John 13:1-17, 31-35

Now before the festival of the Passover, Jesus knew that his hour had come to depart from this world and go to the Father. Having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end. The devil had already put it into the heart of Judas son of Simon Iscariot to betray him. And during supper Jesus, knowing that the Father had given all things into his hands, and that he had come from God and was going to God, got up from the table, took off his outer robe, and tied a towel around himself. Then he poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples’ feet and to wipe them with the towel that was tied around him. He came to Simon Peter, who said to him, “Lord, are you going to wash my feet?” Jesus answered, “You do not know now what I am doing, but later you will understand.” Peter said to him, “You will never wash my feet.” Jesus answered, “Unless I wash you, you have no share with me.” Simon Peter said to him, “Lord, not my feet only but also my hands and my head!” Jesus said to him, “One who has bathed does not need to wash, except for the feet, but is entirely clean. And you are clean, though not all of you.” For he knew who was to betray him; for this reason he said, “Not all of you are clean.”

After he had washed their feet, had put on his robe, and had returned to the table, he said to them, “Do you know what I have done to you? 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. For I have set you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you. Very truly, I tell you, servants are not greater than their master, nor are messengers greater than the one who sent them. If you know these things, you are blessed if you do them.

When he had gone out, Jesus said, “Now the Son of Man has been glorified, and God has been glorified in him. If God has been glorified in him, God will also glorify him in himself and will glorify him at once. Little children, I am with you only a little longer. You will look for me; and as I said to the Jews so now I say to you, ‘Where I am going, you cannot come.’ 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.”

As many of you know, we’ve been making our way through these Lenten days by praying the prayers of our ancestors, inspired by prayers and pray-ers, particularly, from the Hebrew Scriptures – David, Abraham, Hannah, Jonah, Solomon, and Jeremiah. We’ve prayed for and about some heavy stuff … forgiveness, discernment, justice, despair, and more. And tonight’s worship is loaded with things to wonder about and pray for, too – this Maundy Thursday where Jesus’ command to love one another is modeled by the washing of feet at the table of his Last Supper.

Jesus unloads all of these symbols and expressions and practices of faith meant to teach and inspire and command his disciples, and us, to do likewise – to eat, drink, serve, love, remember. And it seems odd that there would be foot-washing during dinner, but I think that’s just a sign that we have a lot in common, still, with Jesus and his people. I mean that it seems a timeless and universal Truth that meals are very often literal and spiritual nourishment for God’s people that bolster our connection and that encourage our mission in the world.

See, it was deliberate that those close friends and followers of Jesus met in that upper room to share that Passover meal together, when, where, and how they did. And I like to imagine there was some measure of fun and levity involved, before things got serious. I mean … before Judas sneaked away and before Jesus broke out the wash basin, before all of that praying. I like to imagine they laughed and told stories and made fun of Peter for being late or James for boss-hogging the good seat and that they were glad Martha was in charge of baking the bread this year.

Whatever the case, all of it was to remind them of their history, their heritage, their connection – one to another – and their connection to something bigger than themselves; their connection to the love they were being called to put into action. Because Jesus knew they would need that reminder – powered by all of those special effects – the bread, wine, water, and foot-washing, I mean – as they entered into the days, weeks, and years that followed.

And can’t we all think of a meal – or moments around food and drink – that connect us with others in powerful ways; that recall holy moments; that feed us physically; and that nourish us spiritually; that remind us that we are part of something bigger? Can you think of what I’m getting at, from your own life’s experience? Maybe it was a wedding reception … a retirement party … a simple dinner that turned into a date ... a supper you didn’t know would be someone’s “last,” at the time?

I think about the meals a team shares before a big game, a match, a tournament, the end of a season. Those meals are about comradery and preparation, team spirit, team work, shared goals, and a common mission. (There will be many of those this weekend, downtown, prior to the Final Four, I’m sure.)

I think about Joe McCain’s funeral luncheon last Saturday – and every funeral meal we share in this place, really – which are abundant expressions of love and comfort and friendship and faith, that sometimes only homemade cookies and casseroles can convey.

I think of the meals I’ve shared in Haiti, prepared by hands, in homes, that have so very little, but that share so generously, with the teams of people who have made those trips over the years. (I’ll never forget the 45th birthday party the sisters threw for me there – September 4, 2018 – somehow finding balloons, baking a cake, and toasting with champagne in mis-matched glasses of every size and shape, for the occasion.)

I think about learning how to properly peel, eat and appreciate seafood by way of the heaps of shrimp and crawfish poured out on my Grandma Giraud’s table in New Orleans. And I think about the best rhubarb pie, made by my Grandma Magsig baked for Thanksgiving dinners in Ohio.

I think about the countless pizzas – and even more beers – I’ve shared at a place called Plank’s in Columbus – almost weekly in college, and at my graduation from Capital University, for my wedding rehearsal dinner, my 50th birthday, and where we’ll gather again in a few weeks for my son Jack’s college graduation, too.

I think about the 18 Christmas Eve dinners I’ve rushed through at the Reece’s home every year between the 7:30 and 11 o’clock Christmas Eve worship services.

I think about the “Dinners with the Pastors” we’ve hosted over the years as part of our Silent Auction. I think of Mardi Gras and Oktoberfest.

These moments and memories are the kind of thing Jesus was after, I believe, when he broke that bread, passed that wine around, washed all of those feet, and then made his way to the cross.

He was connecting a moment in time with a movement of the Spirit.

He was connecting an expression of love with a command to share it.

He was connecting our physical senses with our spiritual sense of call.

He was filling his people with food and purpose and sending them out to fill the world with the kind of love with which he, himself, was filled to overflowing.

Jesus knew exactly what he was doing and it’s why he asks us to do the same. Eat this bread. Drink this wine. Do this in remembrance of me. And wash these feet – and those feet – and even and especially those feet – just as I’ve shown you to do. Love one another, the way I’ve already … and always … loved you, first.

I hope these young people who’ve learned a new thing or two about Holy Communion, will hold the memory of this night in a way that will find them and fill them for the rest of their lives. I hope the taste and smell of the bread and wine, the familiarity of the words, the sound of the hymns, the sense of the love that surrounds and supports them, and the power of Jesus’ prayer to do this in remembrance of him will be a connection and an encouragement for them in all the days to come for their walk of life and faith in the world.

And I hope the same is true for each of us, too. That we’ll always taste and see something new … and familiar … and life-giving … as we do all of this together – and in remembrance – of the grace we know in Jesus.

Amen

John 13:1-17, 31-34

Now before the festival of the Passover, Jesus knew that his hour had come to depart from this world and go to the Father. Having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end. The devil had already decided that Judas son of Simon Iscariot would betray Jesus. And during supper Jesus, knowing that the Father had given all things into his hands and that he had come from God and was going to God, got up from supper, took off his outer robe, and tied a towel around himself. Then he poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples’ feet and to wipe them with the towel that was tied around him. He came to Simon Peter, who said to him, “Lord, are you going to wash my feet?” Jesus answered, “You do not know now what I am doing, but later you will understand.” Peter said to him, “You will never wash my feet.” Jesus answered, “Unless I wash you, you have no share with me.” Simon Peter said to him, “Lord, not my feet only but also my hands and my head!” Jesus said to him, “One who has bathed does not need to wash, except for the feet, but is entirely clean. And you are clean, though not all of you.” For he knew who was to betray him; for this reason he said, “Not all of you are clean.”

After he had washed their feet, had put on his robe, and had reclined again, he said to them, “Do you know what I have done to you? 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. For I have set you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you. Very truly, I tell you, slaves are not greater than their master, nor are messengers greater than the one who sent them. If you know these things, you are blessed if you do them.

When Judas had gone out, Jesus said, “Now the Son of Man has been glorified, and God has been glorified in him. If God has been glorified in him,[a] God will also glorify him in himself and will glorify him at once. Little children, I am with you only a little longer. You will look for me, and as I said to the Jews so now I say to you, ‘Where I am going, you cannot come.’ 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.”

For the last seven weeks, Katelyn and I have gawked over Clive: from his chubby little cheeks, his ever moving hands, his blue (hopefully turning brown) eyes, to the slow growing hair on his head. But there is nothing we have gawked at more than his feet. Not a day goes by when both of us, likely multiple times throughout the day, gleefully squeal, “look at those piggies”! And if you’ve ever spent time around a newborn, I think this is normal behavior. Or maybe we’re just crazy because we really think his little feet are so cute and small and soft! Nearly every night, we wash those feet, taking them gently in our hands, cleaning them with soap, drying them off, and rubbing them with lotion.

It’s one thing to wash or touch a baby’s feet, but as adults, that becomes a little more awkward. There's not quite the excitement or joy around adult feet as there is for a newborn. When I wear birkenstocks, no one comes up to me gleefully squealing “look at those piggies!” And for good reasons! Both parties would be embarrassed, I presume. And my feet aren’t like Clive’s; they aren’t soft or small, and I couldn’t tell you the last time lotion touched them, if ever. As adults, our feet become hard, calloused, and cracked; they might be discolored by disease; gnarled from years of ill-fitting footwear; and surely they’re smelly at the end of the day. From heel to toe, we feel there is much to be embarrassed about. So, unless you get a pedicure often, we keep our little piggies hidden, covered, and under no circumstances, perhaps other than tonight, do we let people touch them.

Why then, may we wonder, does Jesus wash the feet of his disciples and even worse tell us to wash one another’s feet?!

If you think feet are filthy now, they were likely worse in the time of Jesus: walking, nearly everywhere, in sandals on sandy roads and rocky ground. Feet were the dirtiest, dusty part of one’s body. As a sign of hospitality, a host would leave water near the door for guests to wash their feet off. Often a slave would do it. On a more rare occasion, a student would wash the feet of their teacher. But on Jesus’ last night with his disciples, he flips the script, humbles, or more like humiliates, himself and washes the dirty, dusty, smelly feet of each disciple.

But what does this act mean, both for the disciples and for us? What makes it so important? Is Jesus simply calling us to wash feet because they're dirty and smelly? Or is there something more going on here?

Peter, both horrified that Jesus would take the position of a slave and likely embarrassed that Jesus would see and touch his feet, replied how I imagine many of you did when you heard this was a foot washing service, “you’ll never wash my feet”. Yet, when Jesus says “if I don’t do this, you won’t be a part of what I’m doing,” Peter takes the washing with astounding literalism asking Jesus to wash his whole body. Yet it’s not about the feet or the washing.… It’s about love and what Jesus is about to do for the disciples and for us on the cross.

In washing their feet, Jesus is saying to everyone, (to you) give me the dirtiest, dustiest part of yourself and I’ll make it clean. Reveal the part of you that's broken and bruised, hurting and aching and I’ll heal you. Show me the part of yourself that you keep covered, that you don’t want anyone else to see and I promise I will still love you.

We all have that part of us, that memory, that trauma, that hidden secret, that we don’t want others to know or see or embrace. But that’s the part that Jesus wants to hold, to bear, to cleanse. And that’s exactly what Jesus does on the cross. He willingly takes from us all our sin, our shame, our guilt, and we are made entirely clean.

And because we have been washed, because we have seen and felt the example of Christ and his love, we can be foot washers, too. By this, Jesus isn’t calling us to be pedicurists in a literal sense, nor to be killed on a cross, of course. Rather, he is inviting us to love and be loved, which looks and feels a whole lot like washing feet: because it means dealing with the dirt in other’s lives and in your own. It means holding the brokenness and burdens of your neighbor while they carry yours, too. It means revealing the hard, calloused, and cracked parts of your life that you would rather remain covered. And doing all of this for a person or people whom you can’t stand or who may have even hurt you. Notice Judas was at the table that night and his feet got washed, too.

So tonight you are invited to get your feet washed, not because they need bathed (though they may), but so that we remember and experience, if ever so slightly, the humbly, cleansing love of Christ shown on the cross. Will it be awkward or embarrassing; it might. Will it be intimate, most likely. But so is loving your neighbor. Which is exactly what we disciples are called to do. Amen.

Maundy Thursday - Meals with Meaning

Little Piggies