Unity is something to which we pay lip-service but often shy away from in practice, at least as regards its more demanding aspects. A nice, cosy feeling of togetherness on some issue or other, that’s fine; a vague agreement on some basic principles that doesn’t demand any radical reassessment of how we go about things, no problem; but unity of the kind today’s antiphon urges? Perhaps not. Let’s remind ourselves what we pray for today:
Rex Gentium, et desideratus earum, lapisque angularis, qui facis utraque unum: veni, et salva hominem, quem de limo formasti.
O King of the Nations for whom they long, the corner-stone who makes of both one, come and deliver man whom you made from clay.
This is a prayer for us gentile Christians, who have been grafted on to the Jewish rootstock through the gracious action of God. We have come late to the Covenant but have been welcomed into it through the blood of Christ. We are frail vessels of clay, but in Jesus Christ, we find the strength of the corner-stone who makes us one. Our prayer is accordingly short and stark: come and deliver us!
Why should our prayer be so simple? I think it is because in this antiphon, as in no other, we are confronted with our own need. The prayer is wrenched out of us, as it were. We may have difficulty with the idea of God as King; we may be hazy about what that meant in Old Testament times; we may stumble over the idea of desiring God, longing for him — it seems so unBritish to allow any emotion to enter our religion, doesn’t it?— even if we concede that unity, wholeness, especially at the personal level, makes sense and is desirable. But this prayer is for something more, it is for a unity that goes beyond the merely functional to the essential. Ultimately, what we are asking is not merely unity in Christ but union with Christ — and that is scary. It means entrusting ourselves to God wholly and for ever, and most of us are frightened of that.
Today we look around the world and see everywhere the signs and consequences of disunity. The rise of nationalism and the disintegration of many of the old political entities has implications for us all, wherever we live. Even in the Church there is bitterness and feuding. In the West, the possibilities opened up by the internet and Social Media have not always been used positively. It is easy to lament what we have lost and indulge in a kind of après nous le déluge nostalgia. The idea of consensus, of working towards a common goal, of sharing ideals and aspirations, may not be as strong as it once was. That does not mean, however, that we are condemned to live in isolation or in little bubbles of like-mindedness. Today’s O antiphon reminds us that we are made of clay. Think of the possibilities that implies. Clay moulded and fired makes excellent brick, and brick laid carefully makes a strong building. When God created Adam from clay, he knew what he was doing; and in Jesus Christ, the new Adam, he has given us a glimpse of what we can become, indeed already are, united with and to him:
I am all at once what Christ is, ‘ since he was what I am, and
This Jack, joke, poor potsherd, ‘ patch, matchwood, immortal diamond,
Is immortal diamond. (G. M. Hopkins)