Maundy Thursday
March 28, 2024
John 13:1-17, 31b-35
1 Corinthians 11:23-26
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| John August Swanson |
Grace to you and peace from God our Father and our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.
“I give you a new commandment, to love one another as I have loved you.” These words Jesus that offers to his disciples on the night of his betrayal, after washing their feet, are as stunning as they are simple. On the one hand, they are nothing new – the command to love one another is all over the Old Testament, and Jesus has been saying it all along in his ministry. They already know that loving one another is a pretty central part of faith.
And yet they are stunning, partly because it turns out, loving one another is not particularly easy, especially when people are, shall we say, not very lovable. But what makes them particularly stunning is the context of this night. Keep in mind what is happening: this is not only the night of Jesus’ betrayal, but the very moment. Right after he washes everyone’s feet, during those missing verses, Judas leaves the room to betray Jesus – and Jesus knows it. Right after he gives the love commandment, Jesus goes on to predict Peter’s three-fold denial of him. And the next day, the rest of the disciples will desert him as he heads to the cross. Jesus knows all of this, and still he loves them. Still, he washes their feet. As I said, stunning.
So, what can we take from this? Well, our world has no shortage of difficult people to love, no lack of brokenness and division, no dearth of betrayal in our personal and public lives (and much of this seems especially inflated in an election year!). Even though the details are different, Jesus’ remarkable act and teaching here applies to our lives. So the question becomes, looking at this story from John, what does it look like for us to “love one another,” in today’s broken world?
First, it looks like humility. Love is a willingness to kneel at someone’s feet, to become the lesser, to put someone else ahead of you. It is the teacher becoming the servant.
How might this translate into our particular pains and world-weariness? I find when I am in pain, and maybe this is your experience as well, I want to make sure my needs are known. It’s basic human instinct, right? When we hurt, we seek to have our needs met, whether physical or emotional! But loving someone with humility might mean listening to someone else’s needs and story before sharing your own. It might mean making an effort even to “try on” someone else’s opinion or viewpoint for a while, to really consider it, before putting your own on the table.
There’s a show on Netflix called Designated Survivor. In the first episode, a massive explosion takes out the entire US government during the State of the Union Address, leaving the “designated survivor” – the one person kept off premises just in case such a thing should happen – as the president. The show, then, is about how the Secretary of Housing and Urban Development, a really good guy who had no interest in being president, rebuilds the government and tries to win the trust and respect of a country who would never have voted for him. In a recent episode, “President Kirkman” holds a town hall to address questions about his new agenda. In his preparations for that, it becomes clear he is not a natural in this format: his staff tells him he is too aloof and impersonal. They urge him, in an effort to build trust and rapport with the people, that “This is about them, not you. Connect with them.” So when a former factory worker stands up and expresses his concern about losing his job at age 55, the president first responds, “My dad and grandpa were factory workers…” But then he pauses, chuckles, and turns to the man, saying, “But this time isn’t about me. It’s about you.” And he goes on to acknowledge the real and deep fears this man is feeling. It is a moving moment where we can see this shift, where he actually connects with not only this man, but the America people who are going through a deeply fearful moment together. In that moment, he becomes their president, and healing can begin.
It was beautifully portrayed on the screen, but – oh, is this sort of connection ever difficult! When we have conversations, we want to relate! We want to connect to our own life, and talk about ourselves. It takes a lot of energy to dwell completely in the needs of another, without adding your own two cents. This sort of connection takes a lot of humility, but this humble connection that Jesus demonstrates is what heals our divisions and our pain, wherever in our life they occur.
Even as “love one another” looks like the effort to humbly see another, it also looks like vulnerability – a willingness to be truly seen. It is letting another see not just the shiny exterior we work so hard to make look presentable and acceptable to the world, but also the dark, embarrassing parts – our dirty feet, as well as our broken hearts. In regard to our particular world weariness, that might mean admitting to someone that you are wrong, or at least that someone else is right. It might mean doing the hard work of looking at a conflict and considering our own role in that conflict – whether your role was active or merely complicit (did you or could you do anything to stop the pain from occurring?). It might mean being brave enough to say something important into a group where you know others disagree. It might mean admitting you don’t have the answers.
This runs so much against our grain when we are feeling hurt – once again, our instinct is to protect our hearts, not to bare them! We may seek that protection by hiding, or by lashing out, but it is not generally our first instinct to respond to pain by opening our hearts to the possibility of more pain. Peter shows us this when he insists Jesus not wash his feet. He is horrified that Jesus would be so close and personal with his smelly, dirty feet. But, as Jesus points out, this sort of exposure and vulnerability is required to have a close and meaningful share in a relationship with Christ.
Finally, “love one another” looks like selflessness – that is, a willingness to put aside your pain, and still care deeply about another, even, and this is the kicker, the one who caused your pain. Jesus knew about Judas’s betrayal, and Peter’s denial, and everyone else’s abandonment. And yet, even though he knew this would happen, Jesus still washes all their feet. He still breaks bread with them. He still dies for them, and for all those who would in the future betray or deny someone they love, or who loves them.
Maybe the magnitude of this is lost on us, because this is Jesus and all. But just think of this: Jesus looks out at this group of disciples, knows that one is about to turn him over to have him killed, another is going to deny – three times! – that he even knows him, and the rest will desert him in his hour of need. If you knew someone was about to do those things to you, what would you do? How would you treat them? Would you kneel down to serve them in the most intimate way imaginable? Would you sit down to a meal with them and tell them how much you love them? Would you throw yourself in harm’s way to save their life? I think most of us, in this situation, would have a hard time even looking that person in the eye. Initiating a conversation with them to find some understanding might even seem impossible – let alone any of these things Jesus does for Peter, Judas, and all the rest. Indeed, what Jesus does for us. Yet this is the sort of love Jesus calls us to: “love one another as I have loved you.”
Loving one another with humility, vulnerability, and selflessness – these are tall orders, each one. Loving and serving friends or even strangers is one thing, but on this night, Jesus calls us into loving relationship, even with those who have hurt, betrayed, denied and deserted us, those who have acted as we wish they hadn’t, those who make us angry.
This is the task and the call of the Church. And nowhere is this love more profoundly experienced than in the Lord’s Supper, in which we remember Jesus’ self-giving on our behalf. We see that bread that is his body, broken before our eyes, and remember that Christ knows and understands our own brokenness, and loves us still. We come forward, hands outstretched, to receive this humble, vulnerable, selfless love of Christ, indeed to receive concretely the grace and forgiveness of God. We come forward, carrying with us all of our brokenness, all of our pain, and that of our world, and receive that morsel with those words, “given for you.” For you, Jesus says, I have loved the world. For you, I have shown that love. For you, I have died, so that you might find in me life eternal.
And as we receive Jesus’ brokenness for our own wholeness, we remember how Jesus calls us, too, into this sort of love, even as we are empowered to follow that command: to love one another as Christ loved us. May we find in this sacrament both command and empowerment to live out this command in our families, our churches, and our world.
Let us pray… Lord Christ, on the night in which you were betrayed, you showed us the profound way you call us to love one another: with humility, vulnerability, and selflessness. As we receive the sacrament tonight, and as we walk with you through these Three Days and into eternal life, make us willing servants, equipped and empowered to follow your command in our world. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Full service can be viewed HERE.
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