Holy Week

Maundy Thursday - "Anatomy Eats"

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.”


We’re going to get serious in a minute – and very serious in a little bit – but here’s a little something for the kids. It might actually be for anyone old enough to remember School House Rock, too.

That weird, cheesy little blast from the past came to mind when I learned about a doctor a few weeks ago named Jonathan Reisman. He’s written a new book called The Unseen Body. Each chapter is about a specific body part or body fluid (yeah.) and everything that particular body part, or body fluid, might have to tell us about ourselves, our health, our body, and its function or purpose. So, as you might imagine, there’s a chapter on the heart and the brain and the liver and the lungs, and so on. And, as you might not like to imagine, there are also chapters on blood, urine, and feces, too.

As part of his research and his lived experience as a doctor, really – as someone who found great respect and reverence for the human body on the very first day he started dissecting his cadaver in medical school – Doctor Reisman also credits his medical studies and career as a physician with turning him into a “foodie” of all things, someone with a fascination with and penchant for discovering more about fine food and drink.

He says that when he started learning about which muscles in the human body correspond to which cuts of beef he was eating, for instance, he wanted to know more about that. So, not only did he do some research by way of slaughterhouses and butchers, but that led him to start collaborating with a chef on a project they call “Anatomy Eats,” where they gather people for dinner and he and the chef teach, talk about, and explain to the guests what it is – exactly – that they’re eating.

Like, each dinner has a theme – the cardiovascular system, for instance – where they serve three species of heart, cooked in three different ways. And they serve things like blood cookies and blood sausage, too. (I know enough about blood sausage to know I want nothing to do with a blood cookie.) And as part of such a meal – before or during dinner, I’m not sure which – he dissects a heart for his dinner guests, showing them the arteries and the valves, how it all works, what makes it healthy what causes it disease, and so on. Bon appetit!

Now, despite the fact that I don’t eat mammals or birds, I have zero judgement about any of this, but this is not a dinner reservation I would make. I actually give Dr. Reisman and whoever dares to attend one of his “Anatomy Eats” dinner parties credit for wanting to know that much about what it is they’re eating.

And it all made me think about Jesus – his Last Supper – and what in the world those first disciples must have been thinking when he invited them over to celebrate the Passover meal … when he started breaking bread and pouring wine and then talking about eating his body and drinking his blood, for crying out loud, I wonder if they felt like they were at some First Century version of an “Anatomy Eats” dinner party.

And they were in a way … with the Great Physician, in Jesus, after all … who was teaching them about what it would mean to eat and to drink and to be fed, and nourished and filled up with the body and blood of the Lamb of God.

Now, Jesus didn’t dissect any lambs … blood sausages likely weren’t on the menu … but he did show them what his body came to do – its function and purpose, if you will. When he disrobed at dinner; when he wrapped that towel around his waist; when he got on his hands and knees to wash the feet of his friends, Jesus modeled for his followers what servanthood looked like – he embodied humility, meekness, generosity, grace. And he invited them to do likewise.

And he gave them more clues that night, too, about what his blood would accomplish. His was a new covenant of sacrifice, mercy, and forgiveness of sins. His was a cup of goodness to be shared with the whole wide world.

And it wasn’t anything like a science project, but Jesus revealed his heart to them, in the end. And he invited them to show theirs, too. “Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. By this [kind of love and mercy; this sort of sacrifice and servanthood] everyone will know that you are my disciples.” “… if you have [this kind of] love for one another the world will know we’re in this together.”

And that’s what I think this Maundy Thursday, this First Communion, this Last Supper, and this Greatest Commandment stuff is all about, for us. There’s so much symbolism, so much emotion, so much ritual and tradition surrounding what we’re here for tonight.

And I think it’s hard to wrap our heads and our hearts around it all, really. And it’s hard to swallow, as it were – the fullness of what this meal and this commandment mean for us. And I’m not talking about the “gross” factor in all of this. I’m talking about the “grace” factor, here:

That God would take on flesh, I mean, and take up a cross and give his life for the sake of the world – and ask us to do the same.

That God would stoop to serve humbly, give generously, suffer sacrificially – and ask us to do the same.

That God would love people so deeply, without condition, with no strings attached, without a return on the investment – and command us to do that, too.

So we eat, we drink, we remember, we give thanks, and we hope …

We hope that the saying is true … that you are what you eat, in some way … and that this meal fills us with the same deep love, the same wide forgiveness, the same faith that even though we die, we will live – connected, one to another, and bound together by the grace of God, in Jesus, crucified and risen for the sake of the world.

Amen

I Loved You Already

John 8:23-30

He said to them, “You are from below, I am from above; you are of this world, I am not of this world. I told you that you would die in your sins, for you will die in your sins unless you believe that I am he.” They said to him, “Who are you?” Jesus said to them, “Why do I speak to you at all? I have much to say about you and much to condemn; but the one who sent me is true, and I declare to the world what I have heard from him.” They did not understand that he was speaking to them about the Father.

So Jesus said, “When you have lifted up the Son of Man, then you will realize that I am he, and that I do nothing on my own, but I speak these things as the Father instructed me. And the one who sent me is with me; he has not left me alone, for I always do what is pleasing to him.” As he was saying these things, many believed in him.


One of those Nicorette commercials caught my attention the other day. You know the ones for nicotine gum or patches or pills that help people quit smoking. They have some real-life former smokers tell stories about why they finally decided to kick the habit. There’s one where a guy misses his kid’s game-winning basketball shot because he had to run outside for a smoke. There’s another one where a woman realized how crazy it was that she found herself hoofing it through a snowstorm, just for another cigarette. And there’s one where a young, new dad is on the floor playing with his baby girl. They all describe their respective “aha” moments as their own, personal “why” that convinced them, finally, to quit smoking.

And the tag-line at the end of each commercial suggests that “every great why, needs a great how.” “Every great why, needs a great how.”

I think there’s some truth to that – especially if you’re looking for a nicotine replacement therapy. And I think it applies to our spiritual life, too, in some ways... “Every great why, needs a great how.”

But when it comes to Good Friday and all that brings us here, we focus too much on “how” too much of the time, if you ask me. For lots of reasons, we are captivated and fascinated by the “how” of this night. I’m always glad for and impressed and surprised, frankly, year after year by the turnout we have for Good Friday worship, this occasion where we gather very deliberately to get as close to death as most of us are comfortable getting – unless or until we have to, anyway.

Now, I imagine the reasons that draw us here – like everything else – are as varied as are the people in the room, and a lot of that has to do with the “how” of Jesus’ crucifixion. And I’m right there with you. Many of you know I love a good, gory - preferably true - crime story, as much as the next guy. My wife and kids are a little creeped out by my Netflix history, to be honest, which includes a lot of that sort of thing: Making a Murderer, Abduction in Plain Sight, The Keepers. That new Ted Bundy documentary is fantastic, by the way.

And the “how” of tonight is like a lot of that – blood and guts and gore, I mean. We’ll hear again about the whips and the thorns and the spit and the screaming. And we can get carried away with all of it, if we’re not careful. (I read a story just this week about a youth pastor in an Ohio suburb who encouraged his high school students to spit on him, whip him, and even cut his back with a knife as a Holy Week exercise. And the senior pastor watched it all happen, before some wise and frightened parents stepped in to stop it!) Like I said, we can get a little carried away with the “how” of what happened to Jesus at his crucifixion.

But what’s more important tonight for a million reasons… the thing that matters for God, in Jesus… isn’t so much the “how” of all of this, as it is the “why.”

Because, honestly, if you’ve been around awhile – or if your Netflix history looks anything like mine – you know that crucifixion, as horrible as it was for Jesus and others who suffered it, might not even be the worst way to go. I’d have a hard time convincing a holocaust victim of the concentration camps and gas chambers that their suffering was preferable to what Jesus endured. I’d have a hard time explaining to a black boy in America’s Jim Crow, 1950’s south that his lynching was any easier than a crucifixion in 1st century Palestine. And I’ve even heard people wonder if the long, slow, painful death march of a loved-one’s cancer or Alzheimer’s disease wasn’t as ugly and painful and twisted a way to die as anything the Romans might have come up with.

So it can’t be the how that matters or captivates our imagination in all of this. The “how” of tonight isn’t the point, so much as the “why” that brings us here. So, in the case of Jesus and all that compels us to call this fateful Friday “good” – the “how” we’ll hear about in a moment better come with a pretty darn good “why.”

And it does. And some of you won’t be surprised to know it all comes down to this thing we call grace, around here.

The “why” that drove God, in Jesus, to the Cross of Good Friday is that God already loved the world and that God already loved us – way back when.

And that’s something we can’t here too much or be reminded of often enough.

I think if we were to ask Jesus about his “why,” on that first Good Friday, he might have said, “Because I love you, already.” God’s promise and proclamation, in Jesus’ death on the cross wasn’t some cosmic guilt-trip meant to coerce our obedience; it wasn’t some kind of tit-for-tat transaction; it wasn’t some sadistic sideshow of suffering where God said “look what I’ve done for you, you better shape up, or else.”

It was nothing less than the heart of God, burdened by the brokenness and corruption and ugliness and injustice and inequity and greed and sin of the world’s people – the children of God whom God already loved. God’s heart broke – Jesus died – because God already loved us – not because God was trying to make us love him back.

It’s something I’ve recently started trying to say to my boys on a regular basis – “I love you already” – and something I think we all need to hear more frequently than we do, on behalf of our creator. “I loved you already.”

“I loved you already.” Before you won the game. Before you passed the test. Before the grades were posted. “I loved you already.”

“I loved you already.” Before that sin. Before your confession. Before you felt the forgiveness, even. “I loved you already.”

“I loved you already.” Before the addiction. Before the divorce. Before you lost the job.

“I loved you already.” Before the infidelity. Before you stopped coming to church. Before you started coming back.

And I think this is the simple, sweet, sacred message of God’s act, in Jesus, on Good Friday. Why? Why all of this darkness, despair and dying? “Because I loved you already.”

“I loved you already,” even though you can’t understand it; or wrap your brain around it; or possibly ever live up to it.

“I loved you already,” and there’s nothing you can do but marvel at it; be humbled by and grateful for the truth of it.

“I loved you already – and so much – that it killed me.”

“I loved you already – and so much – that I died for your sake and for the sake of the world.”

“I loved you already. And, come Sunday you’ll see, I love you still, and will forever.”

Amen