Maundy Thursday Sermon

This Lent we have been walking with Julian of Norwich who, of course, died nearly 600 years ago. But it is not with Julian that I want to start but with a much more modern writer – Graham Kendrick.

My Lord, what love is this
That pays so dearly
That I, the guilty one
May go free!

Amazing love, O what sacrifice
The Son of God given for me
My debt he pays, and my death he dies
That I might live, that I might live

The language of guilt and sacrifice is harsh and uncompromising but beyond that is this language of love – my Lord, what love is this, that pays so dearly. This reflection on astonishing love was at the heart of Julians writings and we are invited to sit with it and in it tonight.

This evening service for Maundy Thursday starts with a party or at least a meal. The synoptic Gospels (Matthew, Mark and Luke) have the Last Supper taking place within the context of the Passover meal – John does not – he places the Last Supper on the eve of Passover. John uses a massive and cosmic vista for his Gospel and placing the crucifixion so firmly against the slaughtering of Passover lambs is a powerful theological statement which brings the worlds of the old covenant and the new crashing together in one almighty act of Jesus victory.

There are strains of betrayal and what is to come running through the text – and remember John began to insert those very firmly in his writing at that turning point of his Gospel after Lazarus was raised.However, it is worth remembering that the Disciples who were gathered seem to have no idea what is going on. Jesus has warned them, but somehow the procession into Jerusalem, the general adulation has brought these followers of Jesus around this table in jubilant mood – they simply do not get what is going on, or perhaps they are refusing to see it.

What is this, we can imagine them asking as Jesus washes feet, takes bread and wine and offers it and speaks of betrayal – what is this? We can imagine that within the space of a few short hours as the reality of events is sinking in, as a larger landscape of Jesus is emerging through their experience of death and resurrection that they come back to these moments with astonishment and awe. What is this becomes in their minds a much bigger question – not just a functional understanding but a life changing longing – what love is this.

It is no accident that John devotes the four chapters after the Last Supper to Jesus praying and teaching. This highly reflective writing splashes over readers like waves on the beach – again and again God loves us, Jesus came for us, we are given everything and our response is love. Whether we are grafted in as a vine or waiting for the coming of the Spirit there is this sense of being covered up and tucked right into God in these chapters. None of the other Gospels do this – they tell the story from place to place – John, almost certainly the latest writer, makes sure we understand not only the history of the Passion but where it must touch our hearts and lives.

John does not offer us an institution narrative, he does not tell of Jesus taking bread and wine and offering them. If he was writing later this would make sense in terms of the fact that he would have been a part of a Church which was doing this – those words of memorial and giving would have been part of his every day language and a part of the exisitng stories of the other Gospels of which he would have been aware.

John instead concentrates on what it means to be a person with power, what it means to be one who leads. He is clear this is not a redefinition of social structure, he is not calling for a socialistic revolution – the slave is not greater than the master – but it is to the master he speaks. He redefines that role in terms of service – the task which had fallen to the lowliest slave is taken on by the head of the household – not in abayance of his authority but in fulfilment of it. This is a challenge to us – to live more fully into the positions which we inhabit in life but to do so not by making ourselves bigger, by inflating ourselves, but by falling down on our knees in service.

We will, of course, act this out in the symbolic washing of feet – but we must also carry it into everything we do. So how do we wash the feet of those around us? It seems to me there are some pieces which go with foot washing which might help us to understand what it really was that Jesus meant.

Firstly there was a need to be fulfilled. First century Israel was a dusty old place and people would have washed or had their feet washed when they came in. It is easy to imagine a rather clean swept Hollywood scene but think medieval streets and I suspect you might be closer. In well to do households there would have been a slave or servant to wash the feet of those entering the house. It was a practical and sensible task much as removing shoes at the front door might be practical and sensible for us. So we need to be aware of need, and often very ordinary, everyday need is the place to start, nothing glamorous, just the mud and muck of everyday life.

Secondly Jesus has to know that these friends of his would let him do this. The protest they offered was to be expected but somehow they trusted that Jesus could operate in this upside down way. Sometimes we want to serve from arms length, or just to write a cheque – but that is not what Jesus does, he knows those he serves, he really sees those he heals – there is an immediacy and intimacy which many of us struggle with. We have elevated the role of anonymous giving to a level beyond its use. In order to serve in this footwashing way we must be trusted and commissioned to serve by those we are offering to help and not just rely on another's sheer desperation for our sense of accomplishment.

Thirdly Jesus is building a new community based on love and an intertwining view of service and love. It is not enough for us to live in a way where we swoop in and beat a hasty retreat – we are called to a much more interdependant and daring sort of existence. There will be times of great disaster where we might need to help from arms length – but footwashing is not extraordinary or foreign – to Jesus it is every day life and the here and now. There is that old saying that if you give someone a loaf of bread they will eat for a few days but if you give them seeds to grow they will feed themselves for a season and beyond. This picture in John goes beyond even that – it calls us to a world not only where we supply seed and agricultural know how but where our wellbeing and the wellbeing of the other are tied up in somehow working the land together. This means breaking down walls and false securities – it means seeing authority, not necessarily as devolved, but as giving priviledge to get our hands dirty in mutual service.

Tonight we are invited as honoured guests, guests before whom Jesus kneels, guests who will go out from the meal and walk to a Garden and wonder and watch – what love is this that will pay so dearly? Who is this Jesus, this Son of God, who is given for each of us and who washes feet.

I want to finish with a poem by George Herbert – it is fairly well known but a good reminder of the invitation which we are given tonight - to sit and eat at Christ's table as those who are special and surrounded by this astonishing love.

OVE bade me welcome; yet my soul drew back,

Guilty of dust and sin.

But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack

From my first entrance in,

Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning

If I lack'd anything.

'A guest,' I answer'd, 'worthy to be here:'

Love said, 'You shall be he.'

'I, the unkind, ungrateful? Ah, my dear,

I cannot look on Thee.'

Love took my hand and smiling did reply,

'Who made the eyes but I?'

'Truth, Lord; but I have marr'd them: let my shame

Go where it doth deserve.'

'And know you not,' says Love, 'Who bore the blame?'

'My dear, then I will serve.'

'You must sit down,' says Love, 'and taste my meat.'

So I did sit and eat.