Guided in Prayer
Sunday, May 20
Seventh Sunday of Easter
Guided in Prayer
Gracious God, in the resurrection of your Son Jesus Christ, you have given us eternal life and glorified your name in all the world. Refresh our souls with the living streams of your truth, that in our unity, your joy may be complete. Amen.
[Jesus said:] “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. While I was with them, I protected them in your name that you have given me. I guarded them, and not one of them was lost except the one destined to be lost, so that the scripture might be fulfilled. But now I am coming to you, and I speak these things in the world so that they may have my joy made complete in themselves. I have given them your word, and the world has hated them because they do not belong to the world, just as I do not belong to the world. I am not asking you to take them out of the world, but I ask you to protect them from the evil one. They do not belong to the world, just as I do not belong to the world.
“Sanctify them in the truth; your word is truth. As you have sent me into the world, so I have sent them into the world. And for their sakes I sanctify myself, so that they also may be sanctified in truth.”
All Readings For This Sunday
Acts 1:15-17, 21-26
1 John 5:9-13
1. What are your top priorities?
2. Does your way of life contradict or express those priorities?
3. Would we feel and behave differently if we remembered that we are a community that Jesus prays for?
4. How do you think the disciples were feeling that night, after dinner, sharing wine and conversation with Jesus?
5. What’s the connection between living in truth and being close to God?
by Kate Huey
I wonder how the disciples were feeling that night, sitting around after supper with the customary wine and conversation. It often seems that we relax more after dinner, perhaps with a cup of coffee, and just talk, opening up more then than during the meal itself. Jesus has now been talking for several chapters in John’s Gospel, in a speech called the farewell discourse (another ancient custom, at the end of a great person’s life), ending in the high priestly prayer. Last week, we heard Jesus urging his disciples to abide in his love, to make their home in his love, and to love one another as he loved them. The lectionary, however, skips over the next part where Jesus mentions that the world would hate them, and even kill them, as it had first hated and killed him.
No wonder, then, that Jesus feels a need to bring the conversation to a close with deep, heartfelt prayer; this week’s reading comes from that prayer. John wrote his Gospel for a community that, sixty or so years later, was experiencing that hatred and rejection, so this prayer is for them, too, just as it is for the church down through the ages, and for us as well. Fred Craddock compares readers of this text to “a congregation overhearing a pastoral prayer. We are not directly addressed, but we are very much in the mind of the One who is praying.” I wonder how the disciples felt that night, as they listened to Jesus praying for them.
By the time Jesus turned from them to speak directly to God, it must have been sinking into their hearts and minds that something big was about to happen, and it wasn’t going to be good. They had tried to get a handle on the situation, to understand what he was talking about, to find a way to negotiate the road ahead. Like people of faith in every age, they had questions. Dennis E. Smith suggests that Jesus’ answers might be summed up this way: “Pay attention to the story; there you will find ‘the way’ and there you will find ‘the Father.'” The story of Jesus and his life, then, is the path to understanding and knowledge about God.
The disciples’ world was about to be turned upside down: they were on the brink of losing Jesus to death. John’s community must have felt small and vulnerable after losing their synagogue home, and facing strong opposition from the world around them. Don’t worry, Jesus tells them, before turning to God in prayer, asking that they will be protected, entrusting them, and all who would follow, into God’s care. Jesus asks that they will be one, that they will be made holy. More than that: that they will experience joy. In some mysterious way, perhaps all of that is what it means to abide: to trust, to love, to be one, to be holy, to know joy. And this is also what it sounds like when Jesus prays for us. Gail R. O’Day wonders what might happen if we remembered that “We are a community for whom Jesus prays.” We often hear about the faith of Jesus, and in this passage that faith is trust. O’Day draws on Karl Barth to describe the way Jesus prays: “Jesus is bold enough to hold God to God’s promises: You have given, you have sent, you have loved; now keep, sanctify, let them be one….Jesus’ prayers and desires for those whom he loves are at one with God’s desires.” Each time Jesus speaks of being “one,” he’s talking about the way he and the Father are one, and how we are drawn into closeness to God because we know Jesus.
This quiet, trusting prayer (unlike the other Gospel accounts of Jesus’ anguished prayer in the garden) addresses God as “father.” Dianne Bergant explains that in a society that was “patriarchal (father-headed) in structure and androcentric (male-centered) in perspective,” that shouldn’t surprise us. It wouldn’t have surprised the disciples, because God had been described as “father” in their tradition; after all, “God created and protected them,” Bergant writes. But Jesus went farther than this, to a level of deep intimacy. Again, we’re drawn into that closeness to God because of our relationship with Jesus, and assured that our trust is well-placed. According to Fred Craddock, John reassures us that “the church is not an orphan in the world, the creation of a religious imagination, the frightened child of huddled rumors and popular superstitions. For those who need to examine the credentials of the church’s life and message, here is truth’s pedigree: from God, to Christ, to the apostles, to the church.”
Living in a “liminal time”
Jesus had already turned the disciples’ lives upside down, and they were never going to be the same. But during that quiet after-dinner conversation, they must have felt that everything was about to change once again, and we all know what change brings: anxiety. Bergant observes that the disciples were in a “liminal time in between, a time of change and transition.” The disciples, however, were not unique in this regard. We all face change and uncertainty, and sooner or later, we too live in a liminal time, a time for decision and a time for trust. Bergant describes the disciples’ very human desire to “cling to what they have known while realizing that things are no longer what they were before,” and their need to “rethink their priorities, reorder their lives, and reconstitute their community.” When we’re going through change, loss and uncertainty, we can take heart that other faithful people have been here before us. We can take heart when we remember that we have one another to love, the assurance of the Word, and the comfort of knowing, as O’Day says, that “We are a community for whom Jesus prays.”
This reassurance gives us the courage to speak the truth, even in the face of danger and hatred. Carmelo ¡lvarez challenges us to take the risk that comes with reordering our lives and the life of the world: “A search for the truth,” he writes, “can lead to controversial topics such as naming corruption, unveiling impunity, and unmasking idolatry in personal, communal, and systemic entities.” For example, after emerging from a time of rampant human rights violations, Argentina collected “stories and testimonies of torture, disappearance of persons, and abuses of power by the militaries.” For them, national reconciliation and healing would begin by “telling the truth.” In spite of danger, hatred and risk, then, ¡lvarez reads in this text an either/or that tells the faithful in every age that “indifference, apathy, and complacency are not options” if we seek to live in the truth.
One way or another, we make a choice
That either/or choice confronts us as followers of Jesus and it often sets us in opposition to the world. In his prayer, Jesus speaks of the world in a way that might surprise us, if we remember John’s earlier words, perhaps the most well-known verse in the New Testament: “For God so loved the world…” (see John 3:16). The world that God created (creates) and loves is also a place that can lead us astray. If we’re going to reorder our lives and rethink our priorities, we’re going to have to make some choices. This week’s passage tells us that there will be times when we have to choose, and when it comes to life or death, love or hate, God is on the side of love and life. The world, we’re told, will not agree. In the world, power and security, victory at all costs, wealth and possessions, prestige and honor, numbing our emotions and suppressing our hope–all of these things win out over love, humility, justice, peace. That’s the way this passage tells it, and that was Jesus’ concern as he prayed for us.
At times, however, the church itself has stumbled, entangling with the ways and values of the world rather than being consumed by gospel values. When the church becomes one more social organization (a club, even!), one more activity, one more voice that props up the powers that be, it has lost its way. For example, in his superb film, “Brother Sun, Sister Moon,” Franco Zeffirelli illustrates the tragic compromises of the 13th-century church as it sought political power rather than the power that comes from Jesus’ own prayer for us. Zeffirelli tells the story of Francis of Assisi, whose simplicity and humility before the pope (Innocent III, at the zenith of temporal power for the church) was more powerful and transformative than all the pomp and majesty of the court around him. By his sweet spirit and earnest humility, Francis reminded the magnificently robed church leader of his own early, sincere longings for holiness. You can see in the face of the pope a realization that he had been lost to the ways of the world around him.
Grieving and God
There is still another feeling here, another experience we share with those early disciples: grief. Sooner or later, we all experience loss and heartbreak. As we come to the end of the Easter season and recall the ascension of Jesus into heaven, we remember that even after triumphing over death, Jesus still left his disciples. They may not have been orphaned, and they did have the gift of the Holy Spirit on its way, but there must have been some sense of loss and grief at the thought of losing the one for whom they had left everything behind. Maureen Dallison Kemeza has written a lovely reflection in The Christian Century on that grief and on the nearness of God around us: she calls John a “theological poet” and reminds us that “the universe is a sacrament of the presence of God.” John, after all, is the Gospel writer who uses the term “eternal life” far more than “reign of God,” although Gail O’Day suggests that he’s not talking about an afterlife in heaven so much as an earthly life “shaped by the knowledge of God as revealed in Jesus.”
Perhaps we’re surprised and even uncomfortable about the way Jesus speaks of “the world.” Here we find another path for reflection. David Cunningham has written evocatively of the paradox of being human, both animal and yet made in the image of God. “Although we frequently allow ourselves to be ruled only by our appetites,” he writes, “we can rise to a level of forethought, creativity, and abundant gift-giving that aligns us very closely with God.” The question we must ask focuses on how we will order our lives and examine our priorities and shape our institutions, especially if we are really, really close to God because of our knowledge of Jesus. According to Cunningham, we may take our cue from that relationship between Jesus and the Father, a deeply intimate knowledge and love, and build our own life together avoiding hierarchy and granting one another lots of “space” in order “to live into full personhood within a loving community of care.” Cunningham also makes holiness sound different from the striving and righteous piety that we might think we must pursue. Instead, to be holy means to be “set apart–particularly for God’s special purpose,” like Israel, like holy water…not because we’re better but because we are set apart and given a particular calling in this world that God created, this world that God loves, this world in which we live and move and grow into fully human and richly blessed children of God.
A people both set apart and sent
So we live in the world, and God loves the world, but we are somehow set apart within it. The words I find both comforting and energizing are “for God’s special purpose.” We live in that tension between gathering as a set-apart community and being a community that is sent into the world. Aren’t we tempted to create a little world for ourselves, especially inside the church, where we can take refuge from the world? Thomas Troeger describes the temptation that the earliest Christians had in common with us: “How good it would feel to retreat into their own group, to recall the stories of Jesus, to sense his presence in their meals of bread and wine, to enjoy each other’s supportive fellowship, and no longer to have to defend their beliefs and practices in a hostile world.” And who can really blame us, with the world so threatening, so insecure, so…hopeless, at times? But Troeger reminds us that this text assures us that Jesus will always be with us and will empower us “to live vitally and faithfully in the world, not owned by it, but fully engaged with its needs and wounds and energized by the truth of God’s word.”
Energized and engaged. Many of us are so engaged that we can’t remember where to find the energy for all our activities. Our spirits are drying up, and we long for fresh waters. N. Graham Standish has written a book, Discovering the Narrow Path: A Guide to Spiritual Balance, in which he illustrates the way “the world” has led us away from the streams that refresh our spirits. He puts it simply: we do too much, have too much, want too much, and then blame our stress on the perception that we do or have “too little” or “not enough.” We’re driven, out of balance, consumed by the ways of the world, drowning in excess. As I understand Standish, excess doesn’t have to mean riches (although North Americans are richer than most of the rest of the world). It can mean too much activity, too much striving, even too much effort to overcome the stress that comes with doing too much. I appreciated his suggestion that the experts who tell us to meditate are giving us one more thing to do when we already have too much to do, and we feel like failures
hen we can’t fit one more thing in.
Here is where Standish’s book connects with this text, because he calls us to that same priority-rethinking, life-reordering, and community-reconstituting that Bergant sees in every liminal time. Christians, Standish writes, need to ask themselves, “What are they serving: God or something else?” (that either/or that John loves so well). As Christians, he continues, we’re called “to live a radically different kind of life: a life of balance with Christ as the balancing fulcrum.” The over-stimulated, too-busy life that we seem enslaved by is not God’s will for us, but the peace and joy of God’s reign are. While we may not face the same persecution that the early Christians experienced from “the world,” we’re still called to a very narrow path, different from the paths of the world. On that narrow path, we’ll have to “make choices, prioritize, and put at the center those things that should be at our center” of a life dedicated to God, including “compassion for others, and communion with God.” The choices are hard when all around us the world tries to lure us off the narrow path, but we need not fear: we are a community that Jesus prays for, a set-apart community that nevertheless loves the world that God loves, a people sent into the world to love and serve God and everything and everyone that God loves.
For further reflection
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, 19th c.
Things which matter most must never be at the mercy of things which matter least.
Mahatma Gandhi, 20th c.
Action expresses priorities.
Stephen R. Covey, 21st c.
Most of us spend too much time on what is urgent and not enough time on what is important.
Richard P. Feynman, 20th c.
Physics isn’t the most important thing. Love is.
Victoria Moran, 21st c. (in Lit From Within: Tending Your Soul For Lifelong Beauty)
A simple life is not seeing how little we can get by with-óthat’s povertyó-but how efficiently we can put first things first….When you’re clear about your purpose and your priorities, you can painlessly discard whatever does not support these, whether it’s clutter in your cabinets or commitments on your calendar.
Harry Emerson Fosdick, 20th c.
Self-denial is not the negative, forbidding thing that often we shake our heads about. In one sense there is no such thing as self-denial, for what we call such is the necessary price we pay for things on which our hearts are set.
Michael Novak, 21st c.
The more common vices today are likely to be spiritual: preoccupation, hyperactivity, a failure even to heed the natural rhythms of the body and the sense, distractedness, an instrumentalizing of people and time and activity.
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