I grew up in northern Minnesota. A contented country girl, I often looked up at the clouds on perfect summer days, and enjoyed my private game of making sense of the cloud formations – fitting the shapes into stories concocted by my own imagination. The first deacon, Stephen, had a vision, not a flight of fancy, when he saw Jesus, at the Father’s right hand, coming for him in martyrdom.
Stephen in Acts and the Book of Revelations offers us a vision of heaven that is glorious, that is healing, that is life-giving. Then, Jesus, in Sunday’s Gospel, completes that vision with his prayer for unity – “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.”
The natural question is: What would “unity” look like in answer to Jesus’ prayer? Unity is not equivalent to perfection, but it certainly leads to it!
At home, dialogue, discussion, consideration, respect, courtesy, and sharing faith would certainly be hallmarks. Teens, in their desire to become independent, would still work with their parents to develop acceptable boundaries, but would not be defiant if they did not get their way. Families would look outside of their homes to the needs of others less fortunate.
At school, the “isms” would be broken down – no racism, no sexism, no “clique-ism”, and no other “isms”. Teachers and students would respect each other’s dignity and work to preserve it. There would be no put downs, no “baggin”, no unkindness. There would be common courtesy, sincere concern for each other, and real interest in the lives of friends and acquaintances alike. I’m sure everyone could further develop the “unity vision”, and should work at doing so.
The next logical question is: “How does this unity come about?” It takes some work to live out the Gospel call, because our human nature often leads us in other less desirable areas. First we have to desire the blessings of unity in our lives and then we have to work at it. An artist, painting with oil, will, almost certainly, make a mistake in putting the creative vision on a canvass. When that happens, rather than destroying the canvass, the artist will just slap a wide band of white across what has been done, and start over. Life is like that, we paint with the broad stroke of unity on our personal canvass, and when we mess up, we paint over our weakness with sorrow and contrition, and try again. Our loving God provides the grace we need to try and try again:
Give me all you are
I will make you more
All you ought to be