St. John’s Lutheran Church
Albany, New York
17 May 2026 + The Seventh Sunday of Easter
John 17:1-11
The Rev. Josh Evans

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Just about 45 or so minutes ago,
the gates opened at the National Mall
in Washington, DC.
And by the time our liturgy ends,
the full program –
spanning the afternoon until 6:00 p.m. this evening –
will begin with an array of speakers –
overwhelmingly conservative Christians –
for what is being billed as
“Rededicate 250: A National Jubilee of Prayer, Praise & Thanksgiving” –
an initiative of the so-called “Freedom 250” campaign
created to stage “patriotic” events to celebrate the 250th anniversary
of the signing of the Declaration of Independence
and the nation’s semiquincentennial.

I have no doubt that at least a handful
of those who are gathering today,
both in person on the National Mall
and virtually via livestream across the country,
are well-meaning people of faith,
offering well-meaning, heartfelt prayers.
That part doesn’t concern me,
at least not intrinsically.

What does concern me
is what exactly is being preached and prayed for.
Adam Russell Taylor, Baptist minister
and president of the progressive organization and publication Sojourners,
puts it this way in an interview with NPR this week:
“What we are seeing on the Mall –
with a predominantly group of white, far-right evangelical leaders
that will be praying –
is a very Christian nationalist, ideological version [of religion]
that is, in essence, being privileged and is being platformed.”

Taylor isn’t alone in his critique.
The Rev. Shelley Bryan Wee,
bishop of the Northwest Washington Synod of the ELCA,
posted her own concerns on Facebook,
which have been shared widely by others in the Lutheran social media universe
over the past few days:

“In scripture, the time of jubilee
was to be a time of restoration and renewal
rooted in God’s vision for justice and wholeness for all people.
No one was to be trapped forever
in poverty or crushing debt or exploitation.

“During the jubilee:
Debts were forgiven.
Land that was lost or sold was returned to original families.
Enslaved people were set free.
The land was given rest.
Economic systems were re-set so that equity reigned.

“Jesus was proclaiming a jubilee in Luke 4 when he read from Isaiah:

“‘The Spirit of the Lord is upon me,
because he has anointed me
to bring good news to the poor…
to proclaim release to the captives…
to let the oppressed go free.’

“The gathering on May 17 called ‘Rededicate 250: A National Jubilee of Prayer, Praise & Thanksgiving’ does not appear to be a jubilee.
Instead, it appears to be a Christian Nationalist event
that confuses the kingdom/kin-dom of God
with power and exploitation,
empire and domination,
exclusion and coercion.”

That’s certainly one way to pray –
albeit a dangerous one
and, to be clear,
incompatible with the gospel.

Jesus shows us another way.

Jesus’ words in today’s gospel
come to us as a prayer –
the culmination of Jesus’ lengthy “farewell discourse” –
words spoken into the midst of the upper room,
filled with the pain of betrayal and abandonment,
and the uncertainty and fear that comes on the cusp of loss and grief.

And remarkably, Jesus prays aloud –
not for show or for its own sake,
but in the midst of his disciples,
in the midst of their pain, uncertainty, and fear.
This prayer is meant for their hearing.
There is power to being prayed for like that.

Maybe you have felt what it feels like
to be prayed for like that.
“Can I pray for you?” someone casually asks,
the very question itself evoking a profound feeling
of being cared for.

Having often been privileged,
by virtue of my vocation,
to be in spaces on the other side of that prayer,
I admit that I often feel a bit of imposter syndrome –
How can I possibly make [insert horrible situation here] better
with just a few words? –
but I have also experienced such moments,
somewhere in between “Dear God” and “Amen,”
where I know: something happened –
bringing a profound sense of calm, stillness, and peace
in the midst of [insert horrible situation here].

There is power to being prayed for like that.

I suspect Jesus knew that too –
and so he prays –
aloud –
for his friends to hear.

In the midst of an array of complicated emotions,
Jesus doesn’t offer another miracle or parable or teaching.
He doesn’t call for a flashy gathering masquerading as a jubilee.
But he offers a prayer –
a quiet accompaniment and a gentle solidarity –
that is more profound and more needed
than anything else Jesus could’ve done for them.

Jesus prays
on behalf of his friends.
He offers them a reminder of their belonging to God
and commends them to the loving protection and care of God,
even as he himself is about to leave them.

There is a vulnerability and a humility in this prayer,
prayed, on the night of his arrest,
by the one who, in vulnerable and humble love,
lays down his life for his friends.

“For what the world admires as gain,”
the hymn writer (Susan Palo Cherwien) puts it
in the words we sang as we gathered this morning,
“is not the essence of Christ’s reign.”

And goes on:
“Who was, who is, and is to come
as servant lived in human sphere;
compassion was his diadem;
his glory was the gentle tear;
humility, his purple garb;
the healing hand, his royal orb.”

Servanthood,
compassion,
empathy,
humility,
healing,
love –
this is the essence of Christ’s reign –
this is the essence of Jesus’ prayer,
offering us another way:

“Now in the latter days you call,
O Christ, and plead the premise clear,
that power grasped is none at all,
and serving shows your Spirit near.
As nations clash and wisdom wanes,
as glories tempt and greed sustains,
you bid us choose in ev’ry hour
the pow’r of love, the greatest pow’r,
that love may herald God’s domain,
and you, at last, may come to reign.”

It is to this way that we are called as witnesses
“to the ends of the earth” –
embodying the servanthood, compassion, empathy,
humility, healing, and love
of the one who first prays
for us.