I will admit my head starts to spin a little when reading the concluding section of Jesus’ farewell discourse assigned for this Sunday. The circuitous back and forth of glory to glorified, of being in the world and not of the world, the coming and the going now that the hour has come. But then Jesus lands, summing it all up with communion: so that they may be one, as You and I are one.

What does this mean to you? What do you preach to convey, not explain, this oneness Jesus describes? How do you impart that this is the starting place and the destination, the beginning and the ending, the place where we abide?

I used to hear this phrase and picture the Buddha under the Bodhi tree. Oneness was enlightenment, a state to work towards, the goal of the spiritual life. I have not entirely let go of that achievement-oriented mindset, (I’m working on it) but I do not think that is what Jesus is taking about. He is, once again, describing what is. The kingdom of God within us. The truth of who we really are. The “true self” Thomas Merton refers to, and that we so often forget.

And this is what I picture now. An experiment that gets to the heart of this intuitive truth – we are wired for connection (i.e. Brené Brown). Wired for that communion with the one who created us, from our very beginning.

The video gets hard to watch, doesn’t it? I often show it when I’m teaching Brown’s work through The Daring Way, explaining what “wired for connection” means. Invariably, when I do, someone responds with something to the effect of, “How could a mother do that?” How could a mother intentionally and visibly disconnect from her child? I understand the critical sounding questions. Even though I know, as I’m sure she did, the value of documenting the phenomenon. Experiential learning is hard, it can hurt. Not just parents know that. It’s the learning that transforms you when you let it, because you have to feel your way through.

We sure are feeling our way through connection and disconnection these days. In our line of work we keep reminding people to “stay connected” and “be church.” We know that church is not a building. We know that our connections through virtual gatherings are real. When I want to describe how I am experiencing our current reality in the midst of this pandemic, I say “I feel like I am living in the upside down and more attuned to what is really real.” (thank you Stranger Things).

Connection is real when people, in various kinds of conversation, normalize what we are all going through. The swirls and upheavals of our internal landscapes. The hope and gratitude and joy that is discovered every day. The sadness and grief and heartache at what we cannot do every day; to mark events, to celebrate milestones, to sing together or give someone a hug. To be together. Period.

When I have those conversations, when I’m honest with myself about how hard this is, when I read and pray words of ancient scripture that reflect those underlying emotional realities, despite the difference in time and place, I feel connected to that which is greater than me, the really real. I hear Jesus’ faith that we are one. One with God, one with each other. That’s the way it always is, and the way it always will be. And I can smile big and broad like that mom, or that baby, in that video, hearing Julian of Norwich say it in her way, “all will be well.”

And when disconnection happens, when anxiety and over-functioning, are driving me away from what is really real I want to arch my back and throw a temper tantrum. The disconnection of being unmoored, unhinged, of not being able to get what I want or what I am used to. Reality blankly stares me in the face, expressionless saying, “Yep, this is the way things are. This is the way its gonna be for awhile.”

So I re-center, re-align which usually involves letting go of something. A task, an outcome, control of some kind, choosing to give myself permission to sink back into the upside down and seek some connection with the really real. I find the Oneness in the eyes of my child. In the eyes of a person on a Zoom screen. I find communion in silence and solitude. I feel some blessed assurance when I turn all the screens off and stare at a tree, giving thanks for their witness and wisdom.

How about you, my preaching friend? Where do you connect and find support for staying connected? How do you live into this relational indwelling Jesus tells us is our wiring? What is it that makes you smile big and broad right now through tears? We are not our buildings. Communion is more than consecrated food. It is our home, where we abide.