“That they may all be one, just as You, Father, are in Me, and I in You…” John 17:21.

In Gethsemane, Christ did not pray for comfort. He prayed for communion. This anguished plea—uttered in sweat and sorrow—was His deepest longing for us, His spiritual children. It was not a theological footnote; it was a sacred ache.

Yet over the centuries, from the Reformation and the English Martyrs to the recent GAFCON division, we have become—as Isaiah laments—“like the breaking of a potter’s vessel that is smashed so ruthlessly” (Isaiah 30:14). Still, our Blessed Lord has given us prophetic tools: balm for wounds, instruments of healing. Among them, music remains one of the most powerful.

Even amid confessional differences, music bridges the gap. I was invited to a historic service at Westminster Abbey on 17 September 2010—the first time a Pope prayed publicly in England with the Archbishop of Canterbury. Pope Benedict XVI and Dr Rowan Williams, then Archbishop of Canterbury, shared the Rite of Welcome and Exchange of Peace, prayed together at the Shrine of St Edward the Confessor, and pronounced a joint blessing. As the Abbey’s official account recalls: “This was the first time that a Pope had visited the Abbey and prayed alongside the Archbishop of Canterbury”. It was not just ecumenical diplomacy; it was Pentecost made visible. The Holy Spirit—the heart and heat of divine encounter—was alive and at work in our ecclesial communities.

Pope Benedict was so moved by the Tallis anthem and the prayers at the Shrine that he later invited the Westminster Abbey Choir to sing with the Sistine Chapel Choir at the Papal Mass in St Peter’s Basilica on 29 June 2012—marking the Solemnity of Saints Peter and Paul. It was the first time in the Sistine Chapel Choir’s 500-year history that it had sung alongside another choir during a service. Sitting in St Peter’s Basilica, watching history unfold, I was reminded of the prophetic vision in Revelation:

“And I heard every creature in heaven and on earth and under the earth and in the sea, and all that is in them, saying, ‘To Him who sits on the throne and to the Lamb be blessing and honour and glory and might forever and ever!’” — Revelation 5:13.

It is no coincidence they were singing. Music has the prophetic and artistic power to unite previously fractured communities into healing and wholeness. That day at Westminster Abbey—and again in Rome that summer—I tasted eschatological unity. It was a foretaste of heaven.

And now, in October 2025, with King Charles III and Pope Leo XIV praying together in the Sistine Chapel, we witness another milestone in sacred history. It reminds me of one of my favourite hymn lines: “Craftsman’s art and music’s measure, for Thy pleasure all combine”—from Angel Voices, Ever Singing” by Francis Pott, set to the tune ‘Angel Voices’ by Edwin George Monk. In that combining, we glimpse the unity Christ prayed for—and the harmony He still longs to see.

“Behold, I am doing a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?” Isaiah 43:19.

I offer this reflection not as a conclusion, but as a calling. For those who sing, write, teach, or pray—may your gifts be instruments of unity. For those who ache—may your story be honoured. And for those who feel unseen—may you know that the God who listens also remembers.

Imagine yourself at the Abbey that day. The incense still lingers. The choir has just finished Tallis’s ‘If Ye Love Me’. The Pope and the Archbishop kneel side by side. You are not watching history—you are part of it. And as the prayers rise, so does something ancient and new: the ache for unity, the song of reconciliation, the whisper of heaven.

As Dilexi Te affirms, “Jesus identified himself ‘with the lowest ranks of society’ and… confirms the dignity of every human being, especially when ‘they are weak, scorned, or suffering.’” In that moment of shared prayer, the Church did not speak from power, but from presence. And no note of affection, no shared harmony, is ever forgotten—especially when sung among the suffering. Music, like mercy, leaves a trace.

And how far we have come. My grandfather, a Protestant officer in the Welsh Guards, and my grandmother, a devout Roman Catholic, had to relocate to England to marry—fleeing the quiet persecution of their love. That little old lady, who died in Mosley, Surrey, shortly after a house fire, could never have imagined that her grandson would one day sit in St Peter’s Basilica at a Pontifical High Mass, having applied to study for a Master’s at a Catholic university—surrounded by the Protestant clergy of a prep school who had nurtured his musical gifts and spiritual formation. Perhaps she would not merely sing, but shout the opening line of Mary’s Magnificat:

“My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Saviour, for He has looked on the humble estate of His servant. For behold, from now on all generations will call me blessed.” Luke 1:46–48.

And indeed, we shall!

James Gordon Reid Haveloch-Jones is a British educator, mentor, and author of The Gold Standard: Coaching for Excellence.
Available to buy here: Gold Standard Coaching for Excellence.

His work spans elite institutions and grassroots outreach, blending ceremonial experience — from Westminster Abbey to global musical venues — with transformative coaching. Discover more at www.jamesgordonreid.co.uk and www.premierchristianity.com/james-gordon-reid-haveloch-jones/2988.bio

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