“You call me Teacher and Lord, and you are right, for
that is what I am. So, if I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you
also ought to wash one another’s feet.” (John 13:13-14)
If
I haven’t told you so before, I guess you should know I really love Holy Week.
I think it’s the old actor in me that loves the ritual reenactment of the last
week of Our Lord’s earthly ministry. During these precious eight days we in the
Church, through our solemn liturgies, act out the old, old story. We wave the
palms, we wash the feet, we eat the meal, and we shudder in the darkness when
the Light of the World breathes his last upon the cross.
At
Faith Lutheran of Philadelphia Maundy Thursday, the feast which commemorates
Christ’s Last Supper, is also the time we welcome first-time communicants to
the Lord’s table. We have a really cool ritual (which I stole from my vicariate
parish, Grace Lutheran of Yorktown Heights, New York—shout out to you guys and
the Rev. Dr. Tim Kennedy who wrote the liturgy) in which the first-timers and
their parents promise to live in the covenant of their respective baptisms,
confessing to each other and granting forgiveness in remembrance of the
forgiveness granted us all through the body and blood of Jesus.
I
also wash the feet of the kids who are about to receive the sacrament for the
first time. This, as you might imagine, tends to make third grade boys a little
squeamish; nevertheless, with gentle coaxing from their parents, they usually
consent to let me do it. This is the reenactment of the Gospel lesson for this
feast (John 13: 1-17, 31b-35). I never grew up with this practice in the church
myself, but now I find it one of the most meaningful things we do all week.
Lutherans
usually prefer the term Maundy Thursday to Holy Thursday. Maundy is a
word which comes to us via a tortuous journey through Middle English and Old
French from the Latin mandatum which means a commandment. Jesus gave us
a couple of pretty good commandments on this night when he ate the Passover
meal with his disciples. The first was that we should also eat this meal to
remember him—his love, his suffering, his death, and his resurrection every
time we come to the table. The other commandment he gave after he’d taken the
slave’s job, the job of the lowest personage in the household, and
washed the disciples’ feet:
“I give you a new commandment, that you love one
another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. By this
everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one
another.” (John 13:34-35)
If
you had been at that Passover seder you might’ve freaked out the same way Peter
did. It just wasn’t kosher for your rabbi to get down on the floor and tend to
your dirty, stinky feet. But in Christ there is no distinction. We are all
brothers and sisters, and we are all to be servants to one another.
Today
in America there are some Christians who may not have gotten the memo. There’s
this thing called the New Apostolic Reformation (NAR). It’s a Christian
supremacist theological belief and controversial movement advocating spiritual
warfare to bring about Christian dominion over all aspects of society, and end
or weaken the separation of church and state[i].
I
don’t know how widespread this movement is or how many followers it has. That
doesn’t matter. It will make no difference if Christians gain control of the
government or control of the whole world. Things will only change for the
better if we can humble ourselves enough to let Christ be in control.
And on this night, he taught us to take the slave’s job. He taught us to
remember his self-denial and sacrifice. He taught us his blood was shed for all
people. He never said a word about gaining governmental power because, as he’d tell
Pontius Pilate the next day, his kingdom is NOT of this world[ii].
No.
Jesus taught us to love and serve and be servants. He taught us to care for the
least and the lowest, the teacher to honor the students, the wealthy to feed
the poor, the able to tend to the disabled, and the respected to welcome the
despised, the stranger, and the outcast. That is the command of Jesus.
If
you’d been a disciple at that final seder meal, you probably reached the point
where nothing Jesus did could surprise you. When he told you to break with the
norms of your culture and share this meal—his body and blood—with everyone, you’d
know he meant it. There were some whom the culture decided were not ritually
pure or righteous enough to sacrifice the body and blood of their livestock on
the altar of the temple of Jerusalem, but Jesus’ sacrifice would exclude no one.
We
call this meal the Eucharist, a word which means thanksgiving. Indeed,
whenever we share it, we share it in joy for who our Savior was and still is
for us. But on this particular night, we hit the pause button on our joy. We
remember that, before this meal was over, one of those whom Jesus loved would
betray him to his enemies. Judas would abandon Jesus for the false god of
wealth or power, or prestige, or who knows what. The authorities would come for
Jesus at night, when the crowds couldn’t see what they were doing. Jesus would
order his followers not to use violence to protect him. He would be arrested,
abused, mocked, and falsely convicted.
Tonight,
Jesus is with us in the bread and the cup. But he is also with all who have
been bullied, all who have been betrayed by others or by governments, all who
feel lost and abandoned, all who have been wrongly persecuted, and all who have
felt spit upon and ridiculed. May they be in our hearts tonight as well.
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