Walking the hall
Commentary
Object:
Some sports teams have great heritages -- traditions that go way back, and legendary names and events that are part of their history.
As a resident of Green Bay, Wisconsin, I am especially aware of the Packers' rich heritage. Names like Vince Lombardi and Curly Lambeau, Don Hutson and Tony Canadeo, Bart Starr and Ray Nitschke -- these are the cherished heroes from days gone by. Cherished, too, are familiar phrases like "the frozen tundra," "the Ice Bowl," and "Titletown."
Of course, a number of other NFL teams also boast their own ancient glory and heroic figures. And the pride of tradition goes way beyond the NFL. We think, for example, of Notre Dame football, Kentucky basketball, and Yankee baseball. Each franchise lays claim to names that transcend local lore to have become fixtures in the national consciousness.
As you would expect, teams with such rich histories cultivate the legends, recruit candidates at certain colleges, as well as rookies in certain pro franchises, are immersed in proud stories about the team they should be privileged to join. For, after all, it is not just the team of the players currently on the roster: it is also the team of Knute Rockne or Babe Ruth, of Adolph Rupp or Roger Staubach.
Then, throughout the day-to-day life as members of that team, players are surrounded by reminders of their heritage. Statues stand outside the stadium, photographs line the halls, and jerseys hang from the rafters -- all recalling great figures from the past. To play for the Packers or the Yankees, for example, is to live in a Hall of Fame. The heritage from the gilded past should inform and inspire the players in the present and the future.
So it is that we, as followers of Christ, are also heirs of a rich heritage. We stand as the latest in a long line of disciples and believers. As we contemplate the names of the folks who have preceded us on this "team," we are rightly awed by the company we keep. Each of our three passages this week invites us to consider the people in the church's hall of fame.
Acts 1:15-17, 21-26
There is no more famous group of men in the world.
Forget the '27 Yankees, the Beatles, and the "Big Three" from World War II. Set aside the Three Musketeers, the Brothers Karamazov, and the Seven Dwarfs. Send to the rear the Flemish masters, the flag raisers at Iwo Jima, and even the signers of the Declaration of Independence. Far and away, the most famous group of men in the history of the world is that group the gospel writers simply call "the twelve."
They are portrayed in stone and stained glass around the globe. They have been painted and quoted an uncountable number of times. They have churches, hospitals, schools, cities, and untold millions of people named after them. They are the original followers of Jesus; and even though their individual biographies are sketchy at best, as a group they are the most famous men in the history of the world.
Then there is Matthias. While the apostle Paul thought of himself as the last and the least of the apostles (1 Corinthians 15:8-9), he went on to make an unparalleled name for himself. It is Matthias, in fact, who seems to be the last and the least of the apostles.
We don't know anything about where he came from, and we don't know anything about what happened to him beyond this moment. These few verses early in Acts are all that we know of him. Even later traditions and legends, where reputations typically snowball, are conspicuously scant concerning Matthias.
For all of that obscurity, however, Luke bothers to report Matthias' story. And it is Matthias' short story that we get to preach this week. So what can be said of him?
First, we celebrate Matthias as the patron saint of most Christians. Over the millennia of church history, only a tiny minority of Jesus' followers have become well-known. Most, however, have followed him in faithful anonymity. We gather from the criteria identified by the apostles that Matthias had been with them from the beginning. Yet he goes unmentioned in all of those gospel episodes where we see Jesus with his better-known followers. He is unidentified and that makes him just like most of us.
Second, we honor Matthias as the one who steps in. One of those men originally chosen by Jesus, Judas, turned into an epically tragic character. He left a vacancy in the group and in the ministry assigned to Jesus' followers. Matthias stepped in to fill that void and that makes him a certain brand of hero. It is not glamorous to be the guy who comes in off the bench, but it is essential to the team. Matthias is that man.
Finally, we affirm Matthias as a man chosen by God. The apostles left the matter squarely in God's hands, and the Lord chose Matthias. Number him, therefore, with Abraham and David, with Samuel and Jeremiah, with Peter and Paul. They were all chosen by God, and while we know more about them, this one thing we know about Matthias makes him their equal: he, too, was chosen by God.
1 John 5:9-13
First John can be a difficult book for linear thinkers, for John does not write from A to Z or from 1 to 10. John's work is more like a piece of music, with recurring motifs and refrains. His letter has a beginning, a middle, and an end, to be sure, but only because that's the way written pieces have to be. If words could be arranged in a mosaic, that might have been John's preference.
Meanwhile, for folks familiar with John's gospel, this particular episode from his letter will reverberate with familiar words and themes. The recurring use of "testimony," the awareness of the relationship between the Father and the Son, the emphasis on belief, and the Johannine conception of eternal life: these all resonate between the gospel and the epistle.
In terms of significant motifs in this passage, we begin with John's logic about testimonies. The testimony about Jesus comes from God himself; it is not merely a human testimony that we are asked to believe. If we do believe it, we discover that we experience God's testimony within our own hearts. If we do not believe, however, then the inevitable conclusion is that we are calling God a liar. That is not the intent, but it is the effect.
That brings us to the theme of belief. John mentions belief three times in this short passage, but he identifies the object of our belief in three different ways: "in the Son of God," "in God," and "in the name of the Son of God." I don't think he is being either sloppy or deliberately nuanced. Rather, the pattern of near-but-not-exact repetition reminds me of the sort of Hebrew poetry we see in the Psalms (see, for example, the three phrases of Psalm 1:1). Meanwhile, the grand results of such belief are the testimony of God in our hearts, knowledge, and life.
Ah, life. We are familiar from John's gospel with the recurring significance of that theme. There, as here, "life" is all about Jesus. In the gospel, we learn that life is in him (1:4), he comes to bring life (10:10), and he is life (11:25, 14:6). With those truths in mind, we discover here that God gives eternal life, it is found in the Son, and therefore "whoever has the Son has life."
We do well at this point to clarify for our people John's conception of eternal life. You have no doubt seen, as I have, funeral bulletins that identify the deceased's date of birth and date of death in these terms: "born to life" and "born to life eternal." I am entirely sympathetic with the sentiment, but I think John would call it a misunderstanding. After all, to attach the beginning of eternal life to the date of our death is to confuse "eternal life" with "afterlife." The latter is a notion that is commonplace in our culture and often entirely divorced from biblical influence. The former, however, is "the gift of God" (Romans 6:23) and that life is not found in our death; that life is found in God's Son.
John's final word to his audience in this passage, therefore, is the assurance "that you have eternal life." It is understood as a present reality, not a future prospect. It comes with the Son, and so it belongs to those "who believe in the name of the Son of God."
With the whole picture before us, we see how all the pieces of the mosaic fit together. The testimony of God, belief, and life -- these are the lovely components that come together in your life and mine by the grace of God.
John 17:6-19
Even a very modest student of scripture recognizes that John is different. His gospel is classified with those of Matthew, Mark, and Luke, and yet it's clear that he stands apart from the rest. The list of John's distinguishing characteristics is long, but one of them is surely evident here: namely, the uncommon glimpse into Jesus' prayer life.
While the account of Jesus' Last Supper with his disciples is less than a chapter in each of the first three gospels, John's account fills five chapters. That represents an astonishing percentage of this 21 chapter book and based on that percentage, one could almost argue that this event is the centerpiece of John's gospel.
Personally, I would not defend that hypothesis. In my judgment, the death and resurrection of Jesus are the central events of all four gospels. But I do believe that the Last Supper serves as a kind of hub of John's gospel, for the words and actions recorded there shed light on everything that precedes and follows.
The final piece of John's Last Supper account is Jesus' prayer, which is where our particular passage comes from. This is our most extended opportunity to hear -- or perhaps overhear -- Jesus pray. It is, therefore, a great treasure, and so we'll give it special attention below.
Meanwhile, as we mentioned above in our consideration of the epistle, the written materials we have from John have a style all their own. Again, we see the characteristic interweaving of themes that makes the passage more musical than prosaic. As a way of analyzing the text, therefore, let us try to untangle those themes just a bit. The end result is less beautiful, but it is helpful to comprehension.
If the passage were a story, we might identify four characters: the Father, the Son, the disciples, and the world. The world is the clear antagonist in the whole scheme, yet that antagonism is tellingly one-sided. Jesus and his followers are not of the world, and the world hates and rejects them. Yet Jesus' followers are not taken out of the world, but sent into it -- just as the Father sent his only-begotten Son into it because he so loved the world (John 3:16).
Meanwhile, we observe a certain symmetry in this matter of coming and going. The Father had originally sent the Son, yet now the Son is returning to the Father. Now the Son, in turn, is sending his followers into the world. But, of course, we know from his earlier statement to them that he will return for them "so that where I am, there you may be also" (John 14:3). So we see the lovely scope of the whole plan: the Father, the Son, and the disciples would all be together forever. Yet that togetherness is not a vision of exclusivity, for in love each one has reached out to the world.
Finally, that coming-and-going symmetry leads us to the larger theme and context: namely, the network of relationships that begin within the Trinity and then reach out to include humanity. Throughout John's gospel, we are privy to glimpses of the relationship between the Father and the Son. In this Last Supper episode, we see something of the interplay between the Father and the Son with the Spirit. In this prayer of Jesus to his Father, we witness the inclusion of the disciples: the Father gave them to the Son, and the Son revealed the Father and his word to them; what the Father gave the Son, the Son gave the disciples; and, as noted above, there is the mutual sending and receiving.
Application
Even Peter's references to Judas, the most infamous former member of this "team," remind us of our profound heritage. Judas, Peter remarks, "was numbered among us and was allotted his share in this ministry." Those two statements give us a reverent perspective on our condition. After all, what a privilege it is for us to be numbered among them! And what a calling to be allotted a share in their ministry!
That ministry, of course, is in large part a testimony. In his first epistle, John reminds us of the origin and content of that testimony. We may bear witness to a great many inconsequential things in our lives, but not this: this is divine and eternal. For our testimony is from God and about God. We receive it from God the Father, and we bear witness to God the Son.
In that magnificent prayer of Jesus recorded in John's gospel, we get yet another angle on the "team" of which we are privilege to be a part. For in that passage, Jesus prays for his disciples. While it is subject to interpretation and debate what percentage of things said to or about the first disciples also applies to us, there is no question that they are our forerunners in this faith. Theirs are the faces in the original team picture and now you and I are among the current players on that same roster.
That prayer tells us a great deal about our team and therefore about ourselves. It tells us that we belong to Christ and to his Father. It assures us that, what we have, we have received from him. It reminds us that what we have from him is his word, and even a cursory knowledge of scripture should give us some sense for the profundity of having his word. It tells us that we have been "sent into the world." We mustn't mistake our presence here, therefore, as an accident or as a thing to be capitalized on for our own benefit. We are sent here, which is to say that we are here on a mission. And what a mission! For we are privileged to be on the roster of the greatest team ever -- God's team, no less.
Alternative Application
John 17:6-19. "Overhearing Jesus." As we noted above, this passage from John gives us an uncommon peek into how Jesus prays. I would begin, therefore, by inviting my congregation to imagine that we are outside the window of this event, watching it all but unable to hear what was being said. Then we see Jesus raise his hands and his eyes in prayer. We can see that he is full of joy as he speaks openly with his Father.
How badly would we want to be able to hear what Jesus was saying?
Well, John lets us do just that, and when we see him in heaven, we can thank him for that gift. In the meantime, we do well to open that gift together. One good option for Sunday morning is to unpack with our people this marvelous glimpse into the prayer life of Jesus.
First, we are struck by how conversational the prayer is. This is not formulaic or ritualistic. No, Jesus is speaking from the heart to his Father. And since a great many people feel uneasy with prayer -- thinking it has to have the formal elegance of some of the prayers they are accustomed to reading or hearing in church -- it should be liberating to hear this conversational example of how Jesus prayed.
Second, we delight to see that Jesus is praying about other people. That is consistent, of course, with the stunning prayer we hear from him on the cross (Luke 23:34). It resonates, too, with the image we are given of Jesus making perpetual intercession for us (Hebrews 7:25). So this is a lovely additional layer for us as we hear Jesus praying about his followers.
I remember one occasion from my childhood when we were on a long family car trip together. I had been asleep in the car but had begun to awaken before my parents realized it. As I was just waking up, I overheard them talking about me. It was all loving and good -- which is a great blessing to a child! -- and it reminds me of the privilege of this passage from John 17: We get to overhear our Savior talking about us with our Father.
Finally, it is magnificently evident from this prayer that Jesus is on the same page with God. We may too casually discount that, I'm afraid, by our affirmation that Jesus himself is God. In other words, we may underestimate the beauty of his obedience as a human being because we think it was inevitable -- or at least that he had some supernatural head start -- because he was also "fully God." Yet the New Testament does make a point of Jesus' obedience (Luke 2:51; Philippians 2:4; Hebrews 4:15, 5:8), and it is something of a theme of Jesus' own understanding of himself in John's gospel (e.g., 5:19; 12:49-50).
So it is that, in this conversation with his Father, we see Jesus' emphasis on the cooperative nature of their relationship. He understands what the Father has given to him. His prayer for the disciples is in light of the Father's work and plan. His own life and work are understood as a response to the Father. In this way, the prayer is more personal than just the conversational quality we noted above: It is a prayer that reflects a context of a profound relationship. It is in that matter that we can perhaps learn the most from overhearing Jesus pray.
As a resident of Green Bay, Wisconsin, I am especially aware of the Packers' rich heritage. Names like Vince Lombardi and Curly Lambeau, Don Hutson and Tony Canadeo, Bart Starr and Ray Nitschke -- these are the cherished heroes from days gone by. Cherished, too, are familiar phrases like "the frozen tundra," "the Ice Bowl," and "Titletown."
Of course, a number of other NFL teams also boast their own ancient glory and heroic figures. And the pride of tradition goes way beyond the NFL. We think, for example, of Notre Dame football, Kentucky basketball, and Yankee baseball. Each franchise lays claim to names that transcend local lore to have become fixtures in the national consciousness.
As you would expect, teams with such rich histories cultivate the legends, recruit candidates at certain colleges, as well as rookies in certain pro franchises, are immersed in proud stories about the team they should be privileged to join. For, after all, it is not just the team of the players currently on the roster: it is also the team of Knute Rockne or Babe Ruth, of Adolph Rupp or Roger Staubach.
Then, throughout the day-to-day life as members of that team, players are surrounded by reminders of their heritage. Statues stand outside the stadium, photographs line the halls, and jerseys hang from the rafters -- all recalling great figures from the past. To play for the Packers or the Yankees, for example, is to live in a Hall of Fame. The heritage from the gilded past should inform and inspire the players in the present and the future.
So it is that we, as followers of Christ, are also heirs of a rich heritage. We stand as the latest in a long line of disciples and believers. As we contemplate the names of the folks who have preceded us on this "team," we are rightly awed by the company we keep. Each of our three passages this week invites us to consider the people in the church's hall of fame.
Acts 1:15-17, 21-26
There is no more famous group of men in the world.
Forget the '27 Yankees, the Beatles, and the "Big Three" from World War II. Set aside the Three Musketeers, the Brothers Karamazov, and the Seven Dwarfs. Send to the rear the Flemish masters, the flag raisers at Iwo Jima, and even the signers of the Declaration of Independence. Far and away, the most famous group of men in the history of the world is that group the gospel writers simply call "the twelve."
They are portrayed in stone and stained glass around the globe. They have been painted and quoted an uncountable number of times. They have churches, hospitals, schools, cities, and untold millions of people named after them. They are the original followers of Jesus; and even though their individual biographies are sketchy at best, as a group they are the most famous men in the history of the world.
Then there is Matthias. While the apostle Paul thought of himself as the last and the least of the apostles (1 Corinthians 15:8-9), he went on to make an unparalleled name for himself. It is Matthias, in fact, who seems to be the last and the least of the apostles.
We don't know anything about where he came from, and we don't know anything about what happened to him beyond this moment. These few verses early in Acts are all that we know of him. Even later traditions and legends, where reputations typically snowball, are conspicuously scant concerning Matthias.
For all of that obscurity, however, Luke bothers to report Matthias' story. And it is Matthias' short story that we get to preach this week. So what can be said of him?
First, we celebrate Matthias as the patron saint of most Christians. Over the millennia of church history, only a tiny minority of Jesus' followers have become well-known. Most, however, have followed him in faithful anonymity. We gather from the criteria identified by the apostles that Matthias had been with them from the beginning. Yet he goes unmentioned in all of those gospel episodes where we see Jesus with his better-known followers. He is unidentified and that makes him just like most of us.
Second, we honor Matthias as the one who steps in. One of those men originally chosen by Jesus, Judas, turned into an epically tragic character. He left a vacancy in the group and in the ministry assigned to Jesus' followers. Matthias stepped in to fill that void and that makes him a certain brand of hero. It is not glamorous to be the guy who comes in off the bench, but it is essential to the team. Matthias is that man.
Finally, we affirm Matthias as a man chosen by God. The apostles left the matter squarely in God's hands, and the Lord chose Matthias. Number him, therefore, with Abraham and David, with Samuel and Jeremiah, with Peter and Paul. They were all chosen by God, and while we know more about them, this one thing we know about Matthias makes him their equal: he, too, was chosen by God.
1 John 5:9-13
First John can be a difficult book for linear thinkers, for John does not write from A to Z or from 1 to 10. John's work is more like a piece of music, with recurring motifs and refrains. His letter has a beginning, a middle, and an end, to be sure, but only because that's the way written pieces have to be. If words could be arranged in a mosaic, that might have been John's preference.
Meanwhile, for folks familiar with John's gospel, this particular episode from his letter will reverberate with familiar words and themes. The recurring use of "testimony," the awareness of the relationship between the Father and the Son, the emphasis on belief, and the Johannine conception of eternal life: these all resonate between the gospel and the epistle.
In terms of significant motifs in this passage, we begin with John's logic about testimonies. The testimony about Jesus comes from God himself; it is not merely a human testimony that we are asked to believe. If we do believe it, we discover that we experience God's testimony within our own hearts. If we do not believe, however, then the inevitable conclusion is that we are calling God a liar. That is not the intent, but it is the effect.
That brings us to the theme of belief. John mentions belief three times in this short passage, but he identifies the object of our belief in three different ways: "in the Son of God," "in God," and "in the name of the Son of God." I don't think he is being either sloppy or deliberately nuanced. Rather, the pattern of near-but-not-exact repetition reminds me of the sort of Hebrew poetry we see in the Psalms (see, for example, the three phrases of Psalm 1:1). Meanwhile, the grand results of such belief are the testimony of God in our hearts, knowledge, and life.
Ah, life. We are familiar from John's gospel with the recurring significance of that theme. There, as here, "life" is all about Jesus. In the gospel, we learn that life is in him (1:4), he comes to bring life (10:10), and he is life (11:25, 14:6). With those truths in mind, we discover here that God gives eternal life, it is found in the Son, and therefore "whoever has the Son has life."
We do well at this point to clarify for our people John's conception of eternal life. You have no doubt seen, as I have, funeral bulletins that identify the deceased's date of birth and date of death in these terms: "born to life" and "born to life eternal." I am entirely sympathetic with the sentiment, but I think John would call it a misunderstanding. After all, to attach the beginning of eternal life to the date of our death is to confuse "eternal life" with "afterlife." The latter is a notion that is commonplace in our culture and often entirely divorced from biblical influence. The former, however, is "the gift of God" (Romans 6:23) and that life is not found in our death; that life is found in God's Son.
John's final word to his audience in this passage, therefore, is the assurance "that you have eternal life." It is understood as a present reality, not a future prospect. It comes with the Son, and so it belongs to those "who believe in the name of the Son of God."
With the whole picture before us, we see how all the pieces of the mosaic fit together. The testimony of God, belief, and life -- these are the lovely components that come together in your life and mine by the grace of God.
John 17:6-19
Even a very modest student of scripture recognizes that John is different. His gospel is classified with those of Matthew, Mark, and Luke, and yet it's clear that he stands apart from the rest. The list of John's distinguishing characteristics is long, but one of them is surely evident here: namely, the uncommon glimpse into Jesus' prayer life.
While the account of Jesus' Last Supper with his disciples is less than a chapter in each of the first three gospels, John's account fills five chapters. That represents an astonishing percentage of this 21 chapter book and based on that percentage, one could almost argue that this event is the centerpiece of John's gospel.
Personally, I would not defend that hypothesis. In my judgment, the death and resurrection of Jesus are the central events of all four gospels. But I do believe that the Last Supper serves as a kind of hub of John's gospel, for the words and actions recorded there shed light on everything that precedes and follows.
The final piece of John's Last Supper account is Jesus' prayer, which is where our particular passage comes from. This is our most extended opportunity to hear -- or perhaps overhear -- Jesus pray. It is, therefore, a great treasure, and so we'll give it special attention below.
Meanwhile, as we mentioned above in our consideration of the epistle, the written materials we have from John have a style all their own. Again, we see the characteristic interweaving of themes that makes the passage more musical than prosaic. As a way of analyzing the text, therefore, let us try to untangle those themes just a bit. The end result is less beautiful, but it is helpful to comprehension.
If the passage were a story, we might identify four characters: the Father, the Son, the disciples, and the world. The world is the clear antagonist in the whole scheme, yet that antagonism is tellingly one-sided. Jesus and his followers are not of the world, and the world hates and rejects them. Yet Jesus' followers are not taken out of the world, but sent into it -- just as the Father sent his only-begotten Son into it because he so loved the world (John 3:16).
Meanwhile, we observe a certain symmetry in this matter of coming and going. The Father had originally sent the Son, yet now the Son is returning to the Father. Now the Son, in turn, is sending his followers into the world. But, of course, we know from his earlier statement to them that he will return for them "so that where I am, there you may be also" (John 14:3). So we see the lovely scope of the whole plan: the Father, the Son, and the disciples would all be together forever. Yet that togetherness is not a vision of exclusivity, for in love each one has reached out to the world.
Finally, that coming-and-going symmetry leads us to the larger theme and context: namely, the network of relationships that begin within the Trinity and then reach out to include humanity. Throughout John's gospel, we are privy to glimpses of the relationship between the Father and the Son. In this Last Supper episode, we see something of the interplay between the Father and the Son with the Spirit. In this prayer of Jesus to his Father, we witness the inclusion of the disciples: the Father gave them to the Son, and the Son revealed the Father and his word to them; what the Father gave the Son, the Son gave the disciples; and, as noted above, there is the mutual sending and receiving.
Application
Even Peter's references to Judas, the most infamous former member of this "team," remind us of our profound heritage. Judas, Peter remarks, "was numbered among us and was allotted his share in this ministry." Those two statements give us a reverent perspective on our condition. After all, what a privilege it is for us to be numbered among them! And what a calling to be allotted a share in their ministry!
That ministry, of course, is in large part a testimony. In his first epistle, John reminds us of the origin and content of that testimony. We may bear witness to a great many inconsequential things in our lives, but not this: this is divine and eternal. For our testimony is from God and about God. We receive it from God the Father, and we bear witness to God the Son.
In that magnificent prayer of Jesus recorded in John's gospel, we get yet another angle on the "team" of which we are privilege to be a part. For in that passage, Jesus prays for his disciples. While it is subject to interpretation and debate what percentage of things said to or about the first disciples also applies to us, there is no question that they are our forerunners in this faith. Theirs are the faces in the original team picture and now you and I are among the current players on that same roster.
That prayer tells us a great deal about our team and therefore about ourselves. It tells us that we belong to Christ and to his Father. It assures us that, what we have, we have received from him. It reminds us that what we have from him is his word, and even a cursory knowledge of scripture should give us some sense for the profundity of having his word. It tells us that we have been "sent into the world." We mustn't mistake our presence here, therefore, as an accident or as a thing to be capitalized on for our own benefit. We are sent here, which is to say that we are here on a mission. And what a mission! For we are privileged to be on the roster of the greatest team ever -- God's team, no less.
Alternative Application
John 17:6-19. "Overhearing Jesus." As we noted above, this passage from John gives us an uncommon peek into how Jesus prays. I would begin, therefore, by inviting my congregation to imagine that we are outside the window of this event, watching it all but unable to hear what was being said. Then we see Jesus raise his hands and his eyes in prayer. We can see that he is full of joy as he speaks openly with his Father.
How badly would we want to be able to hear what Jesus was saying?
Well, John lets us do just that, and when we see him in heaven, we can thank him for that gift. In the meantime, we do well to open that gift together. One good option for Sunday morning is to unpack with our people this marvelous glimpse into the prayer life of Jesus.
First, we are struck by how conversational the prayer is. This is not formulaic or ritualistic. No, Jesus is speaking from the heart to his Father. And since a great many people feel uneasy with prayer -- thinking it has to have the formal elegance of some of the prayers they are accustomed to reading or hearing in church -- it should be liberating to hear this conversational example of how Jesus prayed.
Second, we delight to see that Jesus is praying about other people. That is consistent, of course, with the stunning prayer we hear from him on the cross (Luke 23:34). It resonates, too, with the image we are given of Jesus making perpetual intercession for us (Hebrews 7:25). So this is a lovely additional layer for us as we hear Jesus praying about his followers.
I remember one occasion from my childhood when we were on a long family car trip together. I had been asleep in the car but had begun to awaken before my parents realized it. As I was just waking up, I overheard them talking about me. It was all loving and good -- which is a great blessing to a child! -- and it reminds me of the privilege of this passage from John 17: We get to overhear our Savior talking about us with our Father.
Finally, it is magnificently evident from this prayer that Jesus is on the same page with God. We may too casually discount that, I'm afraid, by our affirmation that Jesus himself is God. In other words, we may underestimate the beauty of his obedience as a human being because we think it was inevitable -- or at least that he had some supernatural head start -- because he was also "fully God." Yet the New Testament does make a point of Jesus' obedience (Luke 2:51; Philippians 2:4; Hebrews 4:15, 5:8), and it is something of a theme of Jesus' own understanding of himself in John's gospel (e.g., 5:19; 12:49-50).
So it is that, in this conversation with his Father, we see Jesus' emphasis on the cooperative nature of their relationship. He understands what the Father has given to him. His prayer for the disciples is in light of the Father's work and plan. His own life and work are understood as a response to the Father. In this way, the prayer is more personal than just the conversational quality we noted above: It is a prayer that reflects a context of a profound relationship. It is in that matter that we can perhaps learn the most from overhearing Jesus pray.
