The Real Lord's Prayer

John 17:1-26

October 4, 2020 (World Communion Sunday) • Mount Pleasant UMC

When I mention “The Lord’s Prayer,” what words come to mind? Of course—we launch right into, “Our Father, who art in heaven…” and, being good Methodists, we’d of course use the word “trespasses” rather than “debts” or “sins.” It’s always awkward, isn’t it, when you’re with a group that includes other traditions and no one knows what word to use there? You get sins, debts and trespasses all piled on top of each other and it’s just a mess. But regardless of what you want God to forgive, everyone in Christendom pretty much understands “The Lord’s Prayer” to be the prayer Jesus taught in Matthew 6. But, as you’ve heard me say several times in this series, I think there is another prayer that really ought to be called “The Lord’s Prayer.” The words we know so well, the words we will pray before we take communion today, are wonderful. It’s a great model prayer, but that’s just it. What some call the “Our Father” isn’t a prayer Jesus is praying; it’s a prayer he gave to his disciples and which has been passed down to us. I think we should call that one “The Disciple’s Prayer” because he actually says that’s the way we are to pray (cf. Matthew 6:9). Not him; us. It’s our prayer. There are  a lot of other prayers (eight to be exact) that are actually prayers Jesus prayed. We’ve been looking at them over the last couple of months, and this morning we come to one last prayer. I call this one “The Real Lord’s Prayer.” It’s the last prayer we get to listen to before Jesus’ arrest and crucifixion and it’s his longest recorded prayer. In this prayer, more than any other place, you get a glimpse into what is on Jesus’ heart as he faces his death.

This prayer is actually at the end of the longest block of teaching Jesus does in John’s Gospel. Just to give you a sense of where we are: Jesus and the disciples have shared the Last Supper in John 13 (though John doesn’t actually tell us about the supper; he tells us about the foot washing). Judas leaves, off to turn Jesus in, and then Jesus begins sharing his heart with the remaining disciples. This is his last chance to teach these friends of his. Other teachings have been directed at the crowds; this night is just for the disciples. They begin in the Upper Room, with the remains of supper probably still on the table. And then they begin to walk the length of the Kidron Valley from the Upper Room on Mount Zion down to Gethsemane, where Jesus will be arrested. It’s not a terribly long distance, and so I picture Jesus strolling along, walking slowly, enjoying the company of his closest companions on this final walk.

John is the last of the Gospels to be written; he’s the last of the disciples surviving near the end of the first century and so he’s had a lifetime of prayer and thinking and reflection to try to understand enough of what Jesus was saying to write it all down. He mostly focuses on things that aren’t in the other Gospels. We already know about the meal and the prayer in Gethsemane and so instead, in chapters 14-16, John includes all this rich teaching about the Holy Spirit and what the Spirit will do. The disciples were certainly going to need the presence of the Holy Spirit in the coming days as Jesus was tortured, killed and buried. They needed to know how the Spirit would help them after that. But this teaching is also for us, as we face challenges and trials ourselves. We, too, are promised the strengthening and comforting presence of God’s Holy Spirit.

And in the midst of that promise, Jesus suddenly turns to prayer. Instead of focusing on Gethsemane, John records the prayer before that prayer. Jesus’ prayer in Gethsemane was largely private; the disciples were asleep through most of it. But this prayer is for them to hear. This prayer, what some call Jesus’ “high priestly prayer,” is the real Lord’s prayer. So what does Jesus pray about as they meander through the Kidron Valley? His prayer naturally breaks into three parts, just like a good sermon! In the first five verses, he prays for his mission, for what he knows is coming the next day. Then, he prays for these disciples and the way they will carry out his mission. And finally, he prays for you and me, and for all those who will believe centuries later. So let’s look at each of these sections as we prepare to gather at the table on this World Communion Sunday.

First, Jesus prays for himself. Specifically, he prays that he will be “glorified.” So let’s talk about that for a moment, because when we hear the word “glory,” we think of bright shining lights and fame and fortune. We get enamored with the American idea of “success.” Have you noticed how everything has to be “the most amazing” or “the most powerful,” or if we really want to use convoluted semi-Biblical language, we’ll call something “the most anointed”? In modern American Christianity, it has to be bigger, better, louder, more spectacular. But there’s none of that in what is coming for Jesus, and it’s pretty clear that when he asks to be glorified, he expects it to come in the midst of what will happen on the next day—his crucifixion. He asks for glory in the midst of pain, suffering and death—a brutal, violent, ugly death. “Glory” is not a new theme in John; it’s something Jesus has talked about, been focused on throughout the story John is telling. But Jesus is not looking for fame or for notoriety. “Glory” will come to the Father if Jesus does what he came to do, if he completes his mission of dying, of becoming sin so that we could become righteousness (cf. 2 Corinthians 5:21). Certainly, no one looking at him the next day would say that what he was going through was glorious, but this is part of the upside-down kingdom. What Jesus will do on the cross will show how deeply God loves us, the power God has over evil, and the fact that we can be made right with God (cf. Tenney, “The Gospel of John,” Expositor’s Bible Commentary, Vol. 9, pg. 162). That’s what Jesus wants people to see in what he does. What we think of as glory is fleeting; Jesus shows the way to true glory (cf. Card, John: The Gospel of Wisdom, pg. 177).

I want to point out one other thing Jesus prays about in terms of his mission. We tend to think of “eternal life” as what we get when we die. For the believer, “eternal life” is what starts when we get to heaven—but that’s not what Jesus says here. He says eternal life begins now. “This is eternal life,” he says in verse 3, “that they know you, the only true God, and Jesus Christ, whom you have sent.” Eternal life begins the moment we put our trust and faith in Jesus, and from that moment through eternity, our single calling is to know God better. This is why we don’t have to fear death; it’s not an ending. It’s just a change of address. That’s why Jesus can face the pain and the torture and the humiliation of the cross. He knows what waits on the other side. When we face pain, difficulty, struggle and hardship here—when we face things like a pandemic, or political upheaval, or racial tensions, or uncertainty about our future, we can endure, we can hold on because we know there is more coming. Eternal life begins now; we already live in the strong and unshakeable kingdom of God and nothing will ultimately destroy us because—you know where I’m going—the worst thing is never the last thing. Never. Eternal life is knowing Jesus—right here, right now. Jesus said so in his prayer.

But Jesus doesn’t spend all of his time praying about himself. In fact, that’s the shortest section of this prayer. (Maybe there’s a word there for us?) In the next part of his prayer, Jesus focuses on his disciples, the ones he has been teaching and training for the last three years. There are a lot of things he asks the Father to give them—protection and safety, joy, sanctification (which is a fancy Bible word for “be like Jesus”). But the big, overarching thing Jesus prays for these disciples is for them to carry out his mission. “As you send me into the world,” Jesus prays, “I have sent them into the world” (17:18). Jesus knows the world is a scary place, a threatening place, for his followers. It is no more so now than it was then (though we like to imagine that it is). He has told them that the world hates them but only because it hated him first (15:18). Over in Luke’s Gospel, Jesus told them they would be hauled before rulers and authorities and asked to give an account of what they are up to. And, in a teaching that could just as easily fit in here during this final walk, he assures them that “the Holy Spirit will teach you at that time what you should say” (Luke 12:12). Jesus prays they will have confidence because “they knew with certainty that I came from you, and they believed that you sent me” (17:8). I’ll tell you, when I read that part of the prayer, the first thing I wondered is, “When did that happen?” When did they become certain? Because all we see in the Gospels are disciples confused, disciples misunderstanding what Jesus says, disciples misrepresenting Jesus. They get it wrong more often than they get it right. Even on this night, in Gethsemane, they’re going to run away and abandon him. When did they become so certain? Or is Jesus seeing who they will become, who they can be? Is Jesus praying for what will yet happen? Maybe, I don’t know, but I do know this: they are just like us because we misunderstand Jesus, we misrepresent Jesus, and we often get confused over what he says. And that’s why, I think, he turns in the next part of the prayer to praying for us.

“My prayer is not for them alone,” Jesus says. “I pray also for those who will believe in me through their message” (17:20). I wonder if Jesus, in this moment, was looking down through the corridors of history and seeing the faces of all the different and diverse people who would come to believe because of the witness of these eleven men he has trained. Did he see your face? Did he see mine? If so, I think it might have broken his heart more than just a little because he could have seen that this prayer he’s about to pray would go unanswered for at least two thousand years. It’s still unanswered (cf. Wright, John for Everyone—Part Two, pg. 99). This thing Jesus asks the Father for in this last walk is the one thing he is still denied: “that all of them may be one” (17:21). It’s like the kid who has his heart set on one single gift at Christmas, and he tells his parents, “If I get this, I won’t ask for anything else.” And then the gifts come, and the one thing that was hoped for is not there. Think about the heartbreak of that child, and think about the heartbreak of Jesus today. He prayed that we, his followers, all of the ones who come to believe, would be one. And after two thousand years, it seems we are as far away from that oneness, that unity, as we have ever been.

Friends, we seem shocked sometimes by the disunity in our culture. We seem shocked sometimes that Democrats and Republicans, conservatives and liberals, those from different economic perspectives or even those from different states can’t get along. Why are we so surprised? Honestly, we should’t expect people who can’t agree on basic principles of life to truly be “one nation under God.” What should shock us more than it seems to is that the church can’t get along—and I mean both the little “c” local church and the big “C” universal church. Jesus prayed that we would be one, reflecting the oneness of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit. But we keep dividing. We keep separating. We keep finding ways not to be one, to prevent Jesus’ prayer from being answered. So what does it mean to be “one”? Does it mean we just forget all of our differences or pretend like they don’t exist? Not at all. “Unity” is not the same as “uniformity” (cf. Tenney 167). God has created his people in wonderful diversity—not just in color, though at least that, but in personalities, perspectives and purpose. It would be a truly dull world if we were all same, if we thought and acted exactly alike. Unity does not mean uniformity. In fact, uniformity is dangerous to the body of Christ. Uniformity, social psychologists tell us, leads to “group think” which makes us believe we are morally superior to everyone else. It leads to narcissism, defensiveness and inflexibility. It ultimately leads to brokenness. Uniformity is not what Jesus prayed for (cf. Cleveland, Disunity in Christ, chapters 1-3).

Jesus prayed that we would be one, that we would love each other even with our differences—not “in spite of” our differences, but in the midst of those differences. To love someone who is different than you is not to ignore those differences; loving someone is learning to see Jesus in them. Let’s be honest: we like people who are like us. They’re a whole lot easier to deal with. That’s human nature. And so, even in the church, we tend to surround ourselves with people who are like us. Even in a church this size, we “group up” with people who are like us, who tend to share our opinions and applaud us for simply being us. We sit with those people, we go to class with those people, we join small groups with those people. We like people who like us. But Jesus didn’t call us to just love those who love us or who are like us. In fact, he said, “If you love those who love you, what credit is that to you? Even sinners love those who love them” (Luke 6:32). In other words—if you just love those who are like you, big deal! Anyone can do that! Jesus prays and hopes and longs for us to love those who are not like us. Jesus prays for us to be one because when we are, when we love each other like Jesus loves us, then the world will know that we are his disciples (cf. John 13:35). It’s when we love each other, when we live in unity, that the mission he gave us will be accomplished. J. D. Walt puts it this way: “He doesn’t pray for us to evangelize the whole world. He doesn’t pray for us to end poverty or create world peace or otherwise save the planet. He is not even praying for us to make disciples of all nations. To be sure, these are all top-level concerns, but when Jesus has the opportunity to say a lengthy prayer in the hearing of a soon-to-be apostle who would write it down for all posterity, he doesn’t pray for the kinds of things typically characterizing our prayers. He prays for our relationships with each other” (Walt, Right Here Right Now Jesus, Apple Books edition, pg. 419).

Every Tuesday morning, somewhere between ten and twenty pastors gather in the chapel just down the hallway here. We just moved back here after the summer at Deming Park and if I’m in town, I rarely miss a gathering. In that group there are several United Methodists, and there are also Wesleyans and Baptists and Presbyterians and independent Christians and some who tend to be more pentecostal and others who prefer quiet and structured prayer. And I’ve got to tell you (shh! it’s a secret): pastors don’t always agree with each other. Even within the same denomination, pastors don’t always agree with each other. Even with a shared commitment to the Scriptures and to Jesus, pastors don’t always agree with each other. And sometimes we will get in discussions about various things, and sometimes we might even leave our prayer time frustrated with something that was said. But you know what? We come back the next week. Why do we do that? Because we’ve learned to love each other. When I was in the hospital three years ago, overnight with some complications after my heart surgery, Cathy was amazed at the visitors I had. Most of you didn’t even know I was there, but somehow word spread through the pastor’s network and I had visit after visit from other pastors in the community. (Remember when you could visit someone in the hospital?) They didn’t have to come see me; they each have their own flock to take care of. But in the midst of our diversity, we’ve found a love and a unity that Jesus longs to see spread throughout the churches in Vigo County and, honestly, throughout the whole world.

Now, our group is not perfect; I’m not saying that. We don’t do well in racial diversity, not at all. We’ve been working on that but honestly we haven’t found a lot of success for a lot of reasons. And we’re still pretty male-dominated, but then so are the pulpits in Terre Haute. Pastor Rebecca from Temple comes to shake us all up! But we’re making an effort; we’ve put in time together toward unity. Because that’s what it takes to answer Jesus’ prayer. Time. Energy. Effort. Getting to know “the other.” Spending time with people who are not just like you but who share a common bond in Jesus. Rubbing shoulders with someone who doesn’t look like you or talk like you or think like you. Listening to “the other” without fighting back. One of our members, Marc Emmerke, posted something on Facebook last week that was really well said so I asked his permission to share the spirit of it this morning. He was writing about how in this divided political time, people will unfriend you for posting an opposite view. If they don’t agree with you, they will no longer talk to you. And Marc pointed out that the “high road” is to respect other people’s opinions even if you disagree with them. It’s called being an adult, being willing to listen to and maybe, just maybe, learn something from someone you are not like. That’s the spirit of unity, and it’s something the world could use a whole lot more of these days. What do you think might happen, in these divided days, if the world saw the church loving each other, across racial lines, across political lines, across denominational lines—what might happen if the world saw that kind of unity, that kind of love? Jesus says the world would come to know him. I think it could happen—because Jesus prayed for it.

So today is World Communion Sunday, and I think it’s appropriate to close this series of sermons on “The Lord’s Prayers” with Jesus’ plea for unity on such a day. Today, brothers and sisters around the world gather at the table to take part in this action that Jesus gave us to remember him and his sacrifice. It doesn’t matter how we do it. When I was growing up, we all came up and knelt and the pastor gave us bread and little tiny cups. Some places use the “all in one” solution. Some people use crackers and other places use the wafers. I’ll never forget visiting a church when I was in college that used real wine rather than Welch’s grape juice; I didn’t know such a thing was possible! For Jesus and the disciples, it would have been wine and unleavened bread. I’ve heard of others using potato chips and soda. Some will follow a long, formal liturgy and others will offer this sacrament in bare feet and a t-shirt. We’ve all had to change our practices in light of the COVID pandemic, but in the midst of all that wonderful and beautiful diversity, Jesus is celebrated. The bread—his body. The cup—his blood. All around the world, brothers and sisters of all colors and shapes and sizes and languages are gathering to remember Jesus, to celebrate his sacrifice for us and for our salvation. Around the table, God’s people are one, and so communion becomes a glimpse of the day when Jesus’ prayer is answered in full. And when that day comes, we’re promised, the world will finally see God’s glory (17:24). Let’s prepare our hearts for holy communion by going to God in prayer. Let us pray.