John 17:22, 23

Indeed, by chapter four conflict emerges as one of the main motifs of the story; conflict between, on the one hand, a man who freely heals on the Sabbath and unapologetically consorts with Gentiles and, on the other, those religious professions who are devoted to preserving the Law as they understand it, and who are responsible for maintaining the spiritual life of ancient Israel.

Scholarly explanations are beginning to emerge for John's antipathy for the professional clergy of his time. The most recent theory traces it to a sort of internal competition between John and his vision of a universal, even cosmic Christ - a Christ for the whole world, and his apostolic counterpart, Matthew, whose own Gospel seems more specifically intended for a Jewish audience.

There may well be something to that theory. But I think what's going on in John is about something deeper than what amounts to a kind of sibling rivalry, something that's as true today as it was then.

For this tension between Jesus and the religious elite is not unique to John; it runs through all four of the Gospels.

I think that's an inevitable, even an important part of the story. And I don't think this tension is specific to first century Judaism. I think when the Divine spirit intersects with human institutions there is always tension. When the new and innovative intersect with the well-established and the traditional there is always resistance and conflict.

The moment Martin Luther dared to nail those 95 theses on the door of the church in Wittenburg, he essentially became a wanted man. When Luther's spiritual descendent, Martin Luther King, Jr. challenged America and the Church to be true to their own principles, they turned fire hoses on him and eventually someone turned a gun on him. We turned fire hoses on him. The people who resisted Dr. King included a lot of church folk, a lot of Christian folk, who look just like most of us in this room today.

The problem, it seems, is that our humanity seeps into these institutions. What may once have been pure becomes less than that. Religious institutions in particular are prone to becoming ossified or corrupt. Gifts that were once offered freely--salvation, blessing, membership, inclusion--eventually have to be bought, or earned.

Most scholars agree that this very thing had happened in 1 ^st century Judaism. The temple hierarchy had become corrupt and fallen in league with the occupying Roman authorities. But what also must be said is that this unholy alliance between temple and state was not so much about Judaism as it was about simple human nature. Because the same thing is happening today right here in the United States, where the wall between church and state is steadily crumbling.

So what we have in John, then, is a paradigmatic story of a religious reformer, indeed a religious and spiritual revolutionary who's come to set things right. Who has come to show that grace and forgiveness, healing and salvation are not a matter of who you are but of who God is. That these gifts are available to the poor just as much as to the wealthy.

That's the story we get in John. The story of the conflict between a religious visionary, animated by God's own spirit, and the human structures that resist him and his message.

And right in the middle of this story something startling happens. Just as the drama is approaching its highest point, Jesus stops for a private meal with his disciples. And at the end of the meal, he offers up a prayer. But it's not a prayer of thanksgiving or blessing or dismissal. It is, rather, a prayer inviting everyone who ever hears it into an intimate relationship with God.

It is, as I said, startling. An intimate relationship with God for everyone. Can we believe it? Dare we believe it? Is it true, or is this invitation too good to be true?

I think those are all fair questions, questions that need to be asked, and whose answers should not be presumed.

First, is it true? This prayer is not in any of the other Gospels. Indeed, this whole section in John is not in any of the other Gospels.

The context here is the Lord's Supper, and of course that event is recorded in the other Gospels. But whereas this particular scene in Jesus life is treated relatively briefly in Matthew, Mark and Luke, John devotes four long chapters to this consequential night.

The first chapters of this segment are called the Farewell discourse. Jesus is preparing his disciples for a time, soon to come, when he will no longer be with them. He gives them parables about shepherds and vineyards, stories to help them know and remember that they're going to be okay when the time comes for him to leave them. Parables.

But first he reminds them why he came and what he expects of them. He takes off his robe, wraps himself in a towel and washes their feet - about most humble and intimate thing anyone could do for another person in that day and age.

A new commandment I give unto you , he says afterward. All I really ask is that you love one another. The old commandments, the 10 great commandments, of they're still valid, but this one, well, if you get this one right then others will likely follow. Love one another as I have loved you. It's really that simple.

And that hard. For in chapter 17 the scene abruptly changes. Jesus stops talking to his disciples and starts talking to someone else. And that someone is the one whom he calls "Abba." Not so much "Father" as "Daddy." Pappa. The one whose love for him is certain.

Yes, I will admit, the absence of this long segment in the other gospels begs the question of whether it happened at all.

But maybe John had an ear for things the other disciples didn't. If you have a brother or a sister and someone asked them to tell you family story, I'll bet they'd tell it a little differently than you would. Emphasize different things.

So let's assume that Jesus, and not John, authored this prayer. And that it is indeed intended for all of us who hear it through the ages.

The next question is, I suppose, is it possible? This unity for which he prays, is it possible? For it runs pretty squarely across the grain of human nature. Starting on the playground when we're children we tend to form little circles that include some people and keep others out. Circles that are designed to boost our self-esteem, or to protect our interests and safety.

But assuming that we can do better than that as adults, maybe a better question is, do we even want such unity? Community life, that is, trying to live together graciously, with one heart and one purpose, is difficult at best and maddening at worst. It's full of frustrations and hurt feelings and misunderstandings.

The youth group raids the refrigerator during a lock in and eats the brownies that were intended for the church pot luck the next day. Brownies you made. The worship committee decides to move the summer worship schedule to 10:00, shortening your morning session with your coffee and the NY Times. A visitor comes to church and, first, takes your parking place, and then --- what are the odds! --- sits in your very pew!

The kind of unity Jesus is praying for here doesn't even happen in families, where everyone is bound together by genetic ties. Might as well forget about anything like this ever happening in churches. We are full of people after all, people with strong opinions and, sometimes, thin skin! Surely it's a pipe dream, this unity.

Maybe not. I'd like to think that we are linked together by a kind of genetic tie. That we're bound together in God's own family by our shared commitments, by these sacred stories we read and the sacraments we share. And by a shared commitment to realizing God's reign on earth.

And I'd like to think that working to realize this vision of unity is worth the effort and the sacrifices because community life is not only full of frustrations, it is full of joys that cannot be realized alone, apart from one another.

It's worth it because all of us know on some level that together we can be more than we can be apart. Together we can do more than we can do apart. Together we can become more than we can become apart.

But how do you do it? What does such unity look like? How is it achieved?

Someone said, we'll it's easy. You just have to remember that there is no "I" in "we." But that's just not true. Every "we" is comprised of at least two "I's". This church, this congregation, is comprised of a whole bunch of "I's", all working together. So how do we achieve this big unity Jesus prayers for?

Well, I think that's why Jesus gives the world this vision of unity in a prayer and not in a parable. I think it's why this message comes to us in an act of devotion, and not through one of his teachings.

He is about to leave them, remember. He offers this prayer, the other Lord's prayer, in the context of the last meal he will share with his disciples before his death. He is preparing them for his departure, for a future when he is not bodily present with them.

And perhaps because he knows how hard this unity is to achieve, he entrusts the future of the community not to the disciples themselves. He entrusts their future to God. These are words not of instruction but of intercession, not of teaching but of prayer.

Because at the end of the day, if God is not at the center of who we are and what we do, we might as well be a gardening club. Not that there's anything wrong with gardening clubs of course. I'm all for them. It's just that there's a difference between cultivating tulips and cultivating souls.

It's why in our tradition we open our meetings with prayer. I hope it's why you open your day with prayer - a whispered plea for help, or a silent expression of thanks, before you get out of bed and your feet touch the ground.

For this is ultimately not just a prayer for unity. It is an invitation for you yourself, for all people everywhere, for all of us here today, to enter into an intimate relationship with the one whom Jesus called "Abba" - God who is our creator, our father, our mother, our alpha and omega, our beginning and our end.

Amen