Gospel of Jesus Christ according to Saint John

John 11:45–57

⁴⁵Many of the Jews who had come to Mary and Martha and had seen what Jesus did believed in him. ⁴⁶But some of them went to the Pharisees and told them what Jesus had done. ⁴⁷The pontiffs and the Pharisees then assembled the Sanhedrin and said, «What shall we do? For this man performs many miracles. ⁴⁸If we let him continue, everyone will believe in him, and the Romans will come and destroy our city and our nation.» ⁴⁹One of them, Caiaphas, who was high priest that year, said to them: ⁵⁰«"You understand nothing about it; you don't realize that it is in your interest that one man dies for the people and that the whole nation not perish."" ⁵¹He did not say this of his own accord, but as high priest that year, he prophesied that Jesus would die for the nation ⁵²and not only for the nation, but also to gather into one body the children of God who are scattered abroad. ⁵³From that day on, they decided on how to kill him. ⁵⁴That is why Jesus no longer appeared in public among the Jews, but with Drew to the region near the desert, to a town called Ephrem, and there he stayed with his disciples. ⁵⁵However, the Jewish Passover was near, and many went up from that region to Jerusalem before Passover to purify themselves. ⁵⁶They were looking for Jesus and were saying to one another, standing in the temple, «What do you think? Do you think he will not come to the festival?» Now the pontiffs and the Pharisees had given orders that if anyone knew where he was, he should report it, so that they might arrest him.

At that time, when Lazarus was lifted from the tomb, many of those who had come with Mary and seen what Jesus did believed in him. But some went and told the Pharisees what had happened. The chief priests and the Pharisees called a meeting of the Sanhedrin. They said, «What are we doing? This man is performing many miracles. If we let him continue, everyone will believe in him, and the Romans will come and destroy both our temple and our nation.» One of them, Caiaphas, who was high priest that year, said to them, «You know nothing! Don’t you see that it is better for one man to die for the people than for the whole nation to perish?» He did not say this on his own. But as high priest that year, he prophesied that Jesus would die for the nation, and not only for that nation but also to gather God’s scattered children. From that day on, they plotted to kill him. Therefore, Jesus stopped moving about publicly among the Jews and withdrew to the region near the desert, to the town of Ephraim, where he stayed with his disciples. The Jewish Passover was approaching, and many people were going up from the countryside to Jerusalem to purify themselves before the festival. They were looking for Jesus and asking each other in the temple courts, «What do you think? Will he come to the festival?» The chief priests and the Pharisees had given orders that anyone who knew where he was should report it so that he could be arrested.

Gathering what is scattered: the death of a man who opens his arms to the world

How Caiaphas's unintentional prophecy reveals the universal heart of Christ's mission and the path to unity for every baptized person

There are moments in history when men who want to extinguish a flame unwittingly spread it. Caiaphas, the calculating high priest, utters what sounds like cold political reasoning— One man must die for the nation to survive — and the evangelist John immediately whispers in our ear: he did not know what he was saying. This passage from John 11:45–57, situated at the decisive turning point of the Gospel, is an invitation to read human history on two levels simultaneously: that of the conspiracy of the powerful, and that of God's plan to gather, through the cross, all the scattered children. It is for every believer seeking to understand why the Church exists and what Christian unity means.

We will begin with the text itself, placed within the dramatic tension of John 11, to uncover the logic of the involuntary prophecy—this strange mechanism where God speaks through those who resist him. We will then explore three major themes: dispersion as a diagnosis of the human condition, the death of Christ as an act of gathering, and the Church as the visible place of this promised unity. We will see how these truths are concretely reflected in our lives, our communities, and our fractured era—before concluding with a prayer and a call to action.

The text in its context: an irrevocable turning point in the Gospel of John

John 11 is one of the most dramatic chapters in the New Testament. Jesus has just raised Lazarus from the dead—the seventh and final great «sign» in the book of signs. The reaction is immediate and polarized: Many believed in him, But others ran to report the event to the Pharisees. This division is not accidental in John's Gospel. Throughout his Gospel, the signs performed by Jesus provoke this fracture: light or darkness, faith or rejection, life or death. The resurrection of Lazarus brings this logic to its climax.

The Sanhedrin convened urgently. The opening sentence of their deliberations is revealing: «"This man performs a great number of signs."» They do not deny the facts. They do not seek to refute the reality of the miracle. Their problem is political: if the crowd continues to follow Jesus, the Romans will intervene, the Temple will be destroyed, and the nation will lose what little autonomy it has left. This is the reasoning of someone in charge, managing short-term risks. Caiaphas, irritated by what he perceives as collective incompetence, makes a decisive move: «"It is better that one man die for the people."»

John is careful to specify that Caiaphas is the high priest. that year — a formula which in the Jewish context simply means that he exercises the function, but which the evangelist colors with a prophetic nuance: the priestly function carries within itself, even when exercised by an unworthy man, a capacity to articulate divine truth. This is Johannine irony at its highest degree.

Jean comments: This was not only for the nation, but also to gather into unity the scattered children of God. This gloss by the evangelist is theologically explosive. It broadens the scope of Jesus' death to universality. nation (Israel) is only the first circle; the second, larger one, is that of all God's children scattered throughout the world and throughout time. We hear the echo of Ezekiel 34 (the shepherd who gathers the scattered sheep), of Isaiah 49 (the light of the nations), and of Psalm 22 (all the peoples of the earth will gather before him).

The passage closes with a striking image: Jesus withdraws to the desert region of Ephraim. This withdrawal is not a fearful flight—it is a retreat, a moment of reflection before the decisive hour. Passover is approaching. Pilgrims are going up to Jerusalem to purify themselves. And in the Temple, people are searching for Jesus, wondering if he will truly come. The tension is palpable. The arrest is decided. The machinery of conspiracy is set in motion. And yet, John has already given us the key to understanding: what is about to happen is not a defeat. It is a gathering.

Unintentional prophecy: when God speaks through the mouths of his adversaries

There is something deeply disturbing about the idea that Caiaphas could have prophesy. This offends our moral sense: this man condemned an innocent person, he sacrificed justice on the altar of politics. And yet John states, without ambiguity, that he spoke the truth—not his own, but God's.

This mechanism of unintentional prophecy runs throughout the Bible. Balaam, the magician paid by Balak to curse Israel, can only bless (Numbers 22–24). The Roman soldiers who cast lots for Jesus' tunic unknowingly fulfill Psalm 22. Joseph's brothers, by selling him into Egypt, pave the way for the salvation of an entire region. In each case, the Bible affirms that God writes straight on crooked lines. Not that he condones evil—he does not approve of it—but that he is sovereign enough to integrate human decisions, even bad ones, into a design that transcends them.

This theological point is crucial and deserves our attention. Caiaphas's prophecy is not a carte blanche for political manipulation. John doesn't tell us that the Sanhedrin was right to act as it did. He tells us that in that moment of cynicism and calculation, something greater was said—something entirely beyond the comprehension of the speaker. This is precisely what theologians call the divine condescension God stoops to use human imperfection as a means of revelation.

This has a direct implication for our reading of contemporary history. How many human decisions made for the wrong reasons have ultimately contributed to something good that their authors did not intend? The persecution of Christians in Jerusalem after Stephen's death scattered the disciples—and this scattering has evangelized The Roman Empire (Acts 8:1–4). The destruction of the Temple in 70 CE, a national catastrophe for Israel, led to the writing down of rabbinic traditions that have preserved Judaism to this day. Economic globalization, often brutal and unequal, has nevertheless brought together peoples who were previously unaware of one another.

This does not mean that everything that happens is good. It means that nothing is definitively beyond the reach of God's plan. And this conviction—which is not naivety but robust faith—is precisely what John wants to instill in the heart of his reader before recounting the Passion.

Another aspect of this text deserves attention: the question of time. Caiaphas said: «"It is better that one man die."» It's a short-term calculation. Jean responds by offering the perspective of eternity: this man's death will gather the scattered children of God — through time and space, forever. There is a cruel irony in the fact that Caiaphas, in seeking to preserve a temporal institution (the Temple, the nation), contributes to founding something universal and imperishable — the Church, this new gathering of humanity around the risen Christ.

Dispersion as a diagnosis of our condition

Before discussing the gathering, we must take seriously what the Bible refers to as dispersion. Jean is talking about «"God's scattered children"» — a formulation that immediately resonates with the great texts of the Exile. For Israel, dispersion (the Diaspora) was the most dreaded punishment, the deprivation of the Promised Land, the symbol of a broken relationship with God. But John uses this vocabulary in a universal anthropological sense: it is all of humanity which is scattered, broken, shattered into fragments that are no longer recognizable.

In Johannine thought, dispersion is first and foremost separation from God. A person who does not know the Father is like a child who has lost their way back—like the prodigal son in Luke 15, who wandered off to a distant land. They live, but in a fragmented way. They search, but without finding the source. They form relationships, but these remain superficial because the foundational relationship—the one with the One who created them—is broken or absent.

Dispersion, then, is the division among people themselves. What the story of Babel symbolizes (Genesis 11) is the multiplication of languages as a metaphor for mutual incomprehension. We no longer understand each other. We speak different languages—ideological, cultural, emotional. Walls go up: between nations, between generations, between brothers and sisters of the same family, between parishioners in the same pew. Dispersion is the biblical name for what we call today isolationism, tribalism, and polarization.

Dispersion, ultimately, is the inner division within each person. Ezekiel, quoted as an antiphon in today's liturgy, asks each person to to create a new heart and a new mind — implicitly acknowledging that the present heart is fragmented, divided against itself. Paul will say the same thing in a different way: «"The good I want to do, I do not do; the evil I do not want to do, I do."» (Romans 7:19). This inner tension is the mark of dispersion at the most intimate level.

This diagnosis is far from pessimistic. It is realistic — and it is this very lucidity that opens the door to the remedy. To recognize that one is scattered is already to desire to be gathered together. The prodigal son returns to itself before returning to his father. Conversion always begins with an awareness of one's state of dispersion.

The death of Christ as an act of cosmic gathering

John 11:52 is one of the densest verses in the gospel. «"It was not only for the nation, but to gather into one the scattered children of God."» This verse operates a triple movement that can be read as a concentric series of expansions.

The first expansion is geographical: from the nation (Israel, chosen community) to all the scattered children of God among the nations. The death of Jesus has universal significance. This is what theologians call the’universality of salvation. This is not a late invention of Paul — it is present from the beginning in John: «God so loved the world…» (Jn 3,16), not just Israel. And here, even before the cross, John lays down the principle: the gathering that the death of Christ will accomplish transcends all ethnic, national, and cultural boundaries.

The second expansion is ontological: it is not about bringing together individuals who remain fundamentally separate, but about... unify, to share a true communion with them. The Greek word used here — synagê eis hen — literally means gather into one. The unity sought is not a peaceful coexistence of particles that do not touch. It is a communion, a koinônia — this word that John will use in his epistles to designate the shared life of believers among themselves and with God.

The third expansion is temporal: John writes after the resurrection. For his readers, the death of Jesus is not an end but a beginning. The promised gathering is underway. The Church that reads this Gospel East this gathering is taking shape. Every baptized person who enters the Christian community is a scattered child of God who found his way back.

It is important to note that John explicitly links this gathering to the dead of Jesus, and not simply to his teachings or miracles. Why death, and not the resurrection of Lazarus just recounted? Because it is in death that Jesus goes to the very depths of the scattered human condition. Death is the ultimate scattering—the definitive separation. By choosing to die, Jesus enters the very place where humanity is most lost, to go and find it. This is the logic of the Incarnation taken to its radical conclusion.

The Church Fathers meditated deeply on this mystery. Athanasius of Alexandria said that the Word became mortal so that mortals might become participants in the divine life. Irenaeus of Lyons saw in the death of Christ the recapitulation of all human history. What was scattered throughout the story of Adam—the relationship with God, human brotherhood, personal integrity—is picked And restored in the death and resurrection of the new Adam.

The Church as the visible place of gathering

If the death of Christ is the founding act of unity, the Church is its visible manifestation. This assertion may seem audacious—especially in our time, when divisions within the Christian Church are evident and painful. But it is precisely because the Church is called to be the sign of unity that its divisions are so scandalous. They betray its vocation.

John 11:52 is one of the foundational texts of Johannine ecclesiology. The Church is not primarily an institution or an organization—it is a gathering. Its Greek name, ekklesia, means summons Those who have been called out of dispersion to be gathered together. And this call has an author: it is Christ, dead and risen, who gathers them together, not men by their own strength.

This has several practical consequences for how we understand the Church. First, belonging to the Church is not based on cultural, ethnic, or social similarity. We do not gather because we are alike, but because we have been gathered by Someone who came before us. This logic is revolutionary: it breaks down ghettos, comfortable homogeneities, and parishes of similar people. It compels us to encounter the other who is different.

Secondly, the unity of the Church is a gift before it is a task. It is not built like a political consensus. It is received—in the Eucharist, in the shared Word, in common prayer. And it is because it is received that it can be lived even among people who would never have chosen one another.

Third, the Church has an active responsibility for visibility. If the gathering brought about by the death of Christ is invisible, what sign does it give to the scattered world? The Second Vatican Council, in Lumen Gentium, defines it as the sacrament of the unity of humankind — that is to say, the effective, visible sign of what God wants for all humanity. This definition is both a promise and a requirement.

Practical applications: how this text changes our lives

In personal life

The first place of gathering is the human heart itself. Ezekiel invites us there with surgical precision: get yourself a new heart and a new mind. Before working towards the unity of the Church or society, the invitation is to work towards inner unity. How many of our external commitments to unity are sabotaged by our internal divisions—our unresolved contradictions, our unaddressed blind spots, our wounds that speak for us?

Inner peace comes through reconciliation with oneself: accepting who one is, with one's limitations and gifts, without dispersing oneself into superficial identities or exhausting performances. It also comes through reconciliation with one's history—with what has been broken, shameful, or painful. Sacramental confession, in the Catholic tradition, is precisely an act of gathering: one brings before God all the fragments of oneself, without hiding anything, to receive them forgiven and reintegrated into a whole.

In family and community life

The family is the primary circle where gathering or dispersal takes place. There are families where everyone is physically present but spiritually absent—scattered under the same roof. The logic of John 11:52 invites us to ask: what truly unites us? Not simply biological ties or shared habits, but a deeper communion—a sharing of what truly matters, an attentiveness to the other as a child of God.

The same challenge arises in the parish or church community. Too often, parishes reproduce the social divisions of the surrounding world: intellectuals with intellectuals, young people with young people, families with families. Johannine koinonia is more demanding—it intersects generations, classes, and cultures. It creates the unexpected.

In social and public life

The universal scope of John 11:52 — all the scattered children of God — has an unavoidable social and political dimension. The believer who takes this text seriously cannot remain indifferent to the mechanisms that produce dispersion in society: economic inequalities that isolate, migration policies that fragment, digital algorithms that create bubbles of exclusivity. This is not partisan politics—it is the coherent application of a theological vision of humanity as a family destined for unity.

Echoes in tradition

The theme of the gathering of God's scattered children runs throughout the Bible and Christian spiritual tradition with remarkable insistence. It outlines what might be called the spine of the divine plan.

In the prophets, the promise of gathering is the antithesis of Exile. Ezekiel 34 presents God as the shepherd who seeks his lost and scattered sheep, gathers them from among all the peoples, and brings them back to their land. Isaiah 49:6 expands on this further: «It is too small a thing for you to be my servant to raise up the tribes of Jacob and to restore the survivors of Israel. I will also make you a light for the nations, that my salvation may reach to the ends of the earth.» John 11:52 is the chronological reading of these promises: this gathering that the prophets were waiting for is fulfilled by the death and resurrection of Christ.

In rabbinic literature, the resurrection of the dead was conceived precisely as the great eschatological gathering. John uses the resurrection of Lazarus—a prefiguration of the resurrection of Jesus—as the trigger for the plot that leads to Jesus' death. There is a subtle theological irony here: it is because Jesus gives life (Lazarus) that he is condemned to death; and it is because he dies that he can gather all the living.

At Augustine of Hippo's, the City of God is precisely this gathering: pilgrim humanity journeying towards ultimate unity in the vision of God. Augustine distinguishes the earthly city, founded on self-love to the point of contempt for God, and the city of God, founded on the love of God to the point of self-sacrifice. John 11:52 articulates this distinction precisely: Caiaphas represents the logic of the earthly city (sacrificing an innocent to preserve interests); Jesus represents the logic of the city of God (giving himself to gather the lost).

In his Summa Theologica (IIIa, q.48–49), Thomas Aquinas develops a soteriology of satisfaction and sacrifice in which the death of Christ restores the order of divine justice while simultaneously manifesting infinite mercy. For Aquinas, this twofold movement—justice and mercy—is precisely what makes the death of Christ capable of a universal effect: it reaches all those who, at any time, open themselves to its efficacy.

Closer to our time, the Second Vatican Council in Gaudium et Spes (n.40) states that The Church, through the Gospel it proclaims, unites people in charity.. This unifying mission is not secondary or marginal—it is constitutive of what the Church is called to be in the world. John Paul II in Ut Unum Sint (1995) explicitly takes up the Johannine theme of gathering to establish ecumenical commitment.

Lectio divina

Seven steps towards the rally

This text is not a theological abstraction—it is an invitation to action. Here is a concrete path, in seven steps, that can be practiced alone or in a group, over a week, in the lead-up to a Eucharistic celebration or a retreat.

Day 1 — Recognizing one's dispersion. Take fifteen minutes in silence. Ask yourself honestly: in what areas of my life am I scattered—between what I say and what I do, between my values and my daily choices? Write down two or three points without judging yourself.

Day 2 — Identify the Lazaruses in my life. Who around me is in a tomb—isolated, forgotten, broken? The resurrection of Lazarus immediately precedes the conspiracy: it is because Jesus approached a dead man that the machine starts running wild. Who is inviting me to step out of my comfort zone and approach a situation of death?

Day 3 — Rereading a division I am carrying. Think of a broken relationship, a division in your community, a schism (small or large) in which you are involved or a witness. How does the logic of John 11:52 — gather what is scattered — Could she suggest a concrete action for you?

Day 4 — Meditating on the unintentional prophecy. Reread Caiaphas' words. Ask yourself: in my own life, are there painful situations, decisions I made for the wrong reasons, that God could have transformed into something good? Dare to hope through rereading.

Day 5 — Praying with Ezekiel. Your word, Lord, is truth, and your law, deliverance. Repeat this refrain slowly, letting the word delivery Resonate. What do you need to be freed from today to be a little less scattered?

Day 6 — Make a gesture of unity. In concrete terms: a message of reconciliation to someone far away, participation in an interfaith celebration, being present for an isolated person. A single gesture, small but real.

Day 7 — Eucharist. Come to Mass carrying everything you've been through this week. The Eucharist is the culmination of the gathering. «"Because there is one loaf, we are one body" (1 Cor 10:17).

Current challenges: unity in a fractured world

To speak of gathering and unity today is to enter a minefield. Our era is one of striking paradox: never have we been so technologically connected, and never have we been so genuinely divided. Social networks, which promise connection, produce algorithmic insularity. Globalization, which was supposed to bring people closer together, has also provoked identity-based tensions. And within the Church itself, the tensions between theological currents, between liturgies, between pastoral sensibilities are sometimes more acute than they have been for several decades.

The challenge of ecumenism. John 11:52 is the central text of the Catholic ecumenical commitment. But fifty years after Vatican II, ecumenical fatigue is real. Grand joint declarations do not always translate into effective communion. The nuanced response is to distinguish between doctrinal unity (which requires time and conversion) and the spiritual communion already experienced (which can be cultivated now). Unity is not a project to be completed but a path to be walked together.

The challenge of intra-ecclesiastical polarization. In many dioceses, traditional and progressive Catholics barely coexist, each convinced that the other is betraying what is essential. The temptation is symmetrical: each side wants to keep the Church for itself, just as the Sanhedrin wanted to keep the nation for itself. The Gospel answer is difficult but clear: we do not own the Church. Christ is the one who gathers us together—and he gathers a wider people than we do.

The challenge of secularization. In a context of advanced secularization, particularly in France, talking about a gathering of children of God may seem inaccessible to contemporaries who do not recognize themselves as children of God. The theological response is to recall that John says children of God scattered — they are objectively so, even if they don't yet know it. The Church's mission is not primarily to manufacture unity, but to reveal a unity already given in germ in creation and the Incarnation. Every man is, in a sense, in search of the gathering that God destines for him.

The challenge of indifferentism. In contrast to conflict, there is a soft syncretism which says: «"All religions are equal; unity is simple, let's erase the differences."» This vision is not that of John 11:52. The gathering John speaks of is Christ-centered: it is death of Jesus which brings people together, not a vague consensus on common values. Authentic unity does not erase identities — it transfigures them by directing them towards a common source.

Prayer: to the One who gathers

Lord Jesus, you chose to die so that we might live. You chose to give up so that we could be together. You chose the silence of the Ephraim desert so that your death speaks louder than all our words.

We are scattered, Lord. Scattered in our hearts, torn between the good we want and the harm we do, despite ourselves, despite you. Scattered throughout our fractured communities, where the benches of the same temple sometimes separate more than they unite. Scattered across a world where walls are higher than bridges, and where everyone shouts their own truth without listening to the other's.

And yet, you had foreseen this. Even the words of Caiaphas, even the cold calculations of the Sanhedrin, even the fear of the powerful in the face of the truth — You were able to turn them into prophecy., transforming the conspiracy into an offering, to make unjust condemnation the gateway to universal salvation.

Lord, give us the eyes to see what you are doing. behind the events that discourage us. Grant us the humility of Lazarus rising from the tomb — still wrapped in bandages, still fragile, But standing, alive, at your voice.

Bring us together, you who alone can do it. Not like putting together pieces of a puzzle that we force it in the right direction — But like the shepherd who calls each sheep by name, who knows his wound and his refusal, and who walks to her to bring her back.

Teach us to be there for one another, signs of this gathering. May our communities be places where one enters dispersed and where we emerge a little more united — united with you, united among us, united with the humanity you love.

You prayed on the evening of Holy Thursday: «"That they may all be one, as you, Father, are in me, and I in you."» This prayer did not go unanswered. You yourself answer it with the cross. Let us, too, respond to it through our lives.

Your word, Lord, is truth. Your law is deliverance. Let this deliverance begin within us — today, now.

Amen.

A death that opens the arms of the world

There's an image I've retained from this text, and that I'd like to leave you with as I depart. Caiaphas said: «"It is better that one man die."» It aims for preservation, protection, closure—keeping what one has, at all costs. Jean replies: «"It was not only for the nation, but to gather into one the scattered children of God."» The death that Caiaphas envisioned as a means of closure became, in the hands of God, a gesture of absolute openness. Jesus' arms on the cross did not close—they opened wide, surpassing all the boundaries drawn by humankind.

This passage speaks to us with particular urgency during this Lenten season, on the road to Easter. In a few days or weeks, depending on the liturgical calendar, we will celebrate the death and resurrection of the One who gathers us together. The question that John 11:52 poses to each of us is simple, but it cannot be avoided: Do I live by the logic of Caiaphas or the logic of Christ?

Caiaphas's logic is to calculate, preserve, and exclude in order to survive. Christ's logic is to give, welcome, and gather—even at the cost of oneself. These two logics clash within us every day. They clash in our churches, in our families, and in our societies. And John's text doesn't offer us an easy solution: it doesn't tell us it's simple. It tells us it's possible—because Someone has already done it, to the very end, for us.

Go, and gather together.

Seven concrete commitments to living unity

• Each week, identify a distant person of oneself (physically or relationally) and make a concrete gesture of attention — message, visit, named prayer.
• Participate at least once a month in a liturgy or event of another parish, community or Christian tradition to broaden one's vision of the Church.
• Reread John 17:20–23 regularly («"That all may be one"») as a personal prayer, by specifically naming the divisions that one carries.
• In community or family conflicts, systematically ask yourself: Does my position contribute to unity or to division?
• Practice weekly self-examination based on the criterion of unity: Where have I sown division this week, and where have I contributed to unity?
• In personal intercessory prayer, include groups or individuals different from oneself : other nations, other faiths, those we tend to forget.
• To engage in a concrete service or meeting project that intersects social backgrounds, ages or cultures — diversity is not a luxury, it is an evangelical discipline.

References

Primary Sources

• John 11:45–57, in The Jerusalem Bible, Éditions du Cerf, Paris, 2000.
• Ezekiel 18:31 and 34:11–16, liturgical text.
• John 17:20–23 (Priestly Prayer of Jesus).
• Augustine of Hippo, The City of God, book XIV, trans. G. Combès, Bibliothèque augustinienne, DDB, 1959–1960.
• Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologica, IIIa, q.48–49, trans. A.-M. Roguet, Éditions du Cerf, Paris, 1986.

Secondary sources

• Raymond E. Brown, The Gospel According to John, French translation, Lectio Divina, Éditions du Cerf, Paris, 1988 — an essential reference for Johannine exegesis.
• Francis Martin and William M. Wright IV, Gospel according to John: Catholic commentary, Catholic Commentary on Sacred Scripture, Artège, 2017.
• Second Vatican Council, Lumen Gentium (n.1, 8) and Gaudium et Spes (n.40), 1964–1965.
• John Paul II, Ut Unum Sint. On ecumenical commitment, 1995, Libreria Editrice Vaticana.
• Jean Zumstein, The Gospel according to Saint John (11–21), Commentary on the New Testament IV b, Labor et Fides, Geneva, 2007.

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