Let the
words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable to you, O Lord.
Amen.
Today
we enter the three sacred days. This is the ancient Triduum – Maundy Thursday,
Good Friday, and Holy Saturday. After the emotional roller coaster of Lent, we
take an extreme journey over three days that will undoubtably leave us broken.
Jesus
knows that things have come to a head. He knows that his final hours are upon
him. He knows that tonight he is having his final meal with his friends. And
while they might not completely understand, the twelve around the table could
feel the solemnity of these final, dark hours.
Jesus
knew his time among humans was coming to an end and he wanted to leave his disciples
with something special, something to show how much he loved them. This brings
us back to the prophet Elijah who, as he was to depart the world in a final blaze
of glory, offered Elisha “a double share of his spirit”. As the chariot of fire
drives off, he leaves behind a mantle, the mantle he just used to part the
waters of the Jordan.
Perhaps
the people around the table on this night were hoping that Jesus would leave
them something like that, a memento of sorts filled with Jesus’ power to heal
and to perform miracles. Some token of greatness that they can take with them
after Jesus leaves them (which of course they continue to deny will happen.)
And
what does Jesus leave them? A mandate and a towel.
Maundy
comes from the Latin mandatum, which means mandate. And the mandate that
Jesus leaves his disciples with, and us with, is to love one another. Not just
in simple (or grand) actions, but in authentic feeling, deep engagement, and generous
action. Love is the litmus test of Christian witness. Our love for each other
is how the world will know who we are and whose we are. Our love for each other
is how the world will see, taste, touch, hear, and find Jesus. It’s through our
love that we will embody Jesus, make Jesus relatable, possible, plausible, to a
dying world.
Sounds
hard, right? But here’s our saving grace: Jesus doesn’t leave us alone and
bereft. He gives us a road map, in the second half of his commandment: “As I
have loved you.” Follow my example, he says. Do what I do. Love as I love. Live
as you have seen me live. Weep with those who weep. Laugh with those who laugh.
Touch the untouchables. Feed the hungry. Welcome the child. Release the
captive. Forgive the sinner. Confront the oppressor. Comfort the oppressed.
“I
give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved
you, you also should love one another.” This is Jesus’ mandate. It sounds hard
but don’t worry because Jesus is going to equip us with the only thing we will
need – a towel.
A
towel: something used to dry dishes, wipe tables, mop up sweat, and dry away tears.
While the mantel of Elijah’s power parts water, Jesus’ mantel is a tool of
mundane work, a tool of humility, hospitality, and hope.
In
Jesus’ time, foot washing wasn’t an unusual activity. People walked around in sandals
or barefoot and so their feet got dirty and dusty. When they would go into a home,
whether theirs or as a guest somewhere, they would be given a bowl to wash
their feet off so as not to drag all that dust everywhere through the house.
By
proceeding on all fours around the table, washing his disciples’ dust-encrusted
feet, Jesus is offering one of the oldest forms of hospitality. In this humbling
act, Jesus is at the same time showing his love for his friends, showing his
friends how to love others, and allowing his friends to experience what it is
like to be served.
To
be on the receiving end of service can make you feel quite vulnerable. It
forces you to let go of control, to let someone else do something for you that
you know you could easily do yourself. Or maybe if you can’t do it yourself,
the vulnerability lies in admitting that fact and accepting help.
By
experiencing this vulnerability, Jesus’ disciples will better understand how to
care for others without coming across as condescending. By being on the
receiving end of service, we learn how to take care of the small and mundane
details instead of seeking out glory in a spectacular show of allowing
ourselves to be cared for.
Which
leads us into a lesson of humility. Many of us resist the vulnerability of being
cared for, preferring to remain in control of everything that happens to us. We
prefer to choose what gifts we accept rather than admitting our dependency.
How
hard is it for us to receive a gift? It brings out a vulnerability in us that
really we’d just rather avoid. We would prefer to be like Peter, saying that we
would never ask a friend to do such a menial thing as wash our feet. But if we
can’t even accept the small gift of clean feet, how on earth are we going to
accept the greatest gift of all – the cleansing of sin through death on a
cross?
In
all of this talk about vulnerability in giving and receiving hospitality, there
is hope and a lesson to be learned in reconciliation. Jesus doesn’t just wash
the feet of his friends. He also washes the feet of his betrayer. Loving those
with whom we agree is the easy part. Loving the rest of the folks we come in
contact with is a much harder proposition.
Jesus
could not be clearer: People will know we are disciples of Christ quite simply
by our loving acts — acts of service and sacrifice, acts that point to the love
of God for the world made known in Jesus Christ.
And
it will all be done with a towel.
Amen.
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