The King Prays (John 17:1-19)
Remember Shakespeare’s great play Hamlet, back in high school? That’s a long
time ago, at least for me. Hamlet is full of action. There are ghosts and murders,
love scenes, plots, accidental killings, betrayals, recriminations, more plots.
Hamlet is a tragic, faltering hero who has a terrible time making up his mind.
Which means from time to time there’s a pause in the action. But there’s one
point in the story where everything comes to a shuddering halt.
Hamlet is looking for an opportunity to avenge the death of his father, the king of
Denmark. He had discovered it was his stepfather Claudius who had murdered his
father, married his mother, and usurped the throne of Denmark. Then Hamlet
stumbles upon the perfect opportunity. He finds Claudius alone, in his bedroom.
But when he peeks into the chamber, he sees Claudius… praying. And Hamlet
stops. If he takes revenge now, Claudius might have repented, and be saved. Now
is not the time, he decides. Hamlet will wait for a better moment. And the sorry
tale continues.1
The king is praying. Oh great mystery. Today it’s another king, far different from
Claudius, who is praying. And it’s a prayer so different from the prayers that we
are used to praying. But who would dare even to tiptoe in on this king’s prayer?
How can I presume to talk about what Jesus is praying? Prayer is always a
personal, intimate affair—a mystery no one can really penetrate, except for the
one who’s doing the praying. It’s a bit like when you say, “Look at that shiny red
car.” And I look at it; and, yes, it’s red; but I can never know for sure the colour
you’re seeing is the same “red” my eyes are seeing. In the same way I can never
know for sure what happens between you and God when you kneel down to pray.
There’s a sacred intimacy that seems almost violated when we try to talk about
prayer and we try to analyze it. Shhhh… Jesus is praying.
A few years ago, Annie told me that this is the text she’d like me to speak about at
her funeral. I reminded her this week I’d not forgotten her request. Choosing this
holy conversation between the Son and the Father as your last witness here on
earth really impressed me. I’ve been thinking: I believe I’d like this text—this
prayer—meditated upon at my funeral too. Jesus’ intimate conversation with his
Father, the night before he died—what could possibly be more appropriate at my
own death?
1
Tom Wright, John For Everyone, Part 2, pp. 90-91.
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Still, it does feel rather presumptuous for me to preach two sermons on this
magnificent prayer of Jesus that concludes the King’s Speech. On the one hand, as
I’ve prayed and prepared—as I’ve been studying and trying to listen to the
Spirit—it’s clear there are dozens and dozens of sermons in this prayer. I’m sure
we could spend an entire year in this prayer, and I’d still miss far too much.
On the other hand, maybe like Hamlet, we should just pause and wait, and be still
too. We’re on holy ground here. Perhaps what we really should do this morning is
take off our shoes, get down on our knees, and be quiet. This is hallowed ground.
Think what it is we’re doing: We’re listening in on the conversation at the heart of
the universe. The Father and the Son are talking to each other—heaven and earth
totally connected here. There’s so much love right here—the Holy Spirit is here—
as the Son talks with his Father, and… shhhhhh, yes ... we too get to listen in.
And yet, what a strange prayer this is. This prayer is not like our prayers. What is
Jesus praying to his Father?
Verse 1: “Father, the hour has come. The great weekend—it’s finally here. Glorify
your son.”
What’s Jesus asking for? “Glorify me this weekend, Father, so I can glorify you.”
As we read on into the next chapter—chapter 18, and then 19, and 20—it’s so
important for us to keep remembering: the Father is answering the Son’s prayer:
“Glorify me.” This is the weekend of glory. Jesus gets betrayed—Glorious is the
son! Jesus says to Peter, “Put your sword away!” Glorious the son. Jesus is
slapped in the face—glorious the Son! A cruel crown of thorns, a mocking purple
robe—humiliation—glorious the Son! A body battered to bloody pulp, lifted up on
a Roman torture stake—glorious the Son! And finally, through all that suffering,
resurrection. Glory!
Did Jesus know what he was asking for when he said to his Father, “Glorify your
son”? I think he did.
In Shakespeare’s play, Claudius also wants the kingdom, the power and the glory.
Maybe that’s what he’s praying for too, in his bedroom chamber! “God, give me
the glory and the power, and the kingdom!” He’s determined to get the glory, but
by any means necessary: by violence, by intrigue, by killing for the glory. He wants
the glory of being top dog, king of Denmark, the Great Man at the top of the
heap. Glory!
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What does King Jesus pray? “Glorify me another way, by the only way possible.
Father, I’m willing to be humiliated. I’m willing to be mocked, betrayed, beaten.
Let me even be killed. I choose your path to eternal life. Glorify me!”
What does this glory mean, for Jesus? Verse 2: “Through death you grant me
authority over all people, so that I can give them eternal life—life to the full, real
life, the life they long for, eternal life, glory life!
Isn’t that what we pray for too? I think it’s exactly what we pray for all the time—
life. Life that’s glorious. Life to the full. “Bless me, Lord. Bless us. Please Lord,
improve my marriage. Make me a more loving husband. Heal my sick child. Lift my
depression. Make our LIFE group a safe place. Make my ministry fruitful, Lord
(make it glorious!). Give me a job that’s meaningful and life-giving.”
And these are good requests; they’re legitimate requests. If God would only
answer my prayers… then, would not my life be full of joy and glory? Life to the
full. Life as it was meant to be lived! I’d be living the life I was created for—eternal
life!
But look what Jesus says eternal life is. Verse 3: “This is eternal life—that they
know you, the only true God, and Jesus Christ, whom you have sent.”
“That they know you, God! This is eternal life: that they know you!” What is Jesus
talking about?
In the Bible, “knowing” a person is intensely personal. It’s a profoundly intimate
word. Maybe the best way to show this is if we look at the very first time in the
Bible where somebody “knew” somebody else. Genesis 4:1: “Adam knew Eve, and
she became pregnant.” Yes, it’s a euphemism for sex, actually for the intimate
union of a married couple. This “knowing” is not just the coupling of bodies; it’s
the union of souls and minds and hearts, and bodies. Completely given to one
another. Utterly devoted and abandoned to each other. Adam and Eve were so
spiritually connected, so completely one in their souls and their hearts, that they
gave themselves utterly to one another—the two became one flesh. They “knew”
each other. Intimate relationship.
“This is eternal life: that they know you, Father, and me!” Eternal life, at its heart,
is personally, passionately knowing God. At its core and centre, Christianity is an
intimate relationship with God. Prayer is our intensely personal union with God.
So the chief purpose of prayer is not to get things from God, but to get to know
God—know him personally. What we need, far more than the gifts we pray for, is
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the Giver. Jesus’ relationship with his Father is the driving passion of every single
request in this prayer.
Larry Crabb, in his wonderful book, The Papa Prayer, emphasizes over and over
how Jesus’ prayer is relational. The Jesus way of praying is not about getting more
from God but getting more of God. To know him and be known by him. Do you
know him? And all of us will surely say, “Not nearly as well as I wish I did.”
I think one of the reasons we struggle so much with praying is we keep trying to
get God to be our audience, and listen to our requests, and give us the stuff we’re
sure we need. But what if prayer were more about us listening to God? What if
we’d be the audience in prayer? Jesus didn’t just pray for us that night before he
died. Right now, Jesus is at the right hand of his Father, praying for us, interceding
for us. What if prayer is us listening in on this conversation between the Son and
the Father, this conversation that’s already going on at the centre of the
universe? Listen! Jesus is praying.
My purpose really is not to discourage you in your praying. Praying is different
from Bible reading. All of us can quite easily pick up a Bible, and read it. But
praying is different. Be honest: Who has not felt like a hypocrite in their prayer
life? How can I preach to you about praying?
I was so grateful for my devotional reading yesterday morning. Henri Nouwen
said: “Can we only speak when we are fully living what we are saying?... Nobody
completely lives up to his or her own ideals and visions. But by proclaiming our
ideals and visions with great conviction and great humility, we may gradually
grow into the truth we speak.”
So, don’t do what so many Christians have done—give up. Don’t give up praying.
Keep struggling in prayer!
One wise, old-time Christian leader once said, “If I wished to humble anyone, I
should question him about his prayers. I know nothing to compare with this topic
for its sorrowful self-confessions.” (C. J. Vaughan)
But Jesus is not saying these things to humiliate or dishearten us. Look what he
says (verse 13): “I’m saying these things so that they may have the full measure of
my joy within them.”
I’ve been given occasional glimpses of that joy in prayer. There’s nothing like it.
There is no substitute. There’s nothing better than knowing God, and being
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known. I wish I could tell you this ecstasy is a regular occurrence for me. It’s not.
This is a sermon I’m really preaching to myself. I long for what Jesus offers—joy
overflowing, joy without measure, that leaves you breathless. Jesus invites us all
into this intimate prayer. Prayer that’s not just a shopping list. But knowing, and
being known.
Near the conclusion of The PAPA Prayer, Larry Crabb gives three examples of this
relational praying, this Jesus way of praying:2
Since just last Sunday was Father’s Day, we’ll let the distraught dad be the first
example. He’s crying out to God: “God, my son has been using illegal drugs for
two years. And I’m terrified that he’s going to ruin his life. I’ve tried everything—
tough love, counselling, backing off. I feel like a complete failure as a father.”
So the normal way of praying would go something like this: “Please God, show me
what’s wrong with my son so I can know what to do. I’ll do anything. Anything!
Just make him better. It all seems so unfair! I know dads who spend almost no
time with their kids, who provide no spiritual input, and their kids are solid,
growing Christians. I just don’t get it. But I know you have a good plan for my
family. Please, just show me how to reach my son’s heart.”
But what if we would pray as Jesus prays? Not just with requests, but with a
relationship. “Your glory, Lord—that’s my heart’s deepest desire.” Look what
Jesus says in verse 10: “All I have is yours, and all you have is mine.” Not just
asking for things from God but seeking to know God and be known by God.
Maybe he would pray like this: “Oh God, as I present myself to you, I’m beginning
to see what’s at stake for me. I’m terrified I’ll never be able to accept myself as a
man until my son straightens out. It’s all about me! I see it. And it’s wrong. As long
as that terror drives me, I’m not loving anybody—not my son, not my wife, not
you. God, I’ve been living to enjoy my family, not for your glory. I’ve been
obsessed with my dreams and demanding you to fulfill them. Have mercy!
Second example: What if you’re a hurting spouse? And you cry out to God, “God I
don’t know what to do about my husband. I feel so unheard, so unnoticed. I don’t
remember the last time he made me feel cherished. I feel as if I’m just fading
away, as if I’m losing my identity. I don’t like myself anymore; I’m losing my sense
of worth as a woman.”
2
Larry Crabb, The PAPA Prayer, 135-38.
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The normal way of praying would probably be something like this: “Please God,
either change him or show me how I can live with him, how I can find my voice
when I’m with him. God, I need to know you’ll be with me, to feel your love, to
not feel so wounded and alone. Please, help me learn how to live with my
husband without losing myself.”
Again, this person is struggling honestly in prayer. Which is a good thing. But what
if she prayed like Jesus prayed? What would that look like? A prayer that reaches
for God’s heart, that longs to know and be known.
Maybe she would pray something like this, says Crabb: “Father, I’m beginning to
see what’s at stake for me. Nothing matters more to me than whether I feel good
about myself. I relate to my husband with no real thought of revealing your
character to him. I’m not sure I even know what your glory looks like. I’m not
sure I would even begin to know how to glorify you in my marriage. I’m realizing I
don’t know you well enough to even want to reveal you to my husband. Have
mercy.”
What if your heart really is crying out for that kind of intimacy? To know, and be
truly known? Could you and I actually pray like that, and mean it?
Larry Crabb gives one more example: the prayer of a depressed person. In the
past, when I struggled with depression, I also found myself getting more honest
with God. Like the Psalmist’s prayer in Psalm 130: “Out of the depths I cry to you,
Lord. Lord, hear my prayer! I’m crying to you. Listen!” That’s an honest, gut-level
cry into God’s heart.
“God, I’m sliding deeper into a dark hole. I’m crying for hours every day. I never
feel good or happy. I know I’m getting really negative and that my friends are so
tired of me being down, but I just feel so bad.”
(I remember Sandra just holding me quietly on the couch, my head in her lap, her
smoothing down my hair. And I just had no idea why I was feeling as if I was
slowly suffocating.)
How would we normally pray in such a circumstance? “Please God, heal my
wounds. Something must be really getting to me, but I really don’t know what it
is. A lot is going wrong right now—my arthritis is worse, my friends rarely call, and
I don’t like my job. Please, guide me to the right therapist or pastor. I don’t know
how much longer I can go on living like this. Please, help me feel better.”
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Again, it’s an honest, heartfelt prayer. But what if we’d actually listen in on this
conversation between Son and Father? What if we’d actually join in this
conversation at the heart of the universe? What if—even in our despair—we’d
pray, not just a requests prayer but a relationship prayer?
Crabb wonders whether we might pray something like this: “Oh God, nobody
would be drawn to you because of me. I see it! By the way I’m living, I’m telling
the world that you’re only worth praising when things are good, and that trusting
you when things are bad means only that I’m hoping things in my life will get
better. Of course I want them to, and it would make me feel better if things in my
life went better. But in the middle of all this, I’m not relating to you. I’m using you.
Have mercy!”
Listen again to Jesus’ words to his Father: “I am praying… for those you have given
me, for they are yours. All I have is yours and all you have is mine… I say these
things so that they may have the full measure of my joy within them.”
Jesus is praying. He’s drawing you in—into his relationship with the Father. Do
you know him? Would you like to know him?
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