Reflection on John 17:1-11

When we think of glory, one of the most readily available images is that of a football quarterback who has led his team in the defeat of multiple opponents to win the season. You imagine the quarterback, lifted high by his teammates, pumping his fist in a well-deserved victory as crowds of people cheer from the stands in solidarity with their victors. 

Glory is about rising to the top.  Glory is about a hard earned win.  Glory is about defeating opponents and muscling your way through the impossible odds. 

I think you will agree, whether it is a quarterback, a king, a president, a general, a CEO, a golf legend, or some other well-deserving individual or leader, that glory is about the accomplishments of those at the top of their games.

So, if this is glory, then why did a High School football team lift the waterboy into the air as they celebrated in the locker room?  You know, the waterboy, who brings drinks to the players, who hands out towels for sweaty hands and foreheads, and who serves the team by running errands.  You cannot get much lower in the ranks of football, but after the big, public celebration on the field was over, it was the waterboy who got the glory in the locker room.  Why?

This story about the glory of the waterboy from years ago was wrangled loose from the dusty corner of my mind by this text from John.  It too has to do with “glory.”  I do not know if it struck you as you listened, but the word “glory” or “glorify” is mentioned in this text five times in just the first five verses. 

“Father, the hour has come; glorify your Son so that the Son may glorify you,” and Jesus continues, “I glorified you on earth by finishing the work that you gave me to do…Father, glorify me in your own presence with the glory that I had in your presence before the world existed.”

There is a lot of glory going on here, but Jesus’ situation looks nothing like a conquering king returning from the blood stained fields of battle, trampling over the bodies of his enemy.  No, rather the situation is one in which Jesus is suffering words of hatred from those who despise him, suffering betrayal and abandonment by those who love him, and suffering death in the most publicly humiliating form that the Romans had devised to date; death on a cross. 

There would appear to be nothing glorious about any of this, unless God has a different idea of glory than any of us understand.

You see, if people were raised up on shoulders and celebrated with shouts from the crowds in the kingdom of heaven, they would be those who stoop down to love one another, as Jesus commanded. 

They would be those who bend down like a cheaply paid intern who kisses…I mean…wash other people’s feet.  They would be the ones who are closest to the ground, closest to the smell of fear and pain and death.  They would be the ones who join in the suffering of others, because Jesus entered into the world of suffering so that he might grasp onto those who are low, and never let go. 

“All mine are yours, and yours are mine; and I have been glorified in them…” Jesus urgently prays.  “Holy Father, protect them in your name that you have given me, so that they may be one, as we are one.”

In the kingdom of God, glory is not found in the one who defeats through raw strength and destruction.  Instead, glory is found in the one who enters into the pain and death of the world. 

Jesus is worthy of glory because he does not shy away when you scream out in frustration. 

Jesus is worthy of glory because he does not back away when you cry out at the loss this world inflicts on you. 

Jesus is worthy of glory because he willingly carries our sins, the worst, most shameful parts of us, to the cross so that they can die with him. 

Jesus is worthy of glory, not because he tromps over death and suffering, but because he chooses to enter into it with us, and in doing so, he redeems it.  

In Jesus Christ, death does not get the last word, resurrection does.  But, resurrection could not come if the savoir of the world were to refuse to be a part of the pain and suffering like a CEO who ignores the grueling conditions that his company inflicts on others and blindly flies over the slums surrounding the neighborhood in his private jet. 

Jesus cares too much for that.  He loves too much for that.  Jesus promises, “You are mine.”  That is what glory looks like.  That is what being raised up looks like.  It looks like a cross.

Maybe it was the notes that the waterboy would leave that raised him up.  Once the quarterback found a note in his locker after suffered a devastating loss because of an interception.  The quarterback could hear the taunts drifting down from the stands before the game was even over.  As he opened the waterboy’s note, he read, “One stumble does not define you, it makes you.  And, you are still miles better than last year’s quarterback.” 

The waterboy was the one who was there, wrapping the bum knee with words of support.  He was there cleaning up, saying good job when the team felt anything but good.  He was the one who was there when everyone was at their lowest. 

He was the one who understood what glory was all about.  He was Christ’s teammate in that football season.  He was the one who taught everyone Jesus’ understanding of glory.

Maybe, in this time of pandemic, fear, and frustration, we will find glory, not in the glaring defeat of invisible viruses (though that would be nice), but in the love and service offered to the vulnerable.  Maybe, glory will be found when we enter into one another’s pain, bearing an armful of love.  And, when we do, Jesus will pray, “They were yours, and you gave them to me, and they have kept your word…All mine are yours, and yours are mine; and I have been glorified in them…Holy Father, protect them in your name that you have given me, so that they may be one, as we are one.”