#ChristianUnity

2026-01-27

Pope Leo XIV Highlights Synodality as a Path for Ecumenism

The pontiff looked back to the 1700th anniversary of the Council of Nicaea in 2025. Pope Leo XIV…
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newsbeep.com/375021/

Intentional Faithmhoggin@pastorhogg.net
2026-01-12

When Love Becomes the Mission

A Day in the Life

There are moments in the life of Jesus that feel almost too holy to touch, and John 17 is one of them. We are allowed to listen in as the Son speaks to the Father just hours before the cross. The room is heavy with the knowledge of what is coming, yet Jesus does not pray for escape, strength, or even for His own relief. Instead, He prays something that still unsettles me: “That they all may be one, as You, Father, are in Me, and I in You; that they also may be one in Us, that the world may believe that You sent Me.” The Greek word He uses for “one” is ἕν (hen), meaning a unity so complete it forms a single reality. Jesus ties the credibility of His entire redemptive mission to whether His followers love each other well enough to live as one. That tells me something deeply uncomfortable and deeply hopeful at the same time.

I often imagine what it must have been like for the disciples to hear that prayer. They had just been arguing about greatness, misunderstanding Jesus, and jockeying for position. And yet, knowing all that, Jesus did not pray that they would be smarter, braver, or more disciplined. He prayed they would be united in love. That alone reveals how God views human relationships as part of His redemptive strategy. Scripture repeatedly links how we treat each other to how God advances His mission in the world. Jesus had already said, “Whoever receives the one I send receives Me” (John 13:20), and “Whatever you did for one of the least of these…you did for Me” (Matthew 25:40). Love between people is never merely social; it is sacramental. It becomes a visible sign of an invisible grace.

The Old Testament confirms this same pattern. Malachi tells us that God desires a husband and wife to live in covenant unity so that they might raise a “godly seed” (Malachi 2:14–15). The Hebrew phrase זֶרַע אֱלֹהִים (zera Elohim) refers not merely to biological children but to offspring shaped by faithfulness to God. God was not just protecting marriages for emotional reasons; He was protecting His mission. A fractured home produces fractured faith, but a faithful union becomes fertile soil for redemption to grow. In the same way, Paul tells us that the church is the body of Christ, and that a body at war with itself cannot function (1 Corinthians 12:12). We cannot be on mission with God while we are emotionally, spiritually, or relationally divided from one another.

What strikes me most in Jesus’ prayer is what He does not say. He does not ask the Father to give His disciples courage, clarity, or endurance. Those things matter, but Jesus understood something deeper. Unity is not a byproduct of faith; it is evidence of faith. Augustine once wrote, “Where there is charity and wisdom, there is neither fear nor ignorance.” When love governs our relationships, fear loses its grip and the gospel gains its voice. Jesus knew that the world would never be persuaded by our theology alone; it would be convinced by our love. “By this all people will know that you are My disciples, if you have love for one another” (John 13:35). Love is not merely the fruit of discipleship; it is the proof of it.

This brings me to a sobering realization. I cannot honestly say that I love God deeply while excusing myself from loving His people faithfully. John puts it bluntly: “Whoever does not love his brother whom he has seen cannot love God whom he has not seen” (1 John 4:20). That verse dismantles many of my spiritual loopholes. I may feel sincere devotion in prayer or worship, but if I am unwilling to forgive, reconcile, or show patience with others, something is broken. As theologian N. T. Wright observes, “The gospel creates a new family, not just new individuals.” God is not merely saving isolated souls; He is forming a reconciled people whose shared life becomes a living testimony to the world.

This is why Jesus’ prayer in John 17 is not sentimental; it is strategic. Unity among believers is not optional for God’s mission; it is essential. When we live in love, the gospel becomes visible. When we harbor resentment, division, or contempt, we distort the message we claim to proclaim. I have to ask myself, sometimes uncomfortably, whether my relationships are making Christ more believable or less believable to those who are watching. The world does not need a more sophisticated church; it needs a more loving one.

As I walk through this prayer of Jesus, I realize that unity is not something I achieve by trying harder. It is something I receive by staying close to Christ. He prays that we would be one “in Us,” meaning our unity flows from our shared life in the Father and the Son. The more deeply I abide in Jesus, the more naturally I begin to love those He loves. That is how God’s redemptive mission quietly advances, one healed relationship at a time.

For further reading on Christian unity and its witness to the world, see this article from Christianity Today:
https://www.christianitytoday.com/ct/2015/october-web-only/why-christian-unity-matters.html

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Intentional Faithmhoggin@pastorhogg.net
2025-12-23

When “Jesus Only” Becomes About Me

On Second Thought

Advent is a season that invites the Church to slow down, to wait, and to examine not only what we believe about Christ, but how we belong to Him together. The candles we light do not merely mark time until Christmas; they expose shadows we often ignore. One of those shadows appears in an unexpected place—our insistence that we are “only of Christ.” The apostle Paul addresses this tension directly when he writes, “And ye are Christ’s; and Christ is God’s” (1 Corinthians 3:23). At first glance, that statement seems to validate any claim of exclusive spiritual allegiance. Yet in context, Paul is doing the opposite. He is dismantling factional pride, not sanctifying it.

The Corinthian church was fractured along personality lines. Some rallied behind Paul, others behind Apollos, still others behind Cephas. But Paul reveals a deeper irony: there was even a “Christ clique.” These believers claimed superior devotion by rejecting all human teachers outright. On the surface, their slogan sounded holy. Who could argue with “Jesus Only”? And yet Paul sees through it. What masqueraded as purity was often little more than spiritual self-preference. These believers did not want Christ above all; they wanted Christ on their own terms, unmediated, uncontested, and unchallenged.

This temptation has not faded with time. It has simply learned new language. “I don’t follow men.” “I just read my Bible.” “I don’t need preaching.” While each statement may contain a kernel of truth, together they can form a posture of isolation disguised as devotion. The reflection’s image of “spoiled children in the marketplace” echoes Jesus’ own words in Matthew 11—children who refuse to dance or mourn unless the tune suits them. Faith becomes consumer-driven rather than Christ-shaped. Like safety matches that strike only on their own box, such believers can ignite nothing beyond themselves.

Paul’s corrective is both humbling and liberating. “For all things are yours; whether Paul, or Apollos, or Cephas…” (1 Corinthians 3:21–22). Notice the reversal. We do not belong to our favorite teachers; they belong to the Church under Christ. Paul plants, Apollos waters, but God gives the increase. The Greek verb auxanō (αὐξάνω), “to grow,” underscores that spiritual growth is not manufactured by personality or originality but bestowed by God. When we reject God’s instruments in the name of Christ, we may actually be resisting the very means God intends to use for our growth.

Advent sharpens this truth. Christ comes not only to save individuals but to form a people. He is born into a lineage, raised in a community, taught in synagogues, and followed by disciples who do not always agree with one another. The incarnation itself rejects spiritual minimalism. God does not drop revelation from heaven in isolation; He enters history, culture, and shared life. To claim Christ while dismissing His servants is to misunderstand how God chooses to work.

The anecdote about changing denominations “like labels on an empty bottle” stings because it exposes a deeper issue. Movement does not guarantee growth. Constant dissatisfaction may reveal not discernment, but a refusal to be formed. The problem is not changing churches when conscience demands it; the problem is mistaking novelty for faithfulness. Advent teaches us to wait, not to wander endlessly. To stay, to listen, to be shaped—even when the voice is not our preference—is often the harder and holier path.

The warning is firm: “Don’t dare to use the name of Christ to hide a dog-in-the-manger spirit.” That phrase captures a posture that neither feeds nor allows others to feed. It withholds joy, resents influence, and spiritualizes stubbornness. Such a spirit fractures the body Christ came to heal. Paul, Apollos, and Cephas are all “of Christ.” To reject them wholesale is not loyalty to Jesus; it is resistance to His gifts.

On Second Thought

Here is the paradox Advent presses upon us: claiming Christ alone can sometimes distance us from Christ Himself. We assume that purity lies in subtraction—fewer voices, fewer influences, fewer commitments. Yet the gospel consistently moves in the opposite direction. Christ does not isolate; He gathers. He does not narrow grace to a single channel; He multiplies loaves and distributes them through many hands. On second thought, the issue in Corinth was not that people loved their leaders too much, but that they loved themselves too much to be taught by anyone who did not mirror them.

What if the Christ we await this Advent is not impressed by our slogans but attentive to our posture? What if belonging to Christ means learning to receive from His servants without turning them into idols—or rejecting them out of pride? Paul’s words unsettle us because they deny us the comfort of spiritual self-sufficiency. We are Christ’s, yes—but that very belonging binds us to one another. Christ does not come merely to affirm my faith; He comes to reshape it through community, correction, and shared hope.

Waiting for Christ, then, is not passive. It requires humility. It asks whether we are open to being planted and watered in ways we did not choose. It challenges us to distinguish discernment from disdain, conviction from control. Advent reminds us that Christ arrives through unexpected means—a manger, a mother, shepherds, teachers, and a flawed Church still learning how to belong. On second thought, perhaps the truest confession is not “Jesus only,” but “Jesus, even when He comes through others.”

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Intentional Faithmhoggin@pastorhogg.net
2025-11-25

Kept in the Father’s Name

A Day in the Life of Jesus

As I sit with John 17:6–12 this morning, I’m struck by the tenderness in Jesus’ voice as He lifts His disciples before the Father. This prayer is often called the “High Priestly Prayer,” not just because of its structure, but because it reveals the very heart of our Lord on the night before His crucifixion. Jesus is no longer teaching crowds, healing the sick, or confronting the religious leaders—He is interceding. And the amazing truth is that He is interceding for His own, for the people entrusted to Him by the Father.

There is something deeply moving about hearing Jesus say to the Father, “They were always Yours.” Before any of us knew His name, before we ever prayed a prayer or took our first step toward faith, we belonged to God. Jesus is reminding the Father—and reminding us—of this eternal belonging. I find comfort in the fact that my identity is not something I created; it is something I received. My life in Christ isn’t a product of my performance, but of God’s gracious initiative.

Jesus continues by saying, “I have told these men all about You.” As I reflect on that sentence, I hear Jesus speaking not only to the disciples gathered around Him but to every believer who has come to Him in faith. Jesus has revealed the Father to us. He has shown us the Father’s character, His will, His compassion, His holiness. Everything I know about God that truly matters, I know because Jesus showed it to me. This is why later, in John 14, Jesus says, “Anyone who has seen Me has seen the Father.” It is through Jesus’ life and teaching that the fog surrounding God’s nature clears and the Father’s heart comes into focus.

Jesus then prays something even more astonishing: “All of them, since they are mine, belong to You; and You have given them back to Me…and so they are My glory.” He calls His disciples—ordinary men with fears, failures, and flaws—His glory. It’s a surprising description, but it tells us something essential: Jesus is glorified not by spectacular miracles alone, but by the faithfulness of those who follow Him. Our obedience honors Him. Our trust glorifies Him. Our perseverance through the world’s pressures magnifies His grace. And our lives, shaped by His presence, become testimonies of His redeeming work.

When Jesus says He is “leaving the world,” He is preparing His disciples for a new reality: His physical departure and their spiritual commission. But He doesn’t leave them to their own strength. Instead, He prays, “Holy Father, keep them in Your own care…so that they will be united just as we are.” Here is the heart of the prayer: keep them. Guard them. Hold them. Unite them. Jesus knows where they are going to live—in the world, a system opposed to God’s purposes. The same world that rejected Him will resist them. So Jesus prays for protection rooted not in isolation but in union—with the Father and with one another.

That brings me to the study’s key idea: we are in the world, but not of it.
Jesus never prayed that His disciples would escape the world; He prayed that they would be kept faithful within it. The world, as Scripture describes it, is not merely a place—it’s a system of values that opposes God. It is driven by power instead of humility, deceit instead of truth, self-will instead of surrender. The apostle John would later write, “The whole world lies in the power of the evil one” (1 John 5:19). And Paul describes Satan as “the god of this age” (2 Corinthians 4:4). The world is not neutral ground; it is contested territory.

Being in this world means we are constantly navigating pressures that would dilute our faith or distort our identity. I find myself asking: Am I letting the world define who I am? Or am I letting Christ define me? The study reminds us that Satan wants to neutralize or destroy us. Not always through dramatic attacks—often through slow, subtle drift. A divided heart here, a neglected prayer life there, a compromise in integrity that seems small in the moment. But Jesus’ prayer is a reminder that we are watched over by the Father Himself. We do not walk through a hostile world alone.

Jesus says, “During My time here I have kept safe within Your family all of these You gave Me. I guarded them so that not one perished.” What a picture of the Savior’s heart! Jesus doesn’t simply call us—He keeps us. He doesn’t simply teach us—He shepherds us. He doesn’t simply save us—He guards us. And now, as He returns to the Father, He entrusts us to the ongoing care of the Holy Father so that we may remain united and faithful.

Even the reference to Judas, described as “the son of hell,” is sobering. Judas walked with Jesus, heard His teaching, witnessed His miracles—but his heart was not aligned with Christ. He chose the world’s values. His betrayal warns me that proximity to Jesus is not the same as loyalty to Him. I can sit in church, read Scripture, and say all the right things, and yet allow parts of my heart to drift toward the world’s allure. Jesus’ prayer calls me back. It reminds me that love for the world and love for Christ cannot coexist in the same space.

I appreciate how the study describes the world as a system typified by Satan—power, deceit, and self-will. That’s exactly what Judas embraced. And it’s exactly what Jesus rescues us from. When Jesus prays for our protection, He is praying for our hearts to be guarded from these subtle corruptions. He is praying for courage to resist what is false, for clarity to recognize lies, and for strength to choose obedience even when it is costly.

I find hope in the fact that Jesus makes this prayer before the disciples have fully understood Him or fully obeyed Him. They are still imperfect, still confused, still vulnerable. And yet Jesus prays confidently: “They have obeyed You…they accepted My words…they believe You sent Me.” Jesus sees the truest parts of our hearts, the seeds He has planted, the faith He is nurturing—and He brings that before the Father. When I am painfully aware of my shortcomings, Jesus is lovingly aware of my growth. When I fear failure, Jesus celebrates faithfulness. When I struggle with weakness, Jesus is praying strength over me.

As I navigate my own life in this world—with responsibilities, temptations, news cycles, anxieties, expectations—I return to this truth: Christ has prayed for me. And the Father has honored His prayer. When I feel overwhelmed, I remind myself that Jesus’ intercession is not a relic of the past; it is the rhythm of the present. Hebrews 7:25 reminds us, “He always lives to intercede for them.” That includes today. That includes this moment.

This passage also reminds me that Jesus desires our unity. Not a shallow uniformity, but a spiritual oneness rooted in the character of the Trinity. Jesus says, “so that they will be united just as we are.” The unity of the Father and Son is characterized by love, mutual honor, self-giving, humility, and shared mission. That is the unity we are invited into. When I see division among believers—or in my own heart toward others—I know it does not reflect Christ’s prayer.

Living in the world, I will face pressures to withdraw, isolate, judge, or compete. But Jesus’ prayer calls me to something higher: to remain united, supported, gracious, and anchored to the Father’s love. This unity is not simply a command; it is a miracle produced by Christ’s intercession and the Spirit’s power.

As I walk through this day, I carry Jesus’ words with me:
“Holy Father, keep them in Your care.”
That is His prayer over my life. It is His prayer over your life. And it is His prayer that will carry us through every confrontation with the world’s values, every spiritual battle, and every fear of failure.

 

A Blessing for Your Walk Today

May the Lord who keeps you never sleep nor slumber. May the Father’s care surround you, the Son’s intercession strengthen you, and the Holy Spirit’s presence guide you. As you walk in a world resistant to God, may you be rooted in the love of Christ, guarded from the schemes of the enemy, and led in unity with God’s people. May your heart remain faithful, your identity secure, and your steps aligned with the One who has prayed for you.

 

Relevant Article for Further Study

A thoughtful reflection on Christian unity and protection from Christianity Today:
https://www.christianitytoday.com/ct/2022/january-web-only/jesus-prayer-john-17-christian-unity.html

 

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2025-08-04

Join Pastor Tim as we think about living as those demonstrating #ChristianUnity. youtu.be/0Z9fEIF0wpk

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