June 1, 2014

Helen Jacobi

Easter 7     Acts 1:6-14     Psalm 68:1-10, 32-35     1 Peter 4:12-14, 5:6-11     John 17: 1-11

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In 2008 when Father Peter Murnane and two supporters undertook their now famous sabotage of the Waihopai communications base in Blenheim they almost failed after months of planning.

Peter recounts “believing we could never penetrate the electrified and alarmed security fences, we had planned to go over them, using a truck with a crane-arm. But on this rainy night, approaching our target in darkness, the truck became hopelessly bogged. With months of planning now rendered useless, my heartfelt prayer was: “God, we have nothing!” Against reason, we decided to proceed on foot to try what had seemed impossible. The alarms and electric current failed to function, so we cut through them undetected and easily deflated the huge dome.  Many other people have reported praying as I prayed in that moment of hopelessness, only to find their hopes fulfilled, albeit in ways other than they had intended.”[1]

Peter goes on to describe other times when he has felt at a complete loss and has found that praying out of emptiness brings him closer to God and leads him to discover previously unknown resources.

Images of Pope Francis praying in Palestine and Israel have flashed around the world this week – the Pope at the Separation Wall, praying under some spray paint that said “free Palestine”;

the Pope praying at the Western wall;

the Pope praying at the Holocaust memorial;

the Pope inviting the leaders to come and pray with him in Rome.

It is hard, I would think, to turn down an invitation to pray with the Pope!

I think Pope Francis would agree with Father Peter Murnane that praying from a place of emptiness and helplessness brings us closer to finding a God given way forward.

In our reading from John’s gospel today Jesus is praying.   For the last couple of weeks we have been with John the gospel writer’s Jesus at the Last Supper as he prepares to farewell his disciples. And in our church cycle of Sundays we are today at the end of the Easter season. Thursday was Ascension Day which marks the end of the resurrection appearances and we are waiting, in liminal time, for the coming of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost.

And as we wait Jesus prays for us.

What does it feel like to be a community for whom Jesus prays?

Through this whole section of John’s gospel Jesus talks a lot about “knowing”; knowing each other, knowing God, being called by name, being close, dwelling with God.

In today’s section Jesus asks that the disciples be protected, and that the disciples might know joy (v13). Now by the time John writes these words the disciples and the community John writes for are not feeling at all protected. They are suffering persecution and they are being cast out from the synagogue. On the face of it Jesus’ prayer has not been “answered”.

So why then does John record it? To see what it feels like to be a community for whom Jesus prays.

Jesus’ prayer is not about doing things; it is not about achieving a bucket list of things.

Remember the cheesy movie from 2003 Bruce Almighty where a TV reporter gets to be God for a day and answers yes to every prayer? and the city descends into chaos as every lottery ticket buyer wins only a few dollars as the prize is shared between everyone.

Neil Darragh says “there are many possible distortions of prayer. Prayer can be a substitute for loving action … we can use prayer in an attempt to manipulate God (or others). We can use prayer as a kind of self-indulgent effort to be righteous without responsibility for others.”[2] Jesus’ prayer is not that kind of prayer – it is about being, not doing. Being in relationship, indwelling. Not a list of things we might want; and not a list of things we want to change in other people (especially not that one).

Prayer is about being in the presence of God and allowing God to dwell within us.

Prayer is about enlivening our awareness of God and the world around us.

So what does it feel like to be a community for whom Jesus prays?

The gospel writer we call John was obviously comfortable with the fact that the hearers and readers of his gospel did not expect to literally feel “protected” from persecution because of Jesus’ prayer –  otherwise he wouldn’t have written it that way – the protection he is praying about is a protection from despair, from losing heart in the face of moving forward without the physical Jesus with them; protection from losing heart and losing faith altogether.

What did Pope Francis say in his prayer at the Separation wall I wonder, and what did he pray at the Holocaust memorial? I imagine his prayer was a deeply felt cry of sorrow and shame at humanity’s inhumanity, and another cry for God to be present, to indwell the hearts of the leaders and the people of Palestine and Israel, to turn their hearts towards peace. He did not pray alone, he had invited a Muslim and a Jewish leader from Argentina to travel with him and pray with him. A powerful symbol of reaching out across the divides of faith and of not presuming to do this alone. How will God “answer” the Pope’s prayer? By continuing to dwell in the hearts and minds of all the people of Palestine and Israel, in their mosques, in their synagogues, in their churches, and on their streets and in their homes.

Pope Francis would know today’s prayer from John’s gospel well.

He knows what it feels like to be a community for whom Jesus prays.

How do we respond to Jesus’ prayer?

Remembering that his prayer is about being and not doing. We are invited in this liminal time to make space for God. To allow ourselves to be aware of the God who is beyond us and within us.

For some people prayer is awareness; for some people prayer is words – their own words or the words others have written, like the psalmists crying out to God, or words passed down in our Anglican tradition. Words can never quite sum up our longing for God so we listen to music and look at the beauty of creation. Or we can listen to Jesus who prays for us that we might be protected and that we might be one. We can create space and listen to his prayer, prayed for us. Jan Richardson is an American writer and this is her poem for today about Jesus who leaves us and prays for us.

Ascension Blessing

It is a mystery to me
how as the distance
between us grows,
the larger this blessing
becomes.

As if the shape of it
depends on absence,
as if it finds its form
not by what
it can cling to
but by the space
that arcs
between us.

As this blessing
makes its way,
first it will cease
to measure itself
by time.

Then it will release
how attached it has become
to this place
where we have lived,
where we have learned
to know one another
in proximity and
presence.

Next this blessing
will abandon
the patterns
in which it moved,
the habits that helped it
recognize itself,
the familiar pathways
that it traced.

Finally this blessing
will touch its fingers
to your brow,
to your eyes,
to your mouth;
it will hold
your beloved face
in both its hands

and then
it will let you go,
it will loose you
into your life,
it will leave
each hindering thing
until all that breathes
between us
is blessing
and all that beats
between us
is grace.  [3]

[1] “Praying in emptiness” in Journeying into Prayer ed Neil Darragh 2012 Accent Publications, p136

[2] P 287

[3] Jan Richardson The Painted Prayer Book