I’m sure that all of us have had experiences in which we have been on the outside of a conversation listening in. Was it one of those times in your youth where, at night, you could hear your parents whispering secretively in the next room? You knew they were talking about you and all your teenage adventures. Or which of us has not overheard an uncomfortable conversation over dinner in a crowded restaurant (pre-pandemic, of course!) from the couple seated nearby.
I’ve certainly had my fair share of experiences in which someone was speaking about me—and not necessarily favorably—when I stumbled upon the conversation. And many of us have probably been on the outside of a clique looking in. We remember the conspiratorial whispering and laughing within the huddle of classmates as they glanced repeatedly in our direction. We instinctively knew that we were the topic of their surreptitious conversation. The members of the clique, from which we were excluded, also wanted us to know that the talk was about us and that we were not privy to its treasures.
Then there are those rare exchanges where you are on the outside of a conversation and are meant to hear what is being said. It is, in fact, being said for your benefit, knowing full well that you are listening and with the hope that you will heed the words spoken. Think of the young adult in the room next to her parents chatting with friends over coffee. “Well, she could really make something of herself if she fully embraced her remarkable artistic gift.” Saying these words indirectly is thought to be more effective than speaking them directly. Maybe the point will sink in more.
We probably wouldn’t ordinarily accuse Jesus of shying away from direct speech in the Gospels. But as his passion and death approach, in John’s Gospel, Jesus suddenly shifts from a long, farewell speech to his beloved disciples to an extended prayer addressed to God the Father. And it is indirectly intended for his disciples.
As we enter this scene today, Jesus is at table with his friends. He has washed their feet and offered a lengthy and somewhat ambiguous explanation of his impending departure from this world. Then, without missing a beat, Jesus looks up to heaven, still in the presence of his friends, and speaks to God as if they are not there.
Unless you backed up a few chapters in the Gospel, you would not know that Jesus’ disciples are still sitting at table with him. They are only mentioned obliquely. The language of Jesus’ prayer conveys the profound intimacy between Father and Son. The speech circles back on itself, so that the disciples are also bound up in this united fellowship of love. Jesus’ long prayer is clearly about the disciples, if never addressed directly to them.
On the surface, we might read a tone of cliquishness and exclusion into this prayer. The disciples are certainly being included inside the huddle of mutual love and self-giving. But the rest—the world—are out of the circle. Beware of those who do not accept Jesus’ true identity. They are of the world. They have been condemned because they have, in some sense, rejected the Christ and therefore do not have life.
It sounds rather like a version of that huddle on the school playground. Some are in, and some are out. Those on the inside of the huddle make a point of highlighting the exclusion of those on the outside, because no one wants to be out. And centuries later, as much as we may want to be inside the holy huddle, we hope and pray that we are not on the outside of it.
But this image of a tight circle into which only a select few are inducted is a troubling one. It seems to fly in the face of John’s earlier words that Jesus came into the world not to condemn it but to save it. What on earth are we to make of Jesus’ prayer to the Father from the inside of this holy huddle? What about those on the outside?
If Jesus’ prayer is really an indirect address to the disciples, then it is more than a simple indication that they are in the exclusive circle. They are meant to hear what he has to say. They are intended to discover the intense love between Father and Son into which they have been drawn. Jesus wants them to know that they will not be bereft after his departure from this world but will be protected by their loving Father. And Jesus says all this so that the disciples will understand the fullness of joy that God desires for them.
But this is not all. This, in fact, cannot be all. If the meaning of Jesus’ prayer were to stop there, then it would be only good news for those disciples on the inside of the exclusive circle and very bad news for those out. And this does not square with Jesus’ mission in the world. So Jesus eventually turns his prayer in a surprising direction when he asks the Father not to take his friends out of the world but to protect them as they are sent into it.
Jesus’ long prayer to the Father is intended to instruct the disciples about their privileged status and also about their purpose in the world. The prayer then becomes one not just indirectly addressed to the disciples but to the world itself. And it is precisely here where the prayer is no longer like the inside conversation of an exclusive clique. The disciples are meant to hear this address to God in order to build themselves up and to build others up, too.
For the love expressed in Jesus’ prayer to the Father is incapable of being exclusively guarded within the life of the Trinity. This love, generously given, defies jealous hoarding so that only a select few can be invited in to share of it. This unusual love is so abundant that it overflows from God into the lives of the disciples and from them into the world itself. That is the nature of this love.
It may be difficult to fathom a shared gift that is impossible of being jealously protected. What community of believers doesn’t feel the need to preserve its own claims on truth because it is the mark of their own special relationship with God? What religious group doesn’t want to fence in its customs and traditions in order to bolster its particular identity at the expense of the exclusion of others? How many Christians narrowly guard their spiritual gifts within the auspices of the Church while failing to share them with the world?
We have become so conditioned to proclaim the Gospel directly, from the inside out, by force alone or not at all. But the world might better feel the intensity of its effects indirectly by listening from the outside in. What would it look like to love so intensely as the Body of Christ that this love couldn’t be contained within the Body alone? Rather than pit ourselves against the world, how do we speak about the love of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit so that the world indirectly hears our conversation and is cut to the heart?
It is nothing short of the evil one who will tempt us to keep our special relationship with God just between friends. The evil one would have us believe that the world is not deserving of a place in our exclusive circle. And it is because the evil one somehow knows that the dynamic nature of God’s love is dangerous, because it is a love that can only tumble out beyond its immediate circle to find others.
Jesus tells us that there is a conversation already happening within the life of the Godhead that has been indirectly shared with us, and there is a world that desperately needs to listen in. This conversation is a huddle bound by mutual love and not by exclusion. Its topic is a matter of life and death and is meant to be heard by those on the outside, listening in. And its message is so nuanced that it will find its way into the world in need of it; nothing can stop it.
If we can only keep the conversation going, this huddle of love will grow and grow and grow. It is meant to expand, not to stay small. It will extend beyond the boundaries of comfort and push through all the divisions and barriers that try to stand in its way. It will persist if we can keep the conversation going. Its truth must be spoken in the world. And in this huddle, where no one is to be excluded, there is always room for one more.
Sermon by Father Kyle Babin
The Seventh Sunday of Easter
May 16, 2021