April 2, 2015 – Maundy Thursday
© 2015 Evan D. Garner
Have you seen the movie The Break Up, which stars Jennifer
Anniston and Vince Vaughn? Neither have I. But I remember seeing the trailer
back in 2006, when the movie came out. It’s become a strategy of film studios
to show most of the funny lines from their mediocre productions in the
commercials just to get you into the cinema, and, even though I haven’t seen
it, there’s a line from that movie that I often repeat in my marriage. There’s a
turning point in the film when the characters have a falling out after a dinner
party. The girlfriend wants some help cleaning up, but the guy just wants to
lounge around and play video games. Finally, after she lays on the guilt-trip, he
relents and heads into the kitchen, complaining as he goes. At that point, she says,
“You know what? That’s not what I want.” Confused, he says, “You just said that
you want me to help you do the dishes,” to which Anniston replies, “I want you
to want to do the dishes,” which, of course, that begs the question, “Why would
I want to do dishes?”
I want you to want to do
the dishes. But why would I want to do the dishes? Why would anyone want to do the
dishes? Exactly. It’s an exchange husbands and wives have been having for
centuries.
And it’s a subject at the
heart of the exchange between Peter and Jesus in tonight’s gospel lesson.
During supper, Jesus got up from the table, took off his outer robe, tied a
towel around his waist, and began to wash the disciples’ feet. As he made his
way around the table, each disciple looked down in confused discomfort as his
master poured water over his feet and dried them off gently and lovingly.
Finally, when Jesus came to Peter, the brash disciple could stand it no longer.
This role reversal would stop here and now. “Are you going to wash my feet?” he
asked Jesus. And Jesus replied, “You don’t know what I am doing now, but later
you will understand.” But that wasn’t good enough for Peter, who resolutely
declared, “Lord, you will never wash my feet.” So Jesus put the pitcher down
and looked at Peter and said, “Unless I wash you, you cannot be a part of me.” And
Peter, still unable to understand what Jesus meant, said, “Then wash my whole
body—feet, hands, and head!”
But that wasn’t the
point. Jesus wasn’t interested in making them clean. He explained that they
were clean already. This washing of the feet wasn’t about getting the dirt off—inside
or out. And it wasn’t about giving one’s friends a loving gesture as a farewell
gift. Jesus washed the disciples’ feet in order to initiate them into a way of
life that is defined by selfless love. That selfless love is the heart of the
gospel. It is the core of Jesus’ message and identity. It is the motive that
propelled him to the cross. And it is the raison
d’être for the Christian life. And, if we do not let Jesus, our Lord and
savior, wash our feet, then we can have no share with him either.
That’s because being
loved always precedes loving others just like being served always precedes
serving others. As Christians, we are called not simply to do nice things for
other people. We are called to love them and serve them as Christ loved and
served us.
But who would want to
wash someone else’s feet? Who would want to do the dishes? Who would want to do
the laundry? Who would want to change a dirty diaper? Who would want to
spoon-feed applesauce to an invalid, wiping her chin when she makes a mess? Who
would want to spend all day gently caressing the hand of someone who is
suffering from the end stages of Alzheimer’s? Who would want to give up one’s
whole life in order to take care of someone else? Who would want to do all of
that? Someone who knows the unbreakable bonds of selfless love.
When it’s a child or a
parent or a spouse—when it’s someone we love—the question isn’t whether we want
to; it’s whether we have the capacity—whether we are able to give as much as we
want to give. But what about someone you don’t love? What about someone else?
What about a stranger or someone you don’t really like all that much? Could you
do that for them? Could you want to do that for them? Could you want to give up
everything for the sake of another?
Jesus loves us like that.
He loves us enough to wash our feet, and he loves us enough to die for us. And
that means that our relationship with him is not based upon some distant
admiration as if he were merely some great figure in history worth following
and emulating out of respect. No, he died specifically for you and for me. He
loved us enough to give up everything he had for our sake. He reaches out
through two thousand years of history and touches us with that love. His
selfless love penetrates us as if it were our feet that he washed, as if we
were the ones he gazed lovingly upon as he hung upon the cross. His love—his
sacrifice—is the basis for our relationship with him, and only then, once we
have known his love, can that become the basis of our relationship with one
another. In other words, if we are going to answer his call to love and serve
others the way Christ did, we must begin by letting him love and serve us.
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