Jesus looked up and prayed, “I have made your name known.” †
When I was stationed at Camp Lejeune I had a good friend, a Baptist chaplain, who, when something happened that was particularly good would say, “Well, if you believed in God…” The suggestion was that it should be obvious this good thing was a gift from God in whom we do believe. On the other hand, someone actually wrote a book about the problem of and for clergy who do not believe in God. It’s no wonder we can find so many blogs and Facebook postings fretting over the demise of Christianity, not to mention the plethora of books on creative ways to prevent it. The problem with all these is that it is not up to us. I’m not talking about any ‘ism or any narrowly defined and manageable religion. Rather, the community of faith for whom Jesus offered this prayer are those who hear and believe, who seek something beyond themselves and a language about which to speak of it, who want lives that are more than a geometric straight line segment from point birth to point death with limited length and no breadth.
Jesus looked up and prayed. It is important to remember this is a prayer. It is not Jesus’ instructions to the church. It is about what God was doing, is doing and will do. This is the day of the Lord, his time had come, which is to say that time collapsed in that moment. We sometimes say that time stood still but this was and is more than that. It is the confluence of memory, reality and hope in a sacramental moment. This prayer was in the context of the meal Jesus ate with his disciples, the so-called Last Supper (it was only the last supper before the resurrection). It is in the midst of a series of events that together tell us of the triumph of Christ—ministry, suffering, death, resurrection, ascension and return.
We overhear Jesus praying. He looked up and prayed. His prayer was conversational, I and you. It is a conversation between Father and Son, language that suggests an intimacy that too often exceeds that in our families but which may be the best metaphor we have. Jesus, you remember from last week’s reading, called his disciples friends when his hour came. If we think of those rare and wonderful friendships that sustain and renew us, that last and grow, maybe that is an even better metaphor that a familial one. But, in either case, when Jesus said, “I have made your name known,” he was not speaking of an introduction (“May I present God? God this is Joe.”) Here when Jesus speaks of making God’s name known, he is clearly speaking of making God known, God’s character and fullness. Jesus has included his disciples in the intimate relationship that he has with the one he calls Father.
So, again, Jesus did not entrust the future of the Church to us but to God. We merely overhear the conversation. It has been suggested the church might consider as its starting point, “We are a community for whom Jesus prays.” We overhear the intimacy of Jesus’ relationship with God. Our conversion comes from our listening in on their conversation and our sanctification comes when we are ultimately allowed to enter that conversation. John describes how God has given, sent, and loved Jesus. Now Jesus prays that we would be kept, sanctified, and unified (made one).
It is important to remember this prayer was overheard on the eve of the crucifixion. The world for John is the residence of the evil one. We are in the world to do ministry as was Jesus. The intimate and ultimate relationship into which we are invited is, like all relationships, likely to call for sacrifices. Ironically, the thing we need to sacrifice most urgently is the assumption that we can save ourselves, pride.
When we overhear this conversation between Jesus and the One he calls Father we are given a glimpse of the life with God that transcends our senses of limitation and expectation. When the Church is overcome by moroseness we have clearly forgotten the Providence of God.
There is another poll out saying that Christianity is declining. Something has changed but it is cultural, not theological. What has changed is the expectation that almost everyone will be in church—some church—every Sunday morning. That was always a cultural phenomenon rather than evidence of spirituality. Besides the cultural expectation, there wasn’t much else to do! The stores were closed on Sunday. So were the movie theaters. The good news is that if being here is culturally optional, the people who are in church are the ones looking for spiritual nourishment. That’s not a bad thing.
You’ve heard about the Carter family coming to Bristol almost a hundred years ago to record some of their music. Kathy and I were listening to one of their songs:
Golden Bells
There’s a land beyond the river
That they call the sweet forever
And we only reach that shore by faith’s decree
One by one we’ll gain the portals
There to dwell with the immortals
When they ring the golden bells for you and me
Don’t you hear the bells now ringing
Don’t you hear the angels singing
‘Tis the glory hallelujah Jubilee
In that far off sweet forever,
Just beyond the shining river
When they ring the golden bells for you and me
We shall know no sin or sorrow
In that heaven of tomorrow
When our hearts shall sail beyond the silvery sea
We shall only know the blessing
Of our Father’s sweet caressing
When they ring the golden bells for you and me
Don’t you hear the bells now ringing
Don’t you hear the angels singing
‘Tis the glory hallelujah Jubilee
In that far off sweet forever
Just beyond the shining river
When they ring the golden bells for you and me
When our days shall know their number
When in death we sweetly slumber
When the King commands the spirit to be free
Nevermore with anguish laden
We shall reach that lovely Eden
When they ring the golden bells for you and me
When they ring the golden bells for you and me
This hymn describes poetically the collapse of time: “Don’t you hear the bells now ringing; Don’t you hear the angels singing; ‘Tis the glory hallelujah Jubilee; In that far off sweet forever.” It speaks of the intimacy of Jesus’ own prayer: “We shall only know the blessing of our Father’s sweet caressing.”
When they recorded that hymn they grasped something we have a difficult time appreciating. In a word it is hope. Their lives were hard. Their lives and the lives of their families depended on their ability to grow a crop and find work. Life was short and things like food, clothing and shelter were appreciated. They didn’t need to spend a night in a shelter to experience poverty. They would have laughed at the idea that we would use the word experience for one voluntary night in a shelter when they were thankful to have a shelter every night.
If you believe in God…my friend would say.
God is saving us and sometimes we are part of that mission. Too often we are just in the way. God is redeeming all creation and sometimes we are part of God’s mission. Let’s be certain we are of the way, not in the way; that we are overhearing the sacred conversation rather our own voices; that we’re not just talking to ourselves about ourselves.