C4 - Jesus High-Priestly Prayer
The washing of the feet is followed in Saint Johnâs Gospel by Jesusâ farewell discourses (chaps. 14-16), which culminate in chapter 17 with a great prayer for which the Lutheran theologian David Chytraeus (1530-1600) coined the name âhigh-priestly prayerâ. The priestly character of the prayer had already been highlighted in the time of the Fathers, especially by Cyril of Alexandria (d. 444). Andre Feuillet, in his monograph on John 17, quotes a text by Rupert of Deutz (d. 1129/30), in which the prayerâs essential character is very beautifully summed up: âHaec pontifex summus propiator ipse et propitiatorium, sacerdos et sacrificium, pro nobis oravitâ (the high priest who was himself the one making atonement as well as the expiatory offering, both priest and sacrifice, implored this for us; Joan., in PL 169, col. 764 B; cf. Feuillet, The Priesthood of Christ and His Ministers, p. 245).
The Jewish Feast of Atonement and the High-Priestly Prayer
The key to a correct understanding of this great text seems to me to be given in the above-mentioned book by Feuillet. He shows that this prayer can be understood only against the background of the liturgy of the Jewish Feast of Atonement (Yom ha-Kippurim). The ritual of the feast, with its rich theological content, is realized in Jesusâ prayer - ârealizedâ in the literal sense: the rite is translated into the reality that it signifies. What had been represented in ritual acts now takes place in reality, and it takes place definitively.
In order to understand this, we must first consider the ritual of the Feast of Atonement that is described in Leviticus 16 and 23:26-32. On this day, the high priest is required, through the appropriate sacrifice (two male goats for a sin offering and one ram for a burnt offering, a young animal: cf. 16:5-6.), to make atonement, first for himself, then for âhis houseâ, in other words, for the priestly clan of Israel in general, and finally for the whole community of Israel (cf. 16:17). âThus he shall make atonement for the holy place, because of the uncleannesses of the sons of Israel, and because of their transgressions, all their sins; and so he shall do for the tent of meeting, which abides with them in the midst of their uncleannessesâ (16:16).
These rituals constitute the one occasion in the entire year when the high priest pronounces in Godâs presence the otherwise unutterable holy name that God had revealed at the burning bush - the name through which he had, as it were, placed himself within Israelâs reach. Hence the object of the Day of Atonement is to restore to Israel, after the misdeeds of the previous year, its character as a âholy peopleâ, to lead it back once more to its designated position as Godâs people in the midst of the world (cf. Feuillet, The Priesthood of Christ and His Ministers, pp. 49, 70). In this sense it has to do with the innermost purpose of the whole of creation: to open up a space for response to Godâs love, to his holy will.
According to rabbinic theology, the idea of the covenant - the idea of establishing a holy people to be an interlocutor for God in union with him - is prior to the idea of the creation of the world and supplies its inner motive. The cosmos was created, not that there might be manifold things in heaven and earth, but that there might be a space for the âcovenantâ, for the loving âyesâ between God and his human respondent. Each year the Feast of Atonement restores this harmony, this inner meaning of the world that is constantly disrupted by sin, and it therefore marks the high point of the liturgical year.
The structure of the ritual described in Leviticus 16 is reproduced exactly in Jesusâ prayer: just as the high priest makes atonement for himself, for the priestly clan, and for the whole community of Israel, so Jesus prays for himself, for the Apostles, and finally for all who will come to believe in him through their word - for the Church of all times (cf. Jn 17:20). He sanctifies âhimselfâ, and he obtains the sanctification of those who are his. The fact that, despite a certain demarcation from the âworldâ (cf. 17:9), this means the salvation of all, the âlife of the worldâ as a whole (cf. 6:51), is something we will be considering later. Jesusâ prayer manifests him as the high priest of the Day of Atonement. His Cross and his exaltation is the Day of Atonement for the world, in which the whole of world history - in the face of all human sin and its destructive consequences - finds its meaning and is aligned with its true purpose and destiny.
In this sense, the theology of John 17 corresponds exactly to the ideas that are worked out in detail in the Letter to the Hebrews. The interpretation put forward there of Old Testament worship in the light of Jesus Christ is what lies at the heart of the prayer of John 17. But Saint Paulâs theology also converges on this center, as we see from his dramatic plea in the Second Letter to the Corinthians: âWe beg you on behalf of Christ, be reconciled to Godâ (5:20).
And is it not the case that our need to be reconciled with God - the silent, mysterious, seemingly absent, and yet omnipresent God - is the real problem of the whole of world history?
Jesusâ high-priestly prayer is the consummation of the Day of Atonement, the eternally accessible feast, as it were, of Godâs reconciliation with men. At this point, the question arises over the connection between Jesusâ high-priestly prayer and the Eucharist. There have been attempts to portray this prayer as a kind of Eucharistic Prayer, to present it as Johnâs version, so to speak, of the institution of the Sacrament. Such attempts are untenable. Yet on a deeper level, a connection does exist.
In the words addressed by Jesus to the Father, the ritual of the Day of Atonement is transformed into prayer. Here we find a concrete example of that cultic renewal toward which the cleansing of the Temple and Jesusâ interpretation of it were pointing. Sacrificial animals are a thing of the past. In their place are what the Greek Fathers called thysĂa logike - spiritual sacrifices [literally: sacrifices after the manner of the word] - and what Paul described in similar terms as logike latreĂa, that is, worship shaped by the word, structured on reason (Rom 12:1).
Admittedly, this âwordâ that supplants the sacrificial offerings is no ordinary word. To begin with, it is no mere human speech, but rather the word of him who is âthe Wordâ, and so it draws all human words into Godâs inner dialogue, into his reason and his love. For this reason, though, let me reiterate that it is more than a word, because the eternal Word said: âSacrifices and offerings you have not desired, but a body have you prepared for meâ (Heb 10:5; cf. Ps 40:6). The Word is now flesh, and not only that: it is his body offered up, his blood poured out.
With the institution of the Eucharist, Jesus transforms his cruel death into âwordâ, into the radical expression of his love, his self-giving to the point of death. So he himself becomes the âTempleâ. Insofar as the high-priestly prayer forms the consummation of Jesusâ self-gift, it represents the new worship and has a deep inner connection with the Eucharist: when we consider the institution of the Eucharist, we shall return to this.
Before we consider the individual themes contained in Jesusâ high-priestly prayer, one further Old Testament allusion should be mentioned, one that has again been studied by Andre Feuillet. He shows that the renewed and deepened spiritual understanding of the priesthood found in John 17 is already prefigured in Isaiahâs Suffering Servant Songs, especially in Isaiah 53. The Suffering Servant, who has the guilt of all laid upon him (53:6), giving up his life as a sin-offering (53:10) and bearing the sins of many (53:12), thereby carries out the ministry of the high priest, fulfilling the figure of the priesthood from deep within. He is both priest and victim, and in this way he achieves reconciliation. Thus the Suffering Servant Songs continue along the whole path of exploring the deeper meaning of the priesthood and worship, in harmony with the prophetic tradition, especially Ezekiel.
Even if there is no direct reference in John 17 to the Suffering Servant Songs, nevertheless the vision of Isaiah 53 is fundamental for the new understanding of the priesthood and worship that is presented throughout Johnâs Gospel and especially in the high-priestly prayer. We came across a clear manifestation of this connection in the chapter on the washing of the feet, and it is also evident in the Good Shepherd discourse, where Jesus says five times that the Good Shepherd lays down his life for the sheep (Jn 10:11, 15, 17, 18 [twice]), clearly echoing Isaiah 53:10.
The ânewnessâ of the figure of Jesus Christ - made visible in the outward discontinuity with the Temple and its sacrifices - nevertheless maintains a deep inner unity with the salvation history of the Old Covenant. If we think of the figure of Moses, who intercedes for Israelâs salvation by offering his life to God, then this unity becomes evident yet again, and it is an essential concern of Johnâs Gospel to reveal it.
Four Major Themes of the Prayer
From the great wealth of material contained in John 17, I should now like to select four principal themes that draw out essential aspects of this great text and, hence, of Johnâs message in general.
âThis is eternal life. . .â
To begin with, there is verse 3: âThis is eternal life, that they know you the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom you have sent.â
The theme of âlifeâ (zoe), which pervades the whole Gospel from verse 4 of the Prologue onward, is bound to feature also in the new liturgy of atonement that is realized in the high-priestly prayer. The thesis of Rudolf Schnackenburg and others that this verse is a later gloss, on the basis that the word âlifeâ does not recur in John 17, seems to me to arise - just like the separation of sources in the chapter on the washing of the feet - from the kind of academic logic that takes the compositional form of modern scholarly texts as the criterion for something so utterly different in its expression and thought as Johnâs Gospel.
âEternal lifeâ is not - as the modern reader might immediately assume - life after death, in contrast to this present life, which is transient and not eternal. âEternal lifeâ is life itself, real life, which can also be lived in the present age and is no longer challenged by physical death. This is the point: to seize âlifeâ here and now, real life that can no longer be destroyed by anything or anyone.
This meaning of âeternal lifeâ appears very clearly in the account of the raising of Lazarus: âHe who believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live, and whoever lives and believes in me shall never dieâ (Jn 11:25-26). âBecause I live, you will live alsoâ, says Jesus to his disciples at the Last Supper (Jn 14:19), and he thereby reveals once again that a distinguishing feature of the disciple of Jesus is the fact that he âlivesâ: beyond the mere fact of existing, he has found and embraced the real life that everyone is seeking. On the basis of such texts, the early Christians called themselves simply âthe livingâ (hoi zontes). They had found what all are seeking - life itself, full and, hence, indestructible life.
Yet how does one obtain it? The high-priestly prayer gives an answer that may surprise us, even though in the context of biblical thought it was already present. âEternal lifeâ is gained through ârecognitionâ, presupposing here the Old Testament concept of recognition: recognizing creates communion; it is union of being with the one recognized. But of course the key to life is not any kind of recognition, but to âknow you the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom you have sentâ (17:3). This is a kind of summary creedal formula expressing the essential content of the decision to be a Christian - the recognition granted to us by faith. The Christian does not believe in a multiplicity of things. Ultimately he believes, quite simply, in God: he believes that there is only one true God.
This God becomes accessible to us through the one he sent, Jesus Christ: it is in the encounter with him that we experience the recognition of God that leads to communion and thus to âlifeâ. In the twofold expression âGod and the one whom he sentâ, we hear echoes of a constantly recurring message, found especially in Godâs words in the Book of Exodus: they are to believe in âmeâ, in God, and in Moses, the one he sent. God reveals his face in the one sent - definitively in his Son.
âEternal lifeâ is thus a relational event. Man did not acquire it from himself or for himself alone. Through relationship with the one who is himself life, man too comes alive.
Some preliminary steps toward this profoundly biblical idea can also be found in Plato, whose work draws upon very different traditions and reflections on the theme of immortality. His thought includes the idea that man can become immortal by uniting himself to the immortal. The more he takes truth into himself, binds himself to the truth and adheres to it, the more he is related to and filled with that which cannot be destroyed. Insofar as he himself, as it were, adheres to the truth, insofar as he is carried by that which endures, he may be sure of life after death - the fullness of life.
What these ideas explore only tentatively shines forth without a hint of ambiguity in the words of Jesus. Man has found life when he adheres to him who is himself Life. Then much that pertains to him can be destroyed. Death may remove him from the biosphere, but the life that reaches beyond it - real life - remains. This life, which John calls zoe as opposed to bios, is manâs goal. The relationship to God in Jesus Christ is the source of a life that no death can take away.
Clearly, this âlife in relationâ refers to a thoroughly concrete manner of existence; faith and recognition are not like any other kind of human knowledge; rather, they are the very form of manâs existence. Even if we are not yet speaking of love, it is clear that the ârecognitionâ of him who is himself Love leads in turn to love, with all that it gives and all that it demands.
âSanctify them in the truth âŠâ
As a second theme, I should like to explore the idea of sanctification and sanctifying, which points strongly toward the connection with the event of atonement and with the high priesthood.
In the prayer for the disciples, Jesus says: âSanctify them in the truth; your word is truth ⊠For their sake I consecrate myself, that they also may be consecrated in truthâ (Jn 17:17, 19). Let us also cite a passage from the controversy discourses that belongs in this context: here Jesus designates himself as the one sanctified and sent into the world by the Father (cf. 10:36). Hence we are dealing with a triple âsanctificationâ: the Father has sanctified the Son and sent him into the world; the Son sanctifies himself; and he asks, on the basis of his own sanctification, that the disciples be sanctified in the truth.
What does it mean to âsanctifyâ? According to biblical understanding, sanctity or âholinessâ in the fullest sense is attributable only to God. Holiness expresses his particular way of being, divine being as such. So the word âsanctifyâ (qadoĆĄ is the word for âholyâ in the Hebrew Bible) means handing over a reality - a person or even a thing - to God, especially through appropriation for worship. This can take the form of consecration for sacrifice (cf. Ex 13:2; Deut 15:19); or, on the other hand, it can mean priestly consecration (cf. Ex 28:41), the designation of a man for God and for divine worship.
The process of consecration, âsanctificationâ, includes two apparently opposed, but in reality deeply conjoined, aspects. On the one hand, âconsecratingâ as âsanctifyingâ means setting apart from the rest of reality that pertains to manâs ordinary everyday life. Something that is consecrated is raised into a new sphere that is no longer under human control. But this setting apart also includes the essential dynamic of âexisting forâ. Precisely because it is entirely given over to God, this reality is now there for the world, for men, it speaks for them and exists for their healing. We may also say: setting apart and mission form a single whole.
The connection between the two can be seen very clearly if we consider the special vocation of Israel: on the one hand, it is set apart from all other peoples, but for a particular reason - in order to carry out a commission for all peoples, for the whole world. That is what is meant when Israel is designated a âholy peopleâ.
Let us return to Johnâs Gospel. What is the meaning of the three sanctifications (consecrations) that are spoken of there? First we are told that the Father sent his Son into the world and consecrated him (cf. 10:36). What does that mean? The exegetes suggest a certain parallel between this expression and the call of the Prophet Jeremiah: âBefore I formed you in the womb I knew you, and before you were born I consecrated you; I appointed you a prophet to the nationsâ (Jer 1:5). Consecration means that God is exercising a total claim over this man, âsetting him apartâ for himself, yet at the same time sending him out for the nations.
In Jesusâ words, too, consecration and mission are directly linked. Thus one may say that this consecration of Jesus by the Father is identical with the Incarnation: it expresses both total unity with the Father and total existence for the world. Jesus belongs entirely to God, and that is what makes him entirely âfor allâ. âYou are the Holy One of Godâ, Peter said to him in the synagogue at Capernaum, and these words constitute a comprehensive Christological confession (Jn 6:69).
Once the Father has âconsecratedâ him, though, what is meant when he goes on to say âI consecrate (hagiĂĄzo) myselfâ (17:19)? Rudolf Bultmann gives a convincing answer to this question in his commentary on Johnâs Gospel. âHagiĂĄzo, put here in the farewell prayer at the beginning of the Passion, and used together with hyper auton (for them), means âto make holyâ in the sense of âto consecrate for the sacrificeâ â; Bultmann quotes in support a saying of Saint John Chrysostom: âI sanctify myself - I present myself as a sacrificeâ (The Gospel of John, p. 510, n. 5; cf. also Feuillet, The Priesthood of Christ and His Ministers, pp. 35 and 44). If the first âsanctificationâ is related to the Incarnation, here the focus is on the Passion as sacrifice.
Bultmann has presented the inner connection between the two âsanctificationsâ very beautifully. The holiness that Jesus received from the Father is his âbeing for the worldâ, or âbeing for his ownâ. His holiness is âno static difference in substance from the world, but is something Jesus achieves only by completing the stand he has made for God and against the world. But this completion means sacrifice. In the sacrifice he is, in the manner of God, so against the world that he is at the same time for itâ (The Gospel of John, p. 511). In this passage, one may object to the sharp distinction between substantial being and completion of the sacrifice: Jesusâ âsubstantialâ being is as such the entire dynamic of âbeing forâ; the two are inseparable. But perhaps Bultmann meant this as well. He should, moreover, be given credit when he says of John 17:19 that âthere is no disputing the allusion to the words of the Lordâs supperâ (ibid., p. 510 n. 5).
Thus, in these few words, we see before us the new atonement liturgy of Jesus Christ, the liturgy of the New Covenant, in its entire grandeur and purity. Jesus himself is the priest sent into the world by the Father; he himself is the sacrifice that is made present in the Eucharist of all times. Somehow Philo of Alexandria had correctly anticipated this when he spoke of the Logos as priest and high priest (Leg. All. III, 82; De Somn. I, 215; II, 183; reference found in Bultmann, ibid.). The meaning of the Day of Atonement is completely fulfilled in the âWordâ that was made flesh âfor the life of the worldâ (Jn 6:51).
Let us turn to the third sanctification that is spoken of in Jesusâ prayer: âSanctify them in the truthâ (17:17). âI consecrate myself, that they also may be consecrated in truthâ (17:19). The disciples are to be drawn into Jesusâ sanctification; they too are included in this reappropriation into Godâs sphere and the ensuing mission for the world. âI consecrate myself, that they also may be consecrated in truthâ: their being given over to God, their âconsecrationâ, is tied to the consecration of Jesus Christ; it is a participation in his state of sanctification.
Between verses 17 and 19, which speak of the consecration of the disciples, there is a small but important difference. Verse 19 says that they are to be consecrated âin truthâ: not just ritually, but truly, in their whole being - this is doubtless how it should be translated. Verse 17, on the other hand, reads: âsanctify them in the truthâ. Here the truth is designated as the force of sanctification, as âtheir consecrationâ.
According to the Book of Exodus, the priestly consecration of the sons of Aaron is accomplished when they are vested in sacred robes and anointed (29:1-9); the ritual of the Day of Atonement also speaks of a complete bath before the investiture with sacred robes (Lev 16:4). The disciples of Jesus are sanctified, consecrated âin the truthâ. The truth is the bath that purifies them; the truth is the robe and the anointing they need.
This purifying and sanctifying âtruthâ is ultimately Christ himself. They must be immersed in him; they must, so to speak, be ânewly robedâ in him, and thus they come to share in his consecration, in his priestly commission, in his sacrifice.
Judaism, likewise, after the demise of the Temple, had to discover a new meaning for the cultic prescriptions. It now saw âsanctificationâ in the fulfillment of the commandments - in being immersed in Godâs holy word and in Godâs will expressed therein (cf. Schnackenburg, The Gospel according to Saint John III, pp. 185f.).
In the Christian faith, Jesus is the Torah in person, and hence consecration takes place through union of will and union of being with him. If the disciplesâ sanctification in the truth is ultimately about sharing in Jesusâ priestly mission, then we may recognize in these words of Johnâs Gospel the institution of the priesthood of the Apostles, the institution of the New Testament priesthood, which at the deepest level is service to the truth.
âI have made your name known to them. . .â
A further fundamental theme of the high-priestly prayer is the revelation of Godâs name: âI have manifested your name to the men that you gave me out of the worldâ (Jn 17:6). âI made known to them your name, and I will make it known, that the love with which you have loved me may be in them, and I in themâ (Jn 17:26).
With these words Jesus clearly presents himself as the new Moses, who brings to completion what began with Moses at the burning bush. God revealed his ânameâ to Moses. That ânameâ was more than a word. It meant that God allowed himself to be invoked, that he had entered into communion with Israel. So in the course of Israelâs faith history, it became ever clearer that the âname of Godâ meant his âimmanenceâ: his presence in the midst of men, in which he is entirely âthereâ, while at the same time infinitely surpassing everything human, everything to do with this world.
âGodâs nameâ means: God present among men. It is said of the Temple in Jerusalem that God â[made] his name dwellâ there (Deut 12:11, and elsewhere). Israel would never have dared to say simply: God lives there. Israel knew that God is infinitely great, that he surpasses and embraces the whole world. And yet he was truly present: he himself. That is what is meant by saying: âHe [made] his name dwell there.â He is truly present, yet always remains infinitely greater and beyond our reach. âGodâs nameâ is God himself insofar as he gives himself to us; however certain we are of his closeness and however much we rejoice over it, he always remains infinitely greater.
This is the understanding of Godâs name that lies behind Jesusâ words. When he says he has manifested Godâs name and that he will manifest it further, he is not speaking of some new word that he has communicated to men as a particularly felicitous designation for God. The revelation of the name is a new mode of Godâs presence among men, a radically new way in which God makes his home with them. In Jesus, God gives himself entirely into the world of mankind: whoever sees Jesus sees the Father (cf. Jn 14:9).
If we may say that Godâs immanence in the Old Testament was effected in the form of the word and in the form of liturgical celebration, that immanence has now become ontological: in Jesus, God has truly become man. God has entered our very being. In him God is truly âGod-with-usâ. The Incarnation, through which Godâs new being as man was effected, becomes through his sacrifice an event for the whole of mankind. As the Risen One, he comes once more, in order to make all people into his body, the new Temple. The âmanifestation of the nameâ is meant to ensure that âthe love with which you have loved me may be in them, and I in themâ (17:26). It is aimed at the transformation of the whole of creation, so that it may become in a completely new way Godâs true dwelling place in union with Christ.
Basil Studer has pointed out that at the beginning of Christianity, âcircles influenced by Judaism ⊠developed a special name-Christology ⊠Name, Law, Covenant, Beginning, and Dayâ now become Christological titles (Gott und unsere Erlösung, pp. 56, 61). It is known that Christ himself, in person, is Godâs ânameâ, Godâs accessibility to us.
âI made known to them your name, and I will make it known.â The self-gift of God in Christ is not a thing of the past: âI will make it knownâ. In Christ, God continually approaches men, so that they in turn can approach him. To make Christ known is to make God known. Through our encounter with Christ, God approaches us, draws us into himself (cf. Jn 12:32), in order, as it were, to lead us out beyond ourselves into the infinite breadth of his greatness and his love.
âThat they may all be one âŠâ
Another major theme of the high-priestly prayer is the future unity of Jesusâ disciples. Uniquely in the Gospels, Jesusâ gaze now moves beyond the current community of disciples and is directed toward all those who âbelieve in me through their wordâ (Jn 17:20). The vast horizon of the community of believers in times to come opens up across the generations: the Church of the future is included in Jesusâ prayer. He pleads for unity for his future disciples.
The Lord repeats this plea four times. Twice the purpose of this unity is indicated as being that the world may believe, that it may ârecognizeâ that Jesus has been sent by the Father: âHoly Father, keep them in your name, which you have given me, that they may be one, even as we are oneâ (Jn 17:11). âThat they may all be one; even as you, Father, are in me, and I in you, that they also may be in us, so that the world may believe that you have sent meâ (Jn 17:21). âThat they may be one even as we are one ⊠that they may become perfectly one, so that the world may know that you have sent meâ (Jn 17:22-23).
No discourse on ecumenism ever lacks a reference to this âtestamentâ of Jesus - to the fact that before he went to the Cross, he pleaded with the Father for the unity of his future disciples, for the Church of all times. And so it should be. Yet we have to ask with all the more urgency: For what unity was Jesus praying? What is his prayer for the community of believers throughout history?
It is instructive to hear Rudolf Bultmann once again on this question. He says first of all - as we read in the Gospel - that this unity is grounded in the unity of Father and Son, and then he continues: âThat means it is not founded on natural or purely historical data, nor can it be manufactured by organization, institutions or dogma; these can at best only bear witness to the real unity, as on the other hand they can also give a false impression of unity. And even if the proclamation of the word in the world requires institutions and dogmas, these cannot guarantee the unity of true proclamation. On the other hand the actual disunion of the Church, which is, in passing, precisely the result of its institutions and dogmas, does not necessarily frustrate the unity of the proclamation. The word can resound authentically, wherever the tradition is maintained. Because the authenticity of the proclamation cannot be controlled by institutions or dogmas, and because the faith that answers the word is invisible, it is also true that the authentic unity of the community is invisible ⊠it is invisible because it is not a worldly phenomenon at allâ (The Gospel of John, pp. 513-14).
These sentences are astonishing. Much of what they say might be called into question, the concept of âinstitutionsâ and âdogmasâ to begin with, but even more so the concept of âproclamationâ, which is said to create unity by itself. Is it true that the Revealer in his unity with the Father is present in the proclamation? Is he not often astonishingly absent? Now Bultmann gives us a certain criterion for establishing where the word resounds âauthenticallyâ: âwherever the tradition is maintainedâ. Which tradition? one might ask. Where does it come from; what is its content? Since not every proclamation is âauthenticâ, how are we to recognize it? The âauthentic proclamationâ is said to create unity by itself. The âactual disunionâ of the Church cannot hinder the unity that comes from the Lord, so Bultmann claims.
Does this mean that ecumenism is rendered superfluous, since unity is created in proclamation and is not hindered through the schisms of history? Perhaps it is also significant that Bultmann uses the word âChurchâ when he speaks of disunion, whereas he uses the word âcommunityâ when considering unity. The unity of proclamation is not verifiable, he tells us. Therefore the unity of the community is invisible, just as faith is invisible. Unity is invisible, because âit is not a worldly phenomenon at all.â
Is this the correct exegesis of Jesusâ prayer? It is certainly true that the unity of the disciples - of the future Church - for which Jesus prays âis not a worldly phenomenonâ. This the Lord says quite distinctly. Unity does not come from the world: on the basis of the worldâs own efforts, it is impossible. The worldâs own efforts lead to disunion, as we can all see. Inasmuch as the world is operative in the Church, in Christianity, it leads to schisms. Unity can only come from the Father through the Son. It has to do with the âgloryâ that the Son gives: with his presence, granted through the Holy Spirit, which is the fruit of the Cross, the fruit of Jesusâ transformation through death and Resurrection.
Yet the power of God reaches into the midst of the world in which the disciples live. It must be of such a kind that the world can ârecognizeâ it and thereby come to faith. While it does not come from the world, it can and must be thoroughly effective in and for the world, and it must be discernible by the world. The stated objective of Jesusâ prayer for unity is precisely that through the unity of the disciples, the truth of his mission is made visible for men. Unity must be visible; it must be recognizable as something that does not exist elsewhere in the world; as something that is inexplicable on the basis of mankindâs own efforts and that therefore makes visible the workings of a higher power. Through the humanly inexplicable unity of Jesusâ disciples down the centuries, Jesus himself is vindicated. It can be seen that he is truly the âSonâ. Hence God can be recognized as the creator of a unity that overcomes the worldâs inherent tendency toward fragmentation.
For this the Lord prayed: for a unity that can come into existence only from God and through Christ and yet is so concrete in its appearance that in it we are able to see Godâs power at work. That is why the struggle for the visible unity of the disciples of Jesus Christ remains an urgent task for Christians of all times and places. The invisible unity of the âcommunityâ is not sufficient.
Is there more that we can discern about the nature and content of the unity for which Jesus prayed? One essential element of this unity has already emerged from our considerations thus far: it depends on faith in God and in the one whom he sent: Jesus Christ. The unity of the future Church therefore rests on the faith that Peter proclaimed in the name of the Twelve in the synagogue at Capernaum, after other disciples had turned away: âWe have believed, and have come to know, that you are the Holy One of Godâ (Jn 6:69).
This confession is very close in content to the high-priestly prayer. Here Jesus encounters us as the one whom the Father has sanctified, who sanctifies himself for the disciples, who sanctifies the disciples in the truth. Faith is something more than a word, an idea: it involves entering into communion with Jesus Christ and through him with the Father. Faith is the real foundation of the disciplesâ communion, the basis for the Churchâs unity.
In its nucleus, this faith is âinvisibleâ. But because the disciples unite themselves to the one Christ, faith becomes âfleshâ and knits the individual believers together into a real âbodyâ. The Incarnation of the Logos is perpetuated until the measure of Christâs âfull statureâ is attained (cf. Eph 4:13).
Faith in Jesus Christ as the one sent by the Father includes mission as its second structural element. We have seen that holiness, that is to say, belonging to the living God, signifies mission.
Throughout Johnâs Gospel, then, and especially in chapter 17, Jesus, the Holy One of God, is the one sent by God. His whole identity is âbeing sentâ. What this means becomes clear from a passage in chapter 7, where the Lord says: âMy teaching is not mineâ (7:16). He lives totally âfrom the Fatherâ, and there is nothing else, nothing purely of his own, that he brings to the Father. In the farewell discourses, this characteristic identity of the Son is extended to include the Holy Spirit: âHe will not speak on his own authority, but whatever he hears he will speakâ (16:13). The Father sends the Spirit in Jesusâ name (14:26); Jesus sends him from the Father (15:26).
After the Resurrection, Jesus draws the disciples into this dynamic of mission: âAs the Father has sent me, even so I send youâ (20:21). A defining characteristic of the community of disciples in every age must be their âbeing sentâ by Jesus. This will always mean that for them, too, âmy teaching is not mineâ; the disciples do not proclaim themselves, but they say what they have heard. They represent Christ, just as Christ represents the Father. They follow the guidance of the Holy Spirit, knowing that in this total fidelity a process of maturing is simultaneously at work: âThe Spirit of truth ⊠will guide you into all the truthâ (16:13).
In this quality of âbeing sentâ, characteristic of Christâs disciples, and inasmuch as they were bound to his word and to the power of his Spirit, the early Church was able to recognize the form of âapostolic successionâ. The continuation of the mission is âsacramentalâ, that is to say, it is not self-generating, nor is it something man-made, but it is a matter of being incorporated into the âWord that existed from the beginningâ (cf. 1 Jn 1:1), into the communion of witnesses called forth by the Spirit. The Greek word for succession - diadoche - refers to both structure and content. It points to the continuation of the mission in the witnesses; but it also points to the content of their testimony, to the word that is handed down, to which the witness is bound by the âsacramentâ.
Together with âapostolic successionâ, the early Church discovered (she did not invent) two further elements fundamental for her unity: the canon of Scripture and the so-called regula fidei, or ârule of faithâ. This was a short summary - not definitively tied down in every detail to specific linguistic formulations - of the essential content of the faith, which in the early Churchâs different baptismal confessions took on a liturgical form. This rule of faith, or creed, constitutes the real âhermeneuticâ of Scripture, the key derived from Scripture itself by which the sacred text can be interpreted according to its spirit.
The unity of these three constitutive elements of the Church - the sacrament of succession, Scripture, the rule of faith (creed) - is the true guarantee that âthe word can resound authenticallyâ, that âthe tradition is maintainedâ (cf. Bultmann). Of course Johnâs Gospel does not speak in so many words of these three pillars of the community of disciples, of the Church, but with its references to Trinitarian faith and to âbeing sentâ, it lays the foundations for them.
Let us return to Jesusâ prayer that, through the unity of the disciples, the world may recognize him as the one sent by the Father. This recognizing and believing is not something merely intellectual; it is about being touched by Godâs love and therefore changed; it is about the gift of true life.
The universality of Jesusâ mission is made visible; it concerns not just a limited circle of chosen ones - its scope is the whole of creation, the world in its entirety. Through the disciples and their mission, the world as a whole is to be torn free from its alienation, it is to rediscover unity with God.
This universal horizon of Jesusâ mission can also be seen in two other important texts from the Fourth Gospel: first, in Jesusâ nocturnal conversation with Nicodemus: âGod so loved the world that he gave his only-begotten Sonâ (3:16), and then - with the emphasis here on the sacrifice of his life - in the bread of life discourse at Capernaum: âThe bread which I shall give for the life of the world is my fleshâ (6:51).
But how do we reconcile this universalism with the harsh words found in verse 9 of the high-priestly prayer: âI am praying for them; I am not praying for the worldâ? In order to grasp the inner unity of the apparently contradictory prayers, we must remember that John uses the word âcosmosâ - world - in two different senses. On the one hand, it refers to the whole of Godâs good creation, especially to men: his creatures, whom he loves to the point of the gift of himself in the Son. On the other hand, the word refers to the human world as it has evolved in history. Corruption, lies, and violence have, as it were, become ânaturalâ to it. Blaise Pascal speaks of a second nature that in the course of history has supplanted the first. Modern philosophers have described this historical state of mankind in various ways, as for example when Martin Heidegger speaks of being reduced to the impersonal, of existing in âinauthenticityâ. These same issues are presented in a very different way when Karl Marx expounds manâs alienation.
Philosophy in these instances is ultimately describing what is known to faith as âoriginal sinâ. The present âworldâ has to disappear; it must be changed into Godâs world. That is precisely what Jesusâ mission is, into which the disciples are taken up: leading âthe worldâ away from the condition of manâs alienation from God and from himself, so that it can become Godâs world once more and so that man can become fully himself again by becoming one with God. Yet this transformation comes at the price of the Cross; it comes at the price of readiness for martyrdom on the part of Christâs witnesses.
If we take one last look back over the whole of the prayer for unity, we can say that the founding of the Church takes place during this passage, even though the word Church does not appear. For what else is the Church, if not the community of disciples who receive their unity through faith in Jesus Christ as the one sent by the Father and are drawn into Jesusâ mission to lead the world toward the recognition of God - and in this way to redeem it?
The Church is born from Jesusâ prayer. But this prayer is more than words; it is the act by which he âsanctifiesâ himself, that is to say, he âsacrificesâ himself for the life of the world. We can also put it the other way around: in this prayer, the cruel event of the Cross becomes âwordâ, it becomes the Feast of Atonement between God and the world. From here the Church emerges as the community of those who believe in Christ on the strength of the Apostlesâ word (cf. 17:20).