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Pray Like Jesus
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We've been in a series called Pray Like Jesus, looking at moments where we overhear the way Jesus prays. Tonight we return to John 17, where Jesus prays directly for his disciples—and for us.
"My prayer is not for them alone. I pray also for those who will believe in me through their message... Father, I want those you have given me to be with me where I am and to see my glory." (John 17)
How great is it to be prayed for? Knowing someone is praying for you is knowing that someone is thinking about you, that somebody cares.
I experienced this in a special way almost a year ago in this very church. My throat had been hurting all week before I was due to lead worship, and I was terrified of voice cracks. After the service went okay, a ten-year-old boy ran up, handed me a folded sticky note, and ran off before I could even say thank you. It read: "God, please help Duttier's voice to feel better so he can sing. Amen."
That boy hadn't even been in the service—he'd been in Sunday school, where the leaders had asked the kids to think of someone and pray for them. Little did I know God would use a child to bless me that way. I felt so seen, so loved, so known. That is the impact prayer can have.
At the Last Supper, after Judas leaves to betray him, Jesus prays aloud in front of the remaining eleven disciples—with the intent that they hear it, and that we, who would believe generations later, hear it too. From this rich passage, I want to draw out three things Jesus prays for us.
"I pray also that all of them may be one, Father, just as you are in me and I am in you. May they also be in us so that the world may believe that you have sent me." (John 17:21)
Jesus prays for unity with each other across all time, and for unity with God—inviting us into the eternal relationship of Father, Son, and Spirit. This unity is the evidence of Jesus' divinity to the world.
That means:
How good is our evidence looking? What witness is it if we run away from God's people even while running toward God?
Throughout university, I tried to get as close to God and as far from his church as possible. I turned up late, left early, spoke to one person out of obligation. I thought, it's just me and Jesus—that's all I need.
Then in late 2020 I spent six months in Paris during lockdown. Churches were shut as "super-spreaders" while nightclubs stayed open. It really was just me and Jesus—and it was hard. There was no one pushing me toward him, no one for me to encourage.
One day, walking through a Paris park with my worship music paused, I overheard a couple on a bench singing a worship song I knew. I almost cried. That's what I want—to sing with people, not just alone in my headphones. I wanted to join them but didn't know how.
When I got back to the UK, I decided to press into church community, and I found myself welcomed in. I had isolated myself to be with God, but had cut myself off from the very place he says he dwells. Relationship with God and relationship with his church is a package deal. We go further in community than we ever could alone.
As Mark said last week: "God's church doesn't have a mission—God's mission has a church." I don't want to separate myself from God's mission.
With the World Cup on, I can't resist a football illustration. Watching Ronaldo and Messi—arguably the two greatest players ever—I notice something interesting about their national teams' approaches. Portugal has, at times, said they can't just play for their star player. Argentina, by contrast, has rallied entirely around Messi: if he gets the glory, we all get the glory.
Glory shared is better than glory kept. Jesus agrees—because he shares his glory with us.
"I have given them the glory that you gave me, that they may be one as we are one... so that the world will know that you sent me and have loved them even as you have loved me." (John 17:22–23)
The glory Jesus shares is the privilege of being God's beloved—honored by him, reflecting his brightness. Jesus' greatest glory was displayed not in his miracles but on the cross, where darkness could not withstand the light of the one they tried to extinguish.
Even the Roman centurion overseeing the crucifixion—a man steeped in a culture of noble, glorious death for one's cause—was struck by what he witnessed and declared, "Truly this man was the Son of God." Jesus' glorious death was a witness to the world, and his victory over death is now our glorious inheritance.
But this glory is given to be given, not grabbed. If glory has already been given to us, there's no competition for it—it's a gift to be shared, not a trophy to hoard. We don't receive glory in order to say "look at me." The church doesn't exist to glorify the church. We exist to glorify Jesus—the one who gave us the glory is also worthy of the glory he gave.
Over these weeks we've heard Jesus invites us to know God as Father, and to know Jesus as friend. All of this is about learning to relate to God—to commune with him, to draw close, to know him.
"Father, I want those you have given me to be with me where I am and to see my glory, the glory you have given me because you loved me before the creation of the world." (John 17:24)
Jesus wants us. He didn't have to say this—but he did. It echoes John 14: "My father's house has many rooms... I go to prepare a place for you... that you also may be where I am."
This reminds me of a kid I knew at school named Ollie, who once boasted, "My dad's going to build the sports hall." We didn't believe him—kids say things. But construction started, scaffolding went up, and his family's name appeared on the signs. It really was his dad.
Later he invited me to his house, and when I arrived my jaw hit the floor—glass panels floor to ceiling, a house the size of our school. Your dad can build, bro.
I think Jesus knows we'll react the same way when we finally see his glory. You think the mountains and oceans are beautiful? My Father made that. Wait until you see what I've prepared for you. Jesus isn't boasting out of arrogance—when you love someone, you hold nothing back from them. Here on earth we only see the tip of the iceberg of his glory, but he longs for the day of full disclosure, when he will have nothing to hide and everything to reveal.
It's nice to be wanted. It's even better to be known.
I grew up singing a kids' song: "Jesus, you're my superhero... better than Superman, better than Batman, better than Barbie." There's truth in it—Jesus rescues us, saves us, redeems us from the pit.
But consider: how many superheroes, after saving people, work to develop real relationship with those they saved? Superman, Spider-Man, Batman—each hid his true identity. Jesus is different. With him there's no alter ego, no hiding, because he desires to be known by us.
Jesus opens this prayer by defining eternal life itself:
"Now this is eternal life: that they know you, the only true God, and Jesus Christ, whom you have sent." (John 17:3)
The knowledge that saves isn't mere facts or intellect—it's a deeper knowing of the person of Jesus. He who knows everything about you calls you to know everything you can about him.
Have you ever asked, what is God's will for my life? Jesus' will, laid out plainly in this prayer, is that you know him—and let yourself be known by him.
Timothy Keller once said:
"To be loved but not known is comforting but superficial. To be known and not loved is our greatest fear."
In Jesus, we are both fully known and fully loved—and invited into that same deeply fulfilling relationship.
What's laid before us is an invitation to active participation: in witness as a unified church, in God's shared glory, and in intimate relationship with Jesus. As we come to the table, this is our chance to opt in to all that Jesus has prayed for us.
