Overhearing Jesus' Prayer

7^th Sunday of Easter 2017

John 17:1-11; 1 Peter 4:12-14, 5:6-11

Sometimes, things we say are meant to be overheard by others. 
 

I think of the times when my children were small, and I would walk into a room and begin talking not to my child, but with the full expectation and intention that they would overhear me:

·         “Where is Billy? I can’t find him anywhere – he must have left the house! We had better send a search party to find him!” I knew of course that Billy was hiding safely behind the drapes, the toes of his sneakers poking out from beneath the fabric. I meant for him to hear me. Another example from those days:

·         “I think I heard noise coming from upstairs, but I am sure that can’t be any of our children! Because they know what’s good for them, so I know that when I go up there right now, I am going to find everyone sound asleep in their beds!” Again I spoke, intending for them to hear me, and hoping they got the message!

In our gospel lesson today, it is Jesus himself who speaks, intending his followers to overhear what he says and what he prays – to get the message.

As the time grows close for Jesus to be arrested and taken away, Jesus appeals to God on behalf of all those who will follow him, who will carry on in his name after he is gone. And so, on the occasion of Jesus’s last evening with his disciples, Jesus engages in what has been called a “heavenly family conversation” between himself and God.

We only hear one-half of this conversation between the Father and the Son, a conversation in which Jesus repeats what he has already told his disciples – that he will soon be leaving them; that he will be returning to his father in heaven; yet he will continue to love these whom he leaves behind, and he will not leave them either unprepared nor alone.

  His meant-to-be-overheard communication with God is a message full of hope, love, promise and truth for his followers. Jesus reveals those things that are closest to his heart – his care and concern for them, his love for them, and his determination that they continue to be united in belief and purpose. Not only united with one another but most assuredly, united with him.

Despite what they will soon witness and endure, through this prayer, Jesus wants his disciples to believe that God will be with them, working on their behalf.

Jesus repeats what he has already told them, just as a good parent repeats ad nauseum the messages their children need to remember for a good life or for safety: you are loved; you are worthy; work hard; tell the truth; be honest in all your doings; wear your seat

belt.

Jesus will soon be leaving his disciples, but they will never be left alone, because God has ensured that after Jesus has been “glorified on the cross” and returns to his father in heaven, an advocate, his own Holy Spirit, will continue to protect, teach, guide, strengthen and inspire them.

So on this pivotal night, Jesus, who has so often modeled prayer for his disciples gives them this gift of overheard prayer.

His previous prayers to God have often been for guidance or strength for himself, but here is a wonderful example of intercessory prayer: Jesus prays for them, for us, for all who will follow.  

Despite all the other things that must have been taking up head-space for Jesus that night, his thoughts and concerns were for those he was leaving behind: “I am asking on their behalf,” he says. “I am not asking on behalf of the world, but on behalf of those whom you gave me because they are yours.” What a beautiful gift!

Intercessory prayer is powerful. It is pure gift and blessing for those who pray and for those being prayed for. How often have you heard someone say that knowing someone was praying for them helped them through a difficult situation? It happens all the time. Maybe it’s even been your own experience.

It is not unusual when I visit with someone who has been going through a difficult time of illness or loss, and tell them that the congregation has been praying for them and in fact we had prayed for them together, aloud, during worship, the response I receive is that in some way the person felt the prayer, and that it made all the difference.

So, what does it feel like, today, to know that Jesus is praying for you? What difference does it make in your life that not only are you being prayed for, but that our Lord Jesus is one who is doing the praying, and that the Holy spirit prays for you, in sighs too deep for words? How does it feel to know that no matter what your circumstance, Jesus knows it well and intercedes for you? How does it impact the work that we do in the name of Our Lord, to overhear this prayer and know that Jesus prays for this community?

There are many things for which Jesus prays on our behalf. Jesus prays for peace. On that night, Jesus prayed that people might continue to know God through knowing him, even after he would be gone from their sight.

Jesus prays for the healing of the world. And in today’s gospel text, Jesus prays specifically that these brothers and sisters, who believe in God and have become disciples of Jesus, will continue in relationship with the God and with one another, following the way of Christ.

Finally, Jesus prays for the unity of those who believe in him. He prays for those who will continue in his ministry, the ones who will share his name as he himself shares in the name of God. Jesus prays that we will be one.  

At the beginning of worship this morning, we remembered and gave thanks for Baptism. In a few moments, as we receive new members into our congregation, we once again recall and affirm that we believe in Jesus Christ, the Son of God, and that this faith, a gift given to us, binds us together and makes us one.

We will confess how, through water and the Word, through prayer and meal, the Holy Spirit draws us together, the Body of Christ in the Priesthood of all believers, and those for whom Jesus prays this prayer.

As Jesus brings us together he blesses us with different gifts, and joins us as one despite our different backgrounds and varied stories.  At the table, Jesus feeds us as disciples and apostles, joined together through the grace of God, and trusting more in the power of the Holy Spirit than in human willpower. “Protect them,” Jesus prays, so that they may be one as we are one.”

Think of all the significant and silly differences we experience in our life together – debates about war and peace, human sexuality, economic justice, the color of the carpet in the chancel, whether we worship God in one service or two. In every age, people have chosen to remove themselves from community over these and other matters. But Jesus prays for us – “may they be one as we are one.”

Think of all the not-so-silly struggles and challenges that the followers of Jesus face. The letter from 1 Peter is a reminder that there are many struggles that we will encounter. The apostle in fact calls this the fiery ordeal that confronts us coming from the world within and around us.

This week once again in very stark circumstances, Christians in Egypt were targeted for violence and death. We look around and we fear death of another kind may one day face our community as we see shrinking numbers in worship and experience a loss of cultural support and respect for religion.

In the prayer of the day today, we expressed the same kind of yearning reflected in Jesus’ prayer: “Unite us with Christ and each other in suffering and in joy, that all the world may be drawn into your bountiful presence.”

How powerful it is to know that Jesus has prayed to God on our behalf! There is no one for whom Jesus did not pray on that last night. Like the prayer of a parent overheard by the child for whom one intercedes, what this prayer reveals, is Jesus’ deep love for us all.

The great prayer contained in this gospel text today evokes longing in us to be fully “one” with Jesus, in the mystical communion of prayer so that his prayer of love for us becomes not a farewell but rather a homecoming.

Jesus prays that his followers, as diverse as we are will be one, not that they will all be the same. Unity is not the same as uniformity.

Our diversity of background and thought brings beauty to the tapestry of our faith communities. Finally, Jesus demonstrates, through this overheard message, what it means to cast all our concerns on God, because God indeed cares for us.

So here is the thing, and I look to the second reading for this where, the seventh verse reads, “Cast all your anxiety on him, because he cares for you.” I think that along with the assurance that he himself cares and is constantly advocating for us, this is part of Jesus’ message to us as well.

When Jesus was troubled, what did you do? Pray. When Jesus was thankful, what did he do? Pray. When Jesus was weary, or frightened, or tired, he prayed. And when Jesus was preparing to leave his disciples to go to the cross, he showed them what it meant to cast all his concerns, all his anxiety, all his desires on God, knowing how much God cares for us all.

It’s a good message for the disciples. It is an essential message to us today. Whatever troubles you, whatever gives you joy, whatever it is that you need to be united as one with God’s purpose and in God’s love, trust the faithfulness of God, who loved us into being, to love you with the power that is God’s alone.

Amen.

New Life in Light of Lost Hope and Dashed Dreams

Luke 24: 13-35 Road to Emmaus

Imagine yourself as one of the disciples of Christ on that first Easter Sunday. So much has transpired in the past few days. On this evening, the day of the resurrection, what do you think you might be feeling? What might you be thinking?

Remember, in just this one day alone, as you are still digesting the turn of events that led from triumph to tragedy in 5 days’ time in Jerusalem, added to your burden are the revelations of this morning.

You are probably still consumed by the thoughts and images of what you witnessed with the trial of Jesus and his crucifixion three days ago, and then, just this morning, here came two women from your group who gave witness to an empty tomb;  then other disciples went to see for themselves, and they confirmed it. The tomb was empty, though they saw no sign of either Jesus or an angel. You don’t know what to think. The women’s tale included an angelic visitation and message - a promise that we would see Jesus again, but your thoughts and feelings are in chaos.

Not able to sit idly by, unsure about the safety of stepping out on to the streets of Jerusalem, you and another disciple set out for a nearby town.  Soon, you find yourself and your companion on the road to Emmaus; it is about 7 miles away.

To put things in perspective for us today, if we left Grace at the end of worship this morning and went walking toward St. Michaels, seven miles would take us just over the Oak Creek Bridge; or, going out toward Denton, 7 miles would bring us almost to Kitty’s Corner Road. Traveling out Route 50, we would get to just about the Backtown Road intersection, near Trappe; and if we went in the direction of the Dover Bridge Road toward Preston, we would nearly reach Route 578. You get the idea; it’s a bit of a hike, but not terribly long - a journey that will take a few hours at most, lots of time in which to talk, to turn over and over again all that you are experiencing, thinking, questioning.

As you walk along the way, of course, your conversation quite naturally turns into a dissection and deliberation of all the things that have happened, with the story of the empty tomb and the angels’ message of paramount interest and importance. You likely debate – even argue - with one another over whether or not to believe the women; what it means that the brothers also returned with a report of the empty tomb; what might have happened to Jesus’ body.

All of the feelings and reactions that you mentioned at the beginning of this sermon would have been in play, and then some. With the time it will take to walk these seven miles, you have the opportunity for good, open and honest conversation with your companion. You get to unpack a lot of your thoughts and feelings – to express your grief and sadness, to talk about your doubts and fears, and confusion, and even to argue over the meaning of today’s revelations.

What might that conversation have been like? I mean, if it was you, and your best friend, or one of your companions in faith here at this church who are walking along the road, what kinds of words might we expect could be overheard from your conversation?

I imagine it was a lot like that for Cleopas and his friend, engrossed in conversation when suddenly they are aware that a third person has joined them along the way. Of course, we know this person to be Jesus, a stranger to them in the moment, but one who knows them well.

And when he asks them what they are talking about, they give him an impassioned review of the things that have transpired. They reflect on the hopes and dreams for redemption that they had as they had come to know this Jesus, hopes that have now been dashed and muddled and most recently – perhaps, if they foolishly dare to entertain new hope – revived, if they are to believe the astounding reports of the women. They are so confused, so weary, so much in turmoil.

It may be hard for us to comprehend the impact of these things – after all, even if we are moved by the powerful images and stories of Jesus’ passion, death and resurrection, we absorb this story through 2000 years of processing, scholarship, and even through the bias of the ways the stories have been told to us and the way they have been interpreted through media, time and teaching. The passion, death and resurrection narrative are shaped by so many things, and in many ways, watered down by 2000 years that have transpired between that Easter Sunday and this Eastertide.

In our Gospel this morning, Cleopas and his friend, in their response to Jesus’ question spoke the words, “We had hoped…” We had hoped this is the person we were dealing with; we had hoped for redemption; for this outcome. We had hoped. Those three words may be the saddest words in our story. “We had hoped” is an expression of disappointment, of disillusionment, of despair – “we had hoped” is a bare, undisguised expression of grief. “We had hoped.”

There are many things for which we hope and in which we are disappointed. Things that matter. Things about church, your life, your family, our community, the state of our country or our world or, whatever. I would like to give you the opportunity to name your own grief, pain, and disappointment –  as expressing these things are key to our being able to let go of them, to move past them. Expressing them doesn’t make them go away, but it can release us from the power they may have over us. 

What things are you grieving, lamenting, fearing or suffering today? How would you complete the statement, “But we had hoped”?

On the road to Emmaus, the disciples described to Jesus how their hopes had seemingly been dashed. In an expression of affection, Jesus says to them, “Oh, how foolish you are, how slow of heart to believe all that the prophets had declared.”

Jesus isn’t denying their pain, but showing them that God has not abandoned them, in their underlying fear and disappointment.  Instead, Jesus to reveals to them all of the ways in which God has moved and worked and accompanied God’s people. Jesus addresses the ways in which God has promised a savior, and the ways in which, through God’s mercy and love, God’s promises have been fulfilled. Jesus walks with them. He listens to their grief and despair. In those moments, Jesus embodies God’s love and eternal presence with them.

And so it is with us. In confession, in prayer and in the thoughts of our hearts we share with God the grief we bear. We tell Jesus about our disappointments and fears, about our dashed hopes and our present hopes. As we expressed with one another the things that weigh us down and bring us to the kind of despair the disciples experienced, Jesus assures us that we are not alone, that the promise of God to bring healing and balm for our griefs and sorrow remain with us in the person of Jesus Christ. When our “but we had hoped” ends in lament, Jesus hold us, and assures us that, through his resurrection we can be assured that God is working good in our lives and will not let us go.

As evening fell on Emmaus, Jesus shared a meal with these disciples, on the very evening of his resurrection. Jesus took bread, blessed it, broke it and gave it to them and in that instant their eyes were opened. They knew the power of his love. They went from dashed hopes to burning hearts. They understood who he was and they knew that his presence with them was real.

As Jesus made himself known in the breaking of the bread on Maundy Thursday and again in Emmaus, Jesus still makes himself known to us today. As we remembered our Baptism this morning, as we pray together and sing together and most powerfully, as we break bread together, Jesus reveals himself to us and assures us that there is no disappointment on earth, no dashed dream, no pain, sorrow, grief or confusion he cannot penetrate through the power of his revealing love.

Imagine yourself as the disciple of Christ that you are today, and may you come to share with others how you have encountered Christ on the way, on the road, in your heart, and through the breaking of the bread. May you know the joy and surprise, once again, of God’s presence and love and promise, realized in Jesus Christ.

Amen.