May 13, 2024
Paulist Fr. Rich Andre preached this homily for the 7th Sunday of Easter on May 12, 2024 at the Paulist Center in Boston, MA. The homily is based on the day’s readings: Acts 1:15-17, 20a, 20c-26; Psalm 103; 1 John 4:11-16; and John 17:11b-19.
In many parts of the country, the Solemnity of the Ascension of the Lord is celebrated on the 7th Sunday of Easter. However, in some parts of the country (including Massachusetts), the Ascension is celebrated on the previous Thursday, and these readings are used on the 7th Sunday of Easter.
Today’s gospel passage comes from Jesus’ long, impassioned prayer on the night before he dies. In some ways, this is the cosmic moment in the Gospel of John, coming between the Last Supper and Jesus’ passion. Jesus recounts the ministry he’s accomplished in the past, even as he asks his Father to keep his disciples united into the future.
I can’t help but wonder: is Jesus offering this prayer from his human nature or from his divine nature? Maybe he has witnessed specific interpersonal rifts among his closest disciples. Maybe he foresees all the schisms of the next two millennia, resulting in Christianity being scandalously divided into tens of thousands of separate denominations.
And what kind of unity was Jesus praying for? Today, our readings invite us to wrestle with questions about unity and diversity, and about believing, behaving, and belonging.
As we prepare to be sprinkled again with the waters of baptism, we embrace the challenges to truly see one another, and to truly love one another.
The First Letter of John affirms that although none of us can see God, whoever remains in love remains in God. This very passage led to my first public debate about Scripture. As a sophomore in college, I was attending my very first Bible study, and it was sponsored by an interdenominational student group on campus. One member of the group insisted – based on this passage – that people who are not Christians cannot be considered part of the people of God.
I was nervous. I had no training in Scripture, but I was confident of my personal beliefs. “My best friend doesn’t believe in God,” I said. “And yet, I’m sure that he belongs to the people of God. He’s a very loving, caring person. If all love comes from God, how can you say that anyone who is genuinely loving is not part of God’s people?”
In fact, I believe that all people are God’s people. God dreamed up each of us; God loves each of us. We never resolved the tension in the room that evening, but for me, it began my lifelong fascination with how religion addresses the tension between the seen and the unseen.
A few of my friends consider themselves to be atheists. They say that they cannot see God. Many of my friends consider themselves to be “spiritual but not religious.” They say that they cannot see God in the Church. But the First Letter of John tells us that no one has ever seen God.
No one has ever seen the full extent of what the Church is. Or rather, no one has ever seen the full extent of who the Church is, of who is included within the Church. Our first reading from the Acts of the Apostles gives us a concrete example of the surprising extent of the Church. Luke intended the Book of Acts to be read as a second volume to accompany his gospel. He went to great lengths to make connections between the two books. Luke explicitly names many of Jesus’ companions from Galilee (e.g., 6:14-16, 8:1-3, 24:10), but the Gospel of Luke never mentions Matthias or Justus, even though the Books of Acts tells us that Matthias and Justus were present “the whole time” during Jesus’ earthly ministry. That’s pretty remarkable, considering that Luke already knew that Matthias eventually became an apostle. If we only read Luke’s gospel, Matthias and Justus would remain unseen to us.
Who are the people of God who remain unseen to us today? We do a good job at the Paulist Center in recognizing LGBTQIA people, women who yearn to be pastoral leaders, young adults, and those who are separated or divorced. We do an OK job accommodating those with special needs. But do we really see the kinds of people here whom we don’t come across in our daily lives elsewhere? People who live in different neighborhoods than us, who attend different schools, who work different jobs, who belong to different generations, who operate in different tax brackets, who listen to different media sources, who vote for different political priorities? I’ve heard the story repeatedly at the Paulist Center: some people were greeted at Mass almost every weekend for the first few years they belonged here, but they didn’t feel as if they were truly seen by other members until they got involved in a ministry and worked alongside some long-time members.
Which gets us into that age-old question of unity versus uniformity. When Jesus prayed for all the disciples to be one, I don’t think he prayed for everyone to look, think, and act the same way!
On the night before he died, perhaps Jesus’ prayer was in part for this present moment in the Catholic Church in the United States, when the toxicity within some Catholic organizations — including organizations led by lay people as well as organizations led by clergy — these Catholic organizations reflect the toxicity of our national politics.
Whenever we gather for Eucharist, we are rehearsing for the heavenly banquet. We break bread with people from across the country, from across the world, and from across the ages. And when we get to the actual heavenly banquet, we’ll surely be surprised at some of the people we see there as part of the Body of Christ. There will be more than a few people like Matthias and Justus, people who walked among us but whom we never noticed.
The more disparate and diverse our backgrounds are within the people gathered together in Christ’s name, the more powerful will our witness be to the unifying power of Christ’s love.