Jesus prayed to God that all his followers “may be one, as we are one, I in them and you in me, that they may become completely one.”
He was not praying for an end to all our differences. The unity he desired was a “diverse unity,” like the mutual indwelling he experienced with the God he called “Father.” He wanted our mutual indwelling to keep drawing us together in and through our differences, not in spite of them.
It seems that the jury is still out on whether his prayer was ever granted.
In past years my reflections on this reading have focused on acknowledging and healing the divisions among Christians (see below the line). This year, and especially this week, as mass shootings seem to multiply, we can’t help thinking of other divisions that seem to paralyze us and our neighbors both in and beyond our faith communities.
My own political leanings are no secret. I stand with my Bishop and my Church. The proposals I tend to support seem modest, maybe even too timid, but in today’s climate even these will probably be branded by some as radically leftist. I long for some sort of working consensus, but even my best efforts to promote that seem polarizing these days, yet I can’t in good conscience do nothing.
So it may seem foolish for me to cling stubbornly to the faith that God is even in this situation working in and through our differences to make us diversely one, just as God and God’s Beloved are one. Foolish or not, I simply will not surrender that conviction. God is relentlessly and reconcilingly at work even here, as you and I and others follow divergently where conscience leads us.
[From previous years:]
Get involved in the life of any community or group, no matter how healthy it first looks, and it won’t take you long to find just about any form of division you can imagine.
That goes a long way toward explaining why so many Americans—especially the most idealistic—no longer bother with the church as an institution. They’re disillusioned by all the messiness that comes with people trying to live together in faith and hope and love. It’s what people mean when they say they’re spiritual but not religious. They do want spirituality, and they just as often want to love their neighbors as much as they love God. But they’re tired of dealing with conflicted communities.
I keep saying “they,” but of course I’m not talking about a bunch of strangers. It’s us too. It’s a safe bet that every single one of us has known times when we wish we could just walk away from all this. Faith communities aim to bring out the best in people, but they just as often wind up bringing out the worst. They’re a lot like families—if they’re not dysfunctional, chances are you don’t know them well enough. We look for trust and find betrayal; we look for affirmation and find criticism; we look for peace and find conflict; we look for romance and find ourselves haggling over where to squeeze the toothpaste. Who doesn’t get tired of all this? Who isn’t tempted to chuck the whole thing?
The trouble is, we can’t. We can’t live without relationships. It’s relationships that make us who we are, even when we’re off by ourselves. And that’s a very good thing. It’s a reflection of God’s very own life-in-relationship that we call the Trinity. We were created for life together, and we’re not going to find any genuine spiritual life if we don’t stay connected to other people. We can go it alone for a while, but even then we take our relationships with us. There’s just no escaping them. And no relationship lasts for long without turning messy. They all have to deal with betrayals and conflict and criticism and haggling.
One thing we especially don’t like to hear—at least I don’t—is that the best relationships may be the most exasperating ones. The best relationships show us at our worst as well as our best. They touch us so deeply that we’re likely to let all sorts of things spill out. They make us take responsibility for the betrayals and conflicts that we bring with us to every relationship. They make us honest about where we really are, as well as where we want to be. The best relationships may not be the most comfortable. But they’re the most honest.
Jesus prayed for that, for our unity and even our holiness, but he also made it plain that none of this takes us out of the world. We’re more than our surroundings, but our surroundings are still a part of us, and part of God’s gift of creation to us, regardless of the messes we’ve helped to make of them—or the messes they’ve helped make of us. The only spirituality we know is a thoroughly embodied spirituality. The Word became flesh so that all fleshly things could be taken into the life of the Spirit. Even the games we play, even our betrayals, can be made to serve God’s unswerving resolve to make all things new together.