Sermon for Maundy Thursday, April 6, 2023

Exodus 12:1-4, 5-14+Psalm 116:1, 10-17+1 Corinthians 11:23-26+John 13:1-17, 10-17

This day shall be a day of remembrance for you. (Exodus 12:14)

Most of us, I imagine, grew up with family rituals. If your family was at all like mine, there could be no variation in the ritual, or it was ruined. Some rituals emerge out of necessity. For instance, Christmas morning in a household of six children would have been unmanageable if not for some kind of ritual order to keep things from descending into chaos. So, we had rules. All six of us came downstairs at the same time. We turned right to walk into the dining room rather than left to go into the living room where the magic happened. We sat for breakfast and drank hot chocolate with marshmallows out of Santa shaped mugs that had been my granny’s. And once we were all finished (I can tell you that did not take long), we had to line up, oldest to youngest or youngest to oldest, alternating by year. Then we walked single file into the living room, our steps speeding up as we hastened to our spot – we all knew where our treasures would be.

And then the chaos ensued.

As I wrote this part out, it brought all of it into the present – the look of my siblings, the smell of the tree, the warmth of the fire, the exhausted joy on my parents’ faces, the pandemonium. No matter how much time has passed or how many are no longer with us (just my parents, for now), remembering makes it real, in a way. Not just then, but now.

On Passover, our Jewish neighbors recreate the ritual of the escape from bondage in Egypt, of God’s saving work for those who had suffered under Pharoah’s enslavement for 400 years. The ritual of the seder meal may not have been developed in its current recognizable from until the rabbinic period following the destruction of the temple in 70 C.E., but it is a 3,000-year-old tradition of remembering, of bringing the past into the present.

The three synoptic gospels – Matthew, Mark, and Luke – all have a ritual Passover meal for Jesus and his followers. And I just need to pause here to say that if you imagine that it was just twelve white men plus Jesus gathered on one side of a table, you need to dismiss that notion now. They were likely reclining on cushions in a circle with the women and children fluttering about. Kind of like that controlled chaos of Christmas morning in my family.

As he broke the bread, he said to them, “This is my body. Remember me,” and, “This is my blood. Remember me.” The early theologians of the Church tried to explain just how Jesus is present in the elements of bread and wine and just how he is with us when we share this meal together through the power of the Holy Spirit. But even John Calvin, toward the end of his treatise on the eucharist, wrote, “It is a mystery too sublime for me to be able to express, or even to comprehend; and, to be still more explicit, I’d rather experience it than understand it.”

And yet, we do this week after week. We experience this week after week. Maybe we can’t understand it on this side of the veil, but we know Christ to be present when we gather here.

The mystery to me is how John doesn’t even talk about this. John, who can be the most inscrutable, multilayered of the evangelists, only says that during supper – not even the Passover meal in this telling – Jesus got up, stripped off his robe, grabbed some water and a towel and started washing feet. And millions of people through history breathed a sigh of relief that this did not become the third dominical sacrament, even though Jesus says, “For I have set you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you” (John 13:15).

During Holy Week, it is the custom among bishops and clergy to gather for what is known as a chrism mass, when the holy oil used for baptism is blessed by the bishop for use by priests in the local congregations. During this liturgy, we also renew our ordination vows. It’s a good time to be reminded of what we promised to do when we were ordained, of those holy obligations we have. The bishop says to us, “We are called to proclaim his death and resurrection, to administer the Sacraments of the New Covenant which he sealed with his blood on the cross, and to care for his people in the power of the Spirit.” Nary a word about feet.

But a little later on, the bishop asks, “Do you reaffirm your promise to be a faithful servant of all those committed to your care, patterning your life in accordance with the teachings of Christ, so that you may be a wholesome example to your people?”

And there it is. In accordance with the teachings of Christ.

Jesus said, “So if I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet” (13:14).

Jesus came in the humility of the manger and died in humility on the cross, and in between, he ministered in humility, even to the point of washing the dusty feet of his followers. And that is what we are also to do.

And John even lets us know that not everyone was enthusiastic about having his feet washed – I’m looking at you, Peter – and that is just the point. To wash and to be washed is to share in the servant ministry that Jesus showed us.

This Maundy Thursday – the day of the new mandate, the new commandment – is to be a day of remembrance for us. Remembrance of a shared meal, a washing of feet, and, yes, a betrayal.

If I might be so bold as to edit Paul in his words to the church in Corinth, “For as often as you eat this bread and drink the cup and share in the washing of feet with your neighbor, you proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes” (1 Corinthians 11:26, edited).