MAUNDY THURSDAY

Tonight we continue our journey into the Passion, the Death and Resurrection of Christ.

It’s a journey through the darkness to the light. Through pain to joy. There’s no human need or want or emotion – there’s nothing that life can throw at us – that isn’t here. A rehearsal for our own lives.

Tonight we remember Jesus’ last night with his disciples. We call it Maundy Thursday, so special its name is a word not used for anything else. ‘Maundy’ – most think its derivation is from the Latin mandātum meaning command, mandate. Jesus’ words ‘I give you a new commandment’ in the Latin Vulgate are novum mandātum. This was a ‘new commandment’ – ‘new mandate’ – something that must be done.

It gives us a sense of the finality of the night to remember that the literal root of the Latin word mandare is ‘to give into someone’s hand.’ To hand it over; pass it on.

Jesus was coming to the end of his earthly journey. He knew that he wouldn’t be around to watch over the disciples. It would be up to them, now.

He’d spent a lot of time teaching, and he did it not by directive and imparting facts, but by stories – parables – that leave the message and meaning as work of the hearer. But now, on this final night, no more parables. Jesus stopped telling them; he showed them, and us, what he had in mind.

Why actions? Jesus had all the conceptual truth of the universe. Yet, he didn’t leave them with philosophical and theological theory on that last night. Jesus took it out of the head and into the body.

He handed over to the disciples, and us, actions. And, not complicated ones. Simple things that we couldn’t over-intellectualize or maybe even figure out. Concrete things to do—specific ways of being together in their bodies—that would go on teaching them what they needed to know when he was no longer around to teach them himself.

Stanley Hauerwas, a Christian ethicist, suggests that Christianity ‘is not a set of beliefs or doctrines one believes in order to be a Christian, but rather Christianity is to have one's body shaped, one's habits determined, in such a way that the worship of God is unavoidable.’ Jesus knew that how we act forms us – and that right actions are the key to worship. 

The simple action that Jesus handed over to us that last night is that we must wash each other’s feet.

Paul and the other gospel writers described the Last Supper, but in John’s gospel, Jesus washed the feet of the disciples. In the commentaries, though, it’s not so simple. We’re told that the foot washing in John's Gospel is an eschatological sign of Jesus' descent into flesh before his exaltation to God's right hand, or a symbolic representation of first-century baptismal theology. They usually mention humiliation -- the humiliation of washing feet suggesting Jesus’ humiliation on the cross.

Yet, those words aren’t from Jesus. From him we got simple action. Peter protested, and Jesus made it clear that Peter didn’t know himself as well as he thought he did. He hadn’t understood – Jesus knows us so infinitely better than we know ourselves – so he showed us one simple thing. He washed feet.

Simple, but powerful.

Washing feet was done by a servant in the household, as a kindness to guests. After all, washing someone else’s feet can be rather distasteful. Even if they aren’t covered with dirt and whatever else has been encountered outside – as in earlier times – they can be sweaty and smelly.

Perhaps part of the power of washing someone’s feet is related to that humiliation the commentaries point out. And, that probably accounts for how difficult and distasteful it is for many of us. We react to losing power in relationships. We don’t like being in someone else’s control – there’s a very basic survival instinct that’s being violated. Our bodies are pre-wired to react to such danger. Washing someone’s feet involves bowing, a fairly universal sign of power differential between people.

It’s offering willingness to be ‘lower’ than the other. A moment not just of closeness, but of vulnerability.

When we’re down there, we can’t really tell what the other is up to. We’re defenseless. With a sudden upward motion, that foot could come up and break our nose. Take out an eye. Cause us to fly backwards and crack our head on the tile.

Jesus though, handed over to us something different. It’s not just being willing to do the unpleasant for the sake of the comfort of the other; we’re offering our very beings as defenseless, in relationship of trust as well as care. How many times have I seen the wife or husband caring in this way for a loved one in the hospital who’s too ill and weak to care for him- or herself. It’s such a pure act of love.

Hauerwas says that holiness isn’t moral perfection but learning not to fear each other so that we’re able to love. On this last night, Jesus washed the feet of Judas, knowing full well that he would betray him very soon. We have the new responsibility of living out the mandate of Christ to all, not just those whom we know, or like, or even trust.

If we can imagine bending over those feet, the anonymity of that position -- its vulnerability -- is just right to carry the cross of Christ. Imagine that cross on your back – it’s heavy, that cross of Christ.

Then, as Paul described for us, the simple act of a meal shared by Jesus and his disciples, so basic and so intimate. Eating is something we have to do to live, and do often. When shared, an act of love at a level that’s beyond words. More essential than words; without which thought isn’t even possible. Jesus chose to leave us a way to remember and give thanks for the unimaginable in the physical act of being fed.

Jesus knew that in action we have a window into the timeless love that is the essence of God. At the end, he handed over to us simple actions. Wash each others’ feet. Eat bread and drink wine in remembrance of me. Think about it, yes. But in the doing is the meaning.

We all know it when we care for our loved ones. Sister Teresa got it, as she cared for the poor. Those who serve in food pantries and soup kitchens every day experience it. Jesus knew our lives would always contain darkness that our minds can’t understand; to spend even one night in real pain is to discover depths of reality that can seem to close off that window.

By doing we keep it open. The real promise of Jesus was that we could taste the kingdom of God now.

On this last night, Jesus knew that all the mental stuff was just getting ready for the real stuff. What came after this last supper was as real as it ever gets. But Jesus’ final blessing to us was the gift of doing love.

Thanks be to God. Amen.