Homily: Maundy Thursday (9 March 2009)
(Exodus 12:1-14a/Psalm 78:14-20, 23-25/1 Corinthians 11:22-32/John 13:1-15)
The Tables of Power
In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Like many Christians I struggle with the role of faith in the public sector: How may we build best for the Kingdom of God in a fallen world, using the rubble of a fallen culture? Some Christians – and I express no judgment here – actively engage the political process hoping to gain for themselves, or for their elected representative, a seat at the tables of power where policies are formulated and laws first proposed. It is a way, I suppose, to influence public behavior toward a religious ethic, though whether the ways of men can rightly be used to accomplish the ends of God is a question we need seriously to consider.
The tables of power in Washington are found in the Oval Office, in the chambers and conference rooms of Congress, around the bench at the Supreme Court. Sit at one of these and you are important. Sit at one of these and you influence the course of history. Sit at one of these and people curry your favor and treat you with respect.
The church is sometimes interested in these tables of power – sometimes inordinately so – but not so much this day. This day another table beckons, one in an upper room in Jerusalem. It, too, is a table of power; in fact, it – and its host – defines power for Christians and defines our relationships with the powers-that-be, with all those who sit at other tables of power.
It is Passover week and Jesus sits at this table with his friends for a final meal, a last supper before his passion. James and John are there, the Sons of Thunder. I imagine they’ve jostled by their fellow disciples and planted themselves firmly next to Jesus – one at his right hand and one at his left – in this foretaste of the Kingdom banquet. John as much as “fesses up” in his account of the night. Calling himself the disciple whom Jesus loved he writes, “one of his disciples – the one whom Jesus loves – was reclining next to him” (John 13:23, NRSV). Of course, Peter is there, blustering as always, full of himself – full of pride and confidence in his own power. Judas is there, also, for a time, before Satan fills him and drives him out into the darkness of betrayal. The rest of the Twelve are seated at the table, as well: Philip, Andrew, Thomas, and Matthew emerging as distinct personalities with the others remaining mostly nondescript. Tables of power draw an assortment of characters: self-promoters, sycophants, doubters, anonymous functionaries, and traitors. And yet, with one notable exception, they are all here because they love Jesus, and mostly because he loves them.
At some point during the meal Jesus, the center and source of power at this table, leaves behind his role of host. Only John records what happens next.
1Now before the Feast of the Passover, when Jesus knew that his hour had come to depart out of this world to the Father, having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end. 2During supper, when the devil had already put it into the heart of Judas Iscariot, Simon’s son, to betray him, 3Jesus, knowing that the Father had given all things into his hands, and that he had come from God and was going back to God, 4rose from supper. He laid aside his outer garments, and taking a towel, tied it around his waist. 5Then he poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples’ feet and to wipe them with the towel that was wrapped around him. 6He came to Simon Peter, who said to him, "Lord, do you wash my feet?" 7 Jesus answered him, "What I am doing you do not understand now, but afterward you will understand." 8 Peter said to him, "You shall never wash my feet." Jesus answered him, "If I do not wash you, you have no share with me." 9Simon Peter said to him, "Lord, not my feet only but also my hands and my head!" 10Jesus said to him, "The one who has bathed does not need to wash, except for his feet, but is completely clean. And you are clean, but not every one of you." 11 For he knew who was to betray him; that was why he said, "Not all of you are clean."
12When he had washed their feet and put on his outer garments and resumed his place, he said to them, "Do you understand what I have done to you? 13 You call me Teacher and Lord, and you are right, for so I am. 14If I then, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet. 15For I have given you an example, that you also should do just as I have done to you. 16Truly, truly, I say to you, a servant is not greater than his master, nor is a messenger greater than the one who sent him. 17If you know these things, blessed are you if you do them (John 13:1-17, ESV).
This thing that Jesus does, this thing is outrageous; this thing is scandalous. Only the lowest house slave washes feet. Never would a disciple be required to wash the feet of his master, yet here the Master willingly washes the feet of his disciples.
In this moment of high drama, Jesus forever shifts the locus of power from the table to the floor, from the head to the feet, from the master to the servant. There is no room at the tables of power for the disciple of Jesus, but there is an infinite expanse of floor on which to kneel and wash feet. There is no position of mastery for the disciple of Jesus, but there are endless calls to service. There is no quarter for pride in the heart of the disciple of Jesus, but there is room enough and to spare for humility.
“Do you understand what I have done to you?” Jesus asks, and if we are honest we have to reply, “Probably not.” But he has given us an example to follow; so, at least on this one day each year, we, too, put aside our striving for power, we shelve our pride, and we kneel and wash one another’s feet. It is a small thing, a humble gesture, but that is precisely the point: we are people of the small thing, a community of the humble gesture. “We can do no great things,” Mother Teresa reminds us, “only small things with great love.” We are not greater than our Master. It is enough to be like him in this and in everything.
The church is sometimes interested in the world’s tables of power – sometimes inordinately so – but not so much this day. This day another table beckons, one in an upper room in Jerusalem. It, too, is a table of power; in fact, it – and its host – defines power for Christians and defines our relationships with the powers-that-be, with all those who sit at other tables of power.
14 And when the hour came, he reclined at table, and the apostles with him. 15And he said to them, "I have earnestly desired to eat this Passover with you before I suffer. 16For I tell you I will not eat it until it is fulfilled in the kingdom of God." 17And he took a cup, and when he had given thanks he said, "Take this, and divide it among yourselves. 18 For I tell you that from now on I will not drink of the fruit of the vine until the kingdom of God comes." 19 And he took bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it and gave it to them, saying, "This is my body, which is given for you. Do this in remembrance of me." 20And likewise the cup after they had eaten, saying, "This cup that is poured out for you is the new covenant in my blood” (Luke 22:14-20, ESV).
These words of Jesus, this sacrament, this new covenant forever redefine true power as true sacrifice. At this table of power – to which all the world is invited – the high priest becomes the sacrificial Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world and the host becomes the meal – body broken as bread and blood poured out as wine. “Can you drink the cup I am about to drink?” Jesus once asked James and John and continues to ask each of his disciples who lifts the cup of salvation at this table of power. “Will you take up your cross and follow me?” is, of course, what he means. This meal forever shifts the locus of power from table to cross, from marbled halls to borrowed tomb. There is no room at the tables of power for the disciple of Jesus, but there are many loaves – many lives – to be broken, much wine – much blood – to be poured out, and many crosses to be taken up and carried.
“Do you understand what I have done to you?” Jesus asks, and if we are honest we have to reply, “Probably not.” But he has given us an example to follow – an example and a commandment: “A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another; as I have loved you, that you also love one another. By this all will know that you are My disciples, if you have love for one another” (John 13:34-35, NKJV). And this is sacrament and grace and wonder, that true power is manifest as sacrificial love.
There is no room at the tables of power for the disciple of Jesus, but at the table of love – at the table of love there is always room for one more.
Amen.
(Exodus 12:1-14a/Psalm 78:14-20, 23-25/1 Corinthians 11:22-32/John 13:1-15)
The Tables of Power
In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Like many Christians I struggle with the role of faith in the public sector: How may we build best for the Kingdom of God in a fallen world, using the rubble of a fallen culture? Some Christians – and I express no judgment here – actively engage the political process hoping to gain for themselves, or for their elected representative, a seat at the tables of power where policies are formulated and laws first proposed. It is a way, I suppose, to influence public behavior toward a religious ethic, though whether the ways of men can rightly be used to accomplish the ends of God is a question we need seriously to consider.
The tables of power in Washington are found in the Oval Office, in the chambers and conference rooms of Congress, around the bench at the Supreme Court. Sit at one of these and you are important. Sit at one of these and you influence the course of history. Sit at one of these and people curry your favor and treat you with respect.
The church is sometimes interested in these tables of power – sometimes inordinately so – but not so much this day. This day another table beckons, one in an upper room in Jerusalem. It, too, is a table of power; in fact, it – and its host – defines power for Christians and defines our relationships with the powers-that-be, with all those who sit at other tables of power.
It is Passover week and Jesus sits at this table with his friends for a final meal, a last supper before his passion. James and John are there, the Sons of Thunder. I imagine they’ve jostled by their fellow disciples and planted themselves firmly next to Jesus – one at his right hand and one at his left – in this foretaste of the Kingdom banquet. John as much as “fesses up” in his account of the night. Calling himself the disciple whom Jesus loved he writes, “one of his disciples – the one whom Jesus loves – was reclining next to him” (John 13:23, NRSV). Of course, Peter is there, blustering as always, full of himself – full of pride and confidence in his own power. Judas is there, also, for a time, before Satan fills him and drives him out into the darkness of betrayal. The rest of the Twelve are seated at the table, as well: Philip, Andrew, Thomas, and Matthew emerging as distinct personalities with the others remaining mostly nondescript. Tables of power draw an assortment of characters: self-promoters, sycophants, doubters, anonymous functionaries, and traitors. And yet, with one notable exception, they are all here because they love Jesus, and mostly because he loves them.
At some point during the meal Jesus, the center and source of power at this table, leaves behind his role of host. Only John records what happens next.
1Now before the Feast of the Passover, when Jesus knew that his hour had come to depart out of this world to the Father, having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end. 2During supper, when the devil had already put it into the heart of Judas Iscariot, Simon’s son, to betray him, 3Jesus, knowing that the Father had given all things into his hands, and that he had come from God and was going back to God, 4rose from supper. He laid aside his outer garments, and taking a towel, tied it around his waist. 5Then he poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples’ feet and to wipe them with the towel that was wrapped around him. 6He came to Simon Peter, who said to him, "Lord, do you wash my feet?" 7 Jesus answered him, "What I am doing you do not understand now, but afterward you will understand." 8 Peter said to him, "You shall never wash my feet." Jesus answered him, "If I do not wash you, you have no share with me." 9Simon Peter said to him, "Lord, not my feet only but also my hands and my head!" 10Jesus said to him, "The one who has bathed does not need to wash, except for his feet, but is completely clean. And you are clean, but not every one of you." 11 For he knew who was to betray him; that was why he said, "Not all of you are clean."
12When he had washed their feet and put on his outer garments and resumed his place, he said to them, "Do you understand what I have done to you? 13 You call me Teacher and Lord, and you are right, for so I am. 14If I then, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet. 15For I have given you an example, that you also should do just as I have done to you. 16Truly, truly, I say to you, a servant is not greater than his master, nor is a messenger greater than the one who sent him. 17If you know these things, blessed are you if you do them (John 13:1-17, ESV).
This thing that Jesus does, this thing is outrageous; this thing is scandalous. Only the lowest house slave washes feet. Never would a disciple be required to wash the feet of his master, yet here the Master willingly washes the feet of his disciples.
In this moment of high drama, Jesus forever shifts the locus of power from the table to the floor, from the head to the feet, from the master to the servant. There is no room at the tables of power for the disciple of Jesus, but there is an infinite expanse of floor on which to kneel and wash feet. There is no position of mastery for the disciple of Jesus, but there are endless calls to service. There is no quarter for pride in the heart of the disciple of Jesus, but there is room enough and to spare for humility.
“Do you understand what I have done to you?” Jesus asks, and if we are honest we have to reply, “Probably not.” But he has given us an example to follow; so, at least on this one day each year, we, too, put aside our striving for power, we shelve our pride, and we kneel and wash one another’s feet. It is a small thing, a humble gesture, but that is precisely the point: we are people of the small thing, a community of the humble gesture. “We can do no great things,” Mother Teresa reminds us, “only small things with great love.” We are not greater than our Master. It is enough to be like him in this and in everything.
The church is sometimes interested in the world’s tables of power – sometimes inordinately so – but not so much this day. This day another table beckons, one in an upper room in Jerusalem. It, too, is a table of power; in fact, it – and its host – defines power for Christians and defines our relationships with the powers-that-be, with all those who sit at other tables of power.
14 And when the hour came, he reclined at table, and the apostles with him. 15And he said to them, "I have earnestly desired to eat this Passover with you before I suffer. 16For I tell you I will not eat it until it is fulfilled in the kingdom of God." 17And he took a cup, and when he had given thanks he said, "Take this, and divide it among yourselves. 18 For I tell you that from now on I will not drink of the fruit of the vine until the kingdom of God comes." 19 And he took bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it and gave it to them, saying, "This is my body, which is given for you. Do this in remembrance of me." 20And likewise the cup after they had eaten, saying, "This cup that is poured out for you is the new covenant in my blood” (Luke 22:14-20, ESV).
These words of Jesus, this sacrament, this new covenant forever redefine true power as true sacrifice. At this table of power – to which all the world is invited – the high priest becomes the sacrificial Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world and the host becomes the meal – body broken as bread and blood poured out as wine. “Can you drink the cup I am about to drink?” Jesus once asked James and John and continues to ask each of his disciples who lifts the cup of salvation at this table of power. “Will you take up your cross and follow me?” is, of course, what he means. This meal forever shifts the locus of power from table to cross, from marbled halls to borrowed tomb. There is no room at the tables of power for the disciple of Jesus, but there are many loaves – many lives – to be broken, much wine – much blood – to be poured out, and many crosses to be taken up and carried.
“Do you understand what I have done to you?” Jesus asks, and if we are honest we have to reply, “Probably not.” But he has given us an example to follow – an example and a commandment: “A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another; as I have loved you, that you also love one another. By this all will know that you are My disciples, if you have love for one another” (John 13:34-35, NKJV). And this is sacrament and grace and wonder, that true power is manifest as sacrificial love.
There is no room at the tables of power for the disciple of Jesus, but at the table of love – at the table of love there is always room for one more.
Amen.
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