Maundy Thursday Sermon
April 17, 2025
The other day, I had a made a nice dinner for my family – a new recipe, one I was looking forward to sharing with them. It had enough familiar elements that the kids might actually eat it, but it also introduced them to some new, healthy food and flavors, and best of all, it was easy to make. I was hoping to add it to the rotation for easy weeknight meals.
But Grace was complaining of a tummy ache, and couldn’t possibly eat another bite. I then found out that she had acquired and eaten almost an entire bag of jellybeans. Isaac, who was also not eating, had apparently eaten his weight in chips that afternoon. Both had filled their tummies up with delicious things that were not good for them, leaving no room for the things that would actually nourish their bodies. Needless to say, I was not impressed.
I recently read an essay that began, “My Lenten mantra this year is, ‘Fill up on good things.’” It made me think of that dinner (and so many others like it), but also about all the ways that we, and not only children, and not only with food, fill up on bad things, soul-sucking and joy-draining things. We fill up our time, our bodies, our consciousness, with things that we know aren’t good for us, or that negatively affect our mood or health, and yet we can’t seem to pull ourselves away. Sometimes we don’t do this on purpose – the bad things just come from places out of our control, sometimes in a deluge, and there seems to be no escape from them. Either way, once we are full of that negative stuff, there often isn’t any space left to fill up on the good things.
In this essay, written by Holly Wolsey Soper in 2011, she reflects on a trip she took to the Holy Land. She tells this story:
In the West Bank, the Quaker Meeting House in Ramallah might be the one place you can imagine Palestinians and Israelis living together in peace. Around a lovely wooden table in a sun-drenched room, Christian author and activist Jean Zaru shared her rich experience and faith with us, along with cookies and fruit. She knew that by the midpoint of our trip we would have had our fill of bad things, from suicide bombers to disputed settlements.
So, she broke open her heart and preached. “Hope,” she said, “is an act of resistance. There's nothing abstract about it. Hope is not real until you bring it into your life, test it, prove it… Some people may say I am less because I am a Palestinian and a woman. No, because God dwells in my soul, and I can see God in everyone, every brother and sister, Jew, Muslim, Christian. I do not worship a God who makes ‘good ones’ and ‘bad ones.’”
She’s not naïve. In 1948, when the state of Israel was created, her village was overwhelmed with refugees. Then her only brother, exiled, was lost in the war in Lebanon. She’s seen her share of bad things, but she has spent her life filling up on good things.
Now, with the peace process all but dead, she finds hope in her Muslim sisters in Gaza. As soon as the war ended, they began clearing the rubble. With half the schools destroyed, they salvaged books, put up tents, and began to teach.
In other words, they filled up on good things. They understood the pain, the cause for despair, the ruins all around them; no one could accuse them of being Pollyannas. And yet, in the face of those ruins, they each picked up a stone - and began to rebuild.
I love that – “they each picked up a stone and began to rebuild.” Rebuild goodness and hope even in the midst of so many bad things.
And there are so many bad things out there to fill up on. I know I can think of some of the junk that fills the spaces in my heart that I would rather be filled up with hope, and joy, and love. But it can be so hard to make that shift when the bad things are so relentless.
And so I am grateful, in the midst of all that badness, for Maundy Thursday, and this beautiful story about Jesus washing his disciples’ feet. Consider their context here. Tensions have been rising for quite a while, but especially for the past few days, as Jesus knows the authorities are out to get him. Jesus knows that Judas is about to betray him – in fact, right after Jesus washes his feet, in those verses that are missing from our Gospel reading tonight, Judas will leave, at Jesus’ urging, to do exactly that, go betray him. As Judas leaves, John ominously tells the reader, “And it was night.” For John the evangelist, “night” equals the opposite of knowing, the opposite of God’s presence, the opposite of the light shining in the darkness, of the Light of the World.
It was night… but then, into that night, that very Light shining in the darkness turns to his disciples and says, “I give you a new commandment, to love one another.” Yes, it is in this dark, midnight moment, when Jesus is about to be betrayed, and denied, and abandoned, wrongfully convicted and then killed, when everyone is extremely anxious and concerned and tensions are high, into this that Jesus utters his famous “new commandment,” to love one another as he has loved us.
“Fill up on good things.” These are the good things Jesus is filling them up on in this moment – sharing a meal and fellowship, honesty with one another, service and humility toward one another, love of one another. Good things. These next three days will be the hardest of Jesus’ life, and of their lives, and they will need fuel for the journey. They might be inclined to wallow in grief and sadness, or to be filled with rage at Judas or at the Jewish authorities, or the Roman government. They might fill up on fear and shouting, and blame, and tearing one another down – and I wouldn’t blame them! It’s unfortunately a very human inclination whenever we feel threatened and afraid. But on his last night with them, Jesus instead urges them to fill up on good things: love for one another. Care for one another. Humility, and kindness, and mutuality.
This sort of love is an act of resistance, my friends, resistance against a power that would oppress us. Such a power would fill us with fear, and try to push us into despair. But when we are driven by love, then we fill ourselves and those with whom we share it with good things, with things stronger than fear and despair.
That love is our hope. It’s the sort of hope that allows us to sort through ruins and salvage books, and set up tents for teaching, and pick up stones and rebuild. It’s the sort of hope that fuels us to join with others and take a stand for what is right. It’s the sort of hope that brings light into darkness, and energizes us to get through the demoralizing and terrifying days ahead, the days that will, by God’s power, eventually end in resurrection and new life.
It was night. And Jesus said, “Love one another.” Judas betrayed Jesus. And Jesus said, “Love one another.” Later that night, in the garden, the disciples took up arms when Jesus was taken away. And Jesus said, “Put down the weapons, and love one another.” By this, everyone will know we are Jesus’ disciples: if we have love for one another.
And so, let us resist the bad things – resist by sharing meals together, resist by standing up for the vulnerable, resist by serving those in need. Resist the bad things by being peaceful but assertive, by taking action, by using our voices on behalf of those who have no voice. Resist the bad things, so that all God’s children might be filled up on good things.
Let us pray… Lord Jesus, on this night that was so full of fear, anxiety, and darkness, you commanded us to love one another. Show us what it means to love in the midst of our own nights, our own fears and anxieties. Let people see us and our love, and know that we are followers of you, the Light of the World. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.
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