Published: May 21, 2026
On the night before he died, Jesus did not spend his final hours in silence. He prayed — and what he prayed for is stunning in its scope. In the Gospel of John, chapter 17, we are given a rare and intimate window into the heart of Christ at the moment of his greatest vulnerability. What did the Son of God ask of the Father in those last hours? He asked for us. Not just for the disciples gathered around him, but for every person who would ever come to believe through their witness — including you and me, here, today.
"I pray not only for them," Jesus says, "but also for those who will believe in me through their word, so that they may all be one, as you, Father, are in me and I in you, that they also may be in us, that the world may believe that you sent me." (John 17:20-21)
This is the prayer Jesus offered on our behalf before he even went to the cross. Before he breathed his last. Before he rose from the dead. He was already praying for the unity of the Church — for a unity so complete, so deep, that it would mirror nothing less than the relationship between the Father and the Son. That is not a modest aspiration. That is the most ambitious prayer ever prayed.
It is worth sitting with the sheer theological weight of what Jesus is describing here. The unity he envisions is not institutional uniformity, not the kind of sameness that comes from everyone wearing the same badge or following the same rules. He is speaking of something far more profound: a unity that flows from mutual indwelling. "I in them and you in me," he says. The Father is in the Son. The Son is in the Father. And we are invited — drawn — into that same circle of divine love. This is what theologians call the perichoresis, the eternal dance of the Trinity. Jesus is saying that his followers are meant to participate in that dance.
What does this mean practically? It means that Christian unity is not primarily a political project or an ecumenical strategy, though those things may serve it. It is first and foremost a spiritual reality that already exists in Christ and must be received, nurtured, and lived out. The unity Jesus prays for is already given in baptism, in the Eucharist, in the one faith handed down through the apostles. What we are called to do is not create it from scratch, but to honor it, protect it, and make it visible to the watching world.
And the watching world matters enormously in this passage. Three times in these seven verses, Jesus connects the unity of his followers to the world's ability to believe. "That the world may believe that you sent me." "That the world may know that you sent me." The mission of the Church — her witness to the world that Jesus is Lord — depends in a very real way on how his followers treat one another. Division, contempt, and bitterness among Christians does not merely wound the Body of Christ internally; it obscures the very sign that Jesus planted in the world to draw people to the Father.
This is a challenging word for our time. We live in an era of profound fracture — not only in society at large, but within Christian communities. We argue over politics, over liturgical preferences, over interpretations of doctrine. Social media has made it easier than ever to perform our disagreements publicly and with great feeling. And while genuine fidelity to truth matters — Jesus himself is "the way, the truth, and the life" — we must be honest with ourselves about how often our divisions spring not from courageous witness but from pride, tribalism, and the simple human pleasure of being right.
Jesus does not pray that his followers will agree on every particular. He prays that they will be one as he and the Father are one. And the Father and the Son, though distinct in person, are united in love, in will, and in purpose. The model is not uniformity but communion — a unity that holds together difference without dissolving it, that is strong enough to bear tension, and that is rooted not in agreement but in love.
The Apostle Paul understood this. In his letters, he wrestles constantly with the challenge of diverse communities — Jews and Gentiles, rich and poor, slave and free — learning to live as one Body. He does not tell them to pretend their differences don't exist. He tells them to bear one another's burdens, to consider others more important than themselves, to put on love "which is the bond of perfection." Unity in Paul's vision is active, costly, and grounded in the self-emptying love of Christ.
There is also something deeply consoling in this passage that we should not miss. Jesus says: "Father, I will that where I am, they also may be with me, that they may see my glory that you gave me, for you loved me before the foundation of the world." (John 17:24) This is not merely a prayer for our good behavior in the present. It is a declaration of Jesus's desire for us in eternity. He wants us with him. He wants us to see his glory. The one who prays for our unity is the same one who longs for our company forever. The High Priestly Prayer is ultimately a love letter written to every soul that will ever hear these words.
As we draw close to Pentecost — just days away — this gospel takes on special resonance. The Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in the Son's name, is the very bond of unity within the Trinity. It is the Spirit who draws the scattered members of the Body into communion with one another and with God. We cannot manufacture the unity Jesus prays for on our own. But we can open our hearts to the Spirit who makes it possible. We can choose, today, to look at our brothers and sisters in faith — even those who frustrate or disappoint us — with the eyes of Christ, who saw each one of them as worth dying for.
The prayer of Jesus in John 17 is still being prayed. The one who intercedes for us at the right hand of the Father has not stopped asking. The question the gospel puts to each of us is simple and demanding: are we willing to answer yes?
Scripture: John 17:20-26 | Thursday of the Seventh Week of Easter