“I give you a new commandment, that you love one
another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another.” (John 13:34)
Some
years back, at a pancake breakfast fundraiser for one of the veterans’
charities my wife supports, I had the honor of sharing a table with the newly
elected US congressman for our district, Representative Andy Kim. I found
Congressman (now Senator) Kim a very affable fellow, although, being
accompanied by his small son Austin, the congressman’s focus during that meal
was making sure his boy ate his pancakes in a manner befitting a young
gentleman. While Mr. Kim busied himself with parenting, I had a delightful
conversation with one of his staffers, a bright young man whose name I’ve long
since forgotten.
Much
more memorable for me than that pancake breakfast was the TV news image of Rep.
Kim on the late afternoon of January 6, 2021. There he was, a member of the
United States House of Representatives, dressed in suit and tie, kneeling on
the floor of the US Capital rotunda, picking up garbage left by the rioting
horde which ransacked and desecrated that building on that horrible day. I
guess Mr. Kim’s mom taught him he shouldn’t ignore a mess and expect someone
else to clean it up. Neither should anyone who believes in equality ask anyone
to do something he’s not willing to do himself.
But
much more shocking than a US congressman picking up trash is the image of our
Lord and Savior on his knees, washing the dirty, sweaty feet of his
all-too-often clueless disciples—even the one who he knew was about to rat him
out to the authorities. Our Maundy Thursday gospel (John 13:1-17, 31b-35) tells
us Peter was pretty freaked out seeing his beloved and esteemed rabbi doing the
dirty work assigned to a slave or the lowest person on any household totem
pole. I’ll bet the others were weirded out by this too, but the evangelist
doesn’t tell us. But Jesus explained this act of service—an act others might
see as degrading—was a demonstration of how he expects us to live our lives. We
are to love as he loves: without hierarchy or judgment. We are to love others
as ourselves. We can no longer demonize or vilify. We can’t say the poor
deserve what they get. We can’t look down on anyone. We are to love, forgive,
assist, and share.
I
always wonder what the mood was like around that Passover table. Jesus’ buddies
surely knew something was about to go down. After all, their rabbi had made a
pretty big fuss in town on Sunday with all that palm waving and cloak throwing
and riding into town the way the prophet said a king would arrive. And then
there was his act of civil disobedience in the temple—kicking out the
moneychangers and welcoming the sick and lame. He’d started teaching right
there in the temple, too. This was the Big Time—the wandering teacher from hick
Nazareth was playing the Palace. Were the disciples shivering with anticipation
or quaking with dread?
Luke
tells us Jesus was longing to eat this holiday meal with his friends.[i] It would be the last
Passover seder they’d share together. No matter what was going on in the world
outside, and no matter how the disciples were feeling about it, I think Jesus
approached that holiday with a sense of joy recalling its meaning. The meal couldn’t
be eaten without recalling God’s goodness and faithfulness. God saved God’s
people from slavery in Egypt, sustained them as they wandered and complained
their way through forty years in the wilderness, gave them prophets, and
brought their exiles home from Babylon. God had a track record of coming
through even when the prospects looked as murky as a backed-up septic tank.
We’re
told that as Jesus broke the bread that night, he gave thanks. You’d
wonder what he was giving thanks for, considering he was about to be
betrayed, abandoned, arrested, beaten, mocked and crucified. But Jesus was
thankful. I imagine he was thankful for God’s unfailing presence even in the
midst of chaos and grief. And he was thankful for the ones he loved, for the
disciples to whom he demonstrated a radical form of servant-love. As Jesus and
the disciples ate that last meal in remembrance of God’s faithfulness, so we
eat it now in remembrance of Jesus’ self-emptying love for us.
We
call the night when we share this feast Maundy Thursday—the Thursday of
Christ’s mandate. It’s the night when he gave us two commandments. First, that
we eat this meal to remember not only God’s power to deliver God’s people, but to
remember how Jesus suffered to deliver us. Second, when we come together around
this table, we are reminded of Jesus’ command to love one another as servants—even
if that means sometimes we have to do the dirty work.
A
blessed Three Days, my friend. May Christ’s love shine in your heart. Come back
and visit me again or—better yet—leave me a comment.
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