backlash over a relaxation of the UK lockdown as the latest example of a Britain that's often felt to be 'London-centric'. At best, unity can feel like an unrealistic expectation - imagine a broad cross-party agreement creating widespread unity among MPs over, say, national strategy on Brexit, or managing this pandemic! Appealing as it sounds, there's a sense in which too many people would have to change their worldview or their priorities in order for that to happen.
Both of these understandings of can sometimes feature in conversations around Christian unity. Sometimes a top-down, centralizing or standardizing approach to church seems to be advocated, which feels like uniformity. At other times, though we often speak of the need for unity, pray for it and celebrate examples when we think it might have happened e.g. covenants between churches, there is still an unspoken sense that it would be impossible for us all to really 'be one'. What would that even look like?
Unity in our Church and in our world is a gift from God, breathed by the life-giving Spirit onto our broken and divided world. We cannot become one through our own efforts. But in this, as in all things, Jesus is our example: "Holy Father, protect them in your name that you have given me, so that they may be one, as we are one." Jesus is united with his Father and with humanity, by his closeness to them. Jesus prays 'Our Father', using the intimate Hebrew word 'Abba'. Jesus goes away by himself to spend time with his Father, listening to what he has to say. Jesus enters the lives of ordinary people at close quarters, forgiving sins, healing, eating, listening, speaking, laughing, crying. Jesus gazes repeatedly on the people in front of him with a long, loving look.
I think there is something in this closeness, this intimacy with God and with humanity, that is healing. But closeness does not always bring us joy, or even comfort. Sometimes being close to someone feels as if we are standing at the entrance to a furnace - like being close to Martha after the death of Lazarus, who screamed "Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died!" Sometimes it feels exhausting - like trying to stay awake in the Garden of Gethsemane, as Jesus weeps in anguish.
In all these experiences, though, there is a sense in which the intimate presence of another - and our presence to them - is something which restores, which heals division and which brings new life. Perhaps, rather than starting from 'unity' as either a standard of impossible perfection or a fixed entity to be imposed on others, we should start by trying to be present to our broken, divided world in all its imperfection. Like a cacophany of voices singing over Zoom, we are so often separated from each other as Christians - especially the messier, unsanitized details of each others' lives. What we bring to church is often far less than the fullness of who we are - and likewise, we are so rarely fully present to the others who have come to worship with us.
So, we need to cultivate spaces within the life of our church within which we can be truly present ourselves and witness to the presence of others. This is like opening up a field hospital in a hurting world, and is a task especially needed now as many of us struggle to practice presence in virtual spaces, over the phone or through physically distanced contact with others. Right now, it can feel so much harder for many of us to be with others, in their mourning and in their dancing. But if this time of pandemic makes us more attentive to those who have long been isolated from their church communities including those with disabilities or chronic health conditions, perhaps it may unmask wounds and divisions that we have been woefully inattentive to.
Perhaps this pandemic may cause a time of renewed healing in the church as we seek to be truly present to one another, wounds and all. And perhaps this practice of presence might somehow make us one, like singers in a choir standing side-by-side, breathing together, hearts beating as one. Especially in our present time of isolation, it is surely this healing of division - the work of the life-giving Spirit of God - that is the source of our unity.
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