Hundreds of people are huddled indoors. Prisoners in their own homes. They have been prisoners for years. Generations have been born into captivity and slave labour. Children who have never known freedom. This is a Concentration Camp thousands of years before the atrocities of World War II came to light, before Aushwitz and Birkenhau became synonymous with evil.
The prisoners have been busy – in secret. A meal has been prepared according to strict guidelines. The recipe is set out, portion control is in place, there is no resting or reclining, no meandering through the meal, no time to savour the moment. They are to eat this meal standing, ready for the off, with packed bags, ready for a journey, with sandals on their feet and staff in their hand.
There is silence.
There is danger too. And there is tension. Soon there is a silent exodus of people as families leave their homes, one by one, and slip out into the night, acknowledging one another with a nod of the head or some other silent gesture. There is hope in their eyes. But there is fear too. The moon is high in the sky, a full moon, their only light.
There is silence.
Death hangs in the air. Their unsuspecting Captors will wake in the morning to find that death has touched their households. There will be mourning and crying coming from every house, as one by one the Captors are picked off. Their first-born are dead. And they will wake, too, to find their Captives’ homes empty.
Filled with anger and panic they will make the chase.
This is the Great Escape, and it is dangerous and deadly. There can be no room for mistakes, no backing out at the last minute, no panic. Just follow the plans that have been made. And so with fluttering stomachs, quickly beating hearts, missed breaths they make their escape.
This is the Passover of the Lord.
It is this Passover of the Lord that has coloured the lives of the Jewish People ever since, defining them, making them who they are: a pivotal event in their history, an essential event to remember. The Passover Festival, celebrated year after year, is the freedom meal of the Jews: God rescues them, leads them out from slavery to a land flowing with milk and honey. This is a day of festival for ever.
And so when Jesus keeps the Passover - as he does year in year out - it is filled with emotion and meaning, filled with tenderness and tearfulness and a corporate memory of all that God has done for his people in leading them to freedom. And there is much joy.
The writer of the gospel of John changes things a bit. He places this last meal of Jesus and his death on the cross in the days before the Passover, the day on which the Passover Lamb was slaughtered. It is a fine and fanciful twisting of the story to bring out another meaning.
Jesus is the one who hands himself over, gives himself up, places himself at the heart of the Passover. He is the one who feeds and nourishes, the one who gives himself up, the one who is sacrificed. As the blood above the doors offered a sign of salvation to the Jewish people, so it is Jesus’ blood which brings freedom from death and allows us to journey to the promised land, to be free: free to love, free to be loved.
At this meal, a meal that defines who we are and what we are, Jesus gives us himself.
He rises from table, takes a towel, ties it round his waist and stoops down to wash his disciples’ feet. His disciples are disturbed. Deeply disturbed. The tables have been turned. What is he doing, squandering at their feet? They are embarrassed: embarrassed by the smell of their feet? Embarrassed above all that Jesus is waiting on them. He is their Master and Teacher, their Lord and their Leader and yet here he is messing with the mundane. Everything is being turned on its head, as their lives are, once again, turned upside down. They aren’t sure of anything any more. All they know is that they are confused. Jesus’ talk of death is too much for them to take. Even his talk of love is disturbing them. Yes, they are disturbed by Love.
And here we are, huddled together. The food is prepared, and we are ready for a journey, the journey to the cross and beyond. We are filled with many different emotions, and each of us brings so much to the table. We bring to the table different gifts and grievances, weaknesses and worries, failures and fragilities, questions and concerns. We bring them all to the table. Indeed, we bring our whole lives to the table: to be transformed, to be comforted, challenged, humbled and raised. And we bring so much joy, so much love, so much need of love, and so much need to love.
This Eucharist defines us. It has defined the church ever since Jesus said, ‘Do this in remembrance of me.’ Ever since the church began to grow and gather together they broke bread to proclaim the Lord’s death. Yes, the Eucharist, this Supper, this meal, this Mass defines who we are. It is pivotal and essential. It is our freedom food. Our food for the journey. Our food of Salvation.
Another distinctive characteristic of the church is tied up with this meal, part and parcel of everything it is, for another defining characteristic of the Church is Love. ‘Love one another as I have loved you,’ said Jesus. A commandment, a order, a mandate.
Every Eucharist is a gesture of love, an eloquent expression of how much Jesus loves us. For on this night Jesus gave himself to his disciples and so to us, on this night he gave himself into the hands of his enemies: willingly, but not without pain, all for the sake of love.
And in case we miss the point altogether we are given a further expression of love. He washes his disciples feet. His disciples are disturbed by Love.
Tonight and throughout these Holy Days and beyond, disturbed by love. Be transformed by Love. When you find someone difficult or distasteful be disturbed by love. When you find someone annoying or argumentative be disturbed by love. When you find someone frustrating or when you find the thought of washing someone’s feet an ugly act or when you find the thought of having your own feet washed, be disturbed by love. When you wonder what the church is all about or what God wants from us and from you, be disturbed by love. When faced by atrocity and disaster, when left to wonder what it’s all about, be disturbed by love. When you are scared or uncertain, be disturbed by love.
Tonight, we have an eloquent expression of love, a call to love, a call to be loved: in this Eucharist as Jesus hands himself to us in bread and wine, as he hands himself to his enemies, as he washes our feet, he disturbs the world with his love, he disturbs us with his love.
“I give you a new commandment. Love one another as I have loved you.”
Showing posts with label Maundy Thursday. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Maundy Thursday. Show all posts
Thursday, 1 April 2010
Friday, 10 April 2009
Maundy Thursday
Rosie Mason has one of the world's oddest job titles and is employed for just one day each year. Mrs Mason, 55, from Leicester, is the Queen's supplier of Nosegays - the sweet-smelling bouquets carried by royals as she hands out the Maundy Money today. Monarchs have been handing out gifts on Maundy Thursday since the 13th Century. In centuries past, the sovereign would give money to the poor and wash recipients' feet on. The nosegay's role was to ward off unpleasant smells. Foot-washing ended with James II in the 17th Century but the tradition of making the posies remains "It has to be one of the world's oddest job titles," said Mrs Mason. “The nosegays are only carried at the Maundy service so I only work on them for one day every year," she said, adding that her work as a florist keeps her busy the rest of the time. But her job as the Queen’s Supplier of Nosegays is just for once a year!
Tonight the smell of feet will fill the air and there is no bouquet of flowers in sight to ward off unpleasant smells. How disgusting, how unappetising, how coarse, how common! Why, in the midst of our eating and drinking, would we dare to break with etiquette, why dare to break social norms and acceptable behaviour, and get our feet out? Why? Because on the night he gathered with his friends in an upstairs room, Jesus left the table and taking bowl and water and wearing a towel around his waist, bends to the feet of his disciples and washes their feet in a gesture that is so out of the ordinary it takes even his disciples by surprise. ‘What are you doing?’ ‘You will never wash my feet.’
But this is not a one-off. This is not an isolated gesture, it’s not a party trick, or a novelty, neither is it a once a year event, a gesture to look back on, smile at, gasp about or be lost in melancholy moments. Jesus is very clear about what he is doing and why he is doing it. ‘Do you understand what I have done to you?’ he asks. ‘You call me Master and Lord, and rightly so; so I am. If I, then, the Lord and Master have washed your feet, you also should wash one another’s feet. I have given you an example that you may copy what I have done to you.’
The command is there to continue what he has done, to copy his example, to carry on his work, to fulfil his command. The mandate has been set before us. It’s what we must do! And not just once a year either! The command to wash one another’s feet is one that should characterise our lives, it is one that should fill our lives, so that we become a stooping people: stooping low to serve, showing no partiality, no picking and choosing, no turning of our backs. I can’t decide to wash the feet of someone ‘respectable’ who looks as though their feet are clean but ignore the man I passed on Bute Street today, half cut, looking half human, gobbing in the street, staggering on his way, the smell clinging to his clothes. But that is the challenge, that is where Jesus wants us to be. Serving whoever comes our way. How difficult, how challenging – yet also how wonderful and beautiful it is too. It also means, of course, that there can be no picking and choosing of who serves us. Sometimes it is as difficult to have your feet washed as it is to wash the feet of someone else. Peter discovered that. ‘Not me, Lord.’
There is a story told by a Methodist Minister of fifty years of a dream he once had. He thought he was a tourist in heaven and wandered into the museum of that holy city. There was some old armour there, much bruised with battle. Many things were conspicuous by their absence. I saw nothing of Alexander’s nor of Napoleon’s There was no Pope’s ring, not even the inkpot that Luther is said to have thrown at the Devil, nor Wesley’s seal and keys…I saw a widow’s mite and the feathers of a little bird. I saw some swaddling clothes, a hammer and three nails and a few thorns. I saw a bit of fishing net and the broken oar of a boat. I saw a sponge that had once been dipped in vinegar, and a small piece of silver…Whilst I was turning over a common drinking cup which had a very honourable place, I whispered to the attendant, “have you not got a towel and a basin among your collection?’ ‘No,’ he said. ‘Not here. You see they are in constant use’
Read the gospel of John and you will find no account of the institution of Eucharist: it appears to be substituted by the washing of feet - because in a way, they are the same thing: an example of Jesus’ giving of himself to us. And if we too gather regularly at the Mass, to do as Jesus has commanded us to do – for that is why we do it – then we too should be filled with the courage and compassion to wash the feet of others, willingly, lovingly, regularly. We are servants of one another.
Oh yes, this night is a once in a year event, but the things that happen this evening, and all through the next few days are ‘Through the Year,’ Through our Lives’ things. For yes, there will be times when we will feel so intimate with Jesus, so close, so loving as though reclining at table with him, enjoying his company. There will be times when we will be aghast at the things he says. There will be times when we will want to argue or remonstrate, when we may want to take another way, a different way. There will be times when we will have our Gethsemane moments, when we will struggle like Jesus with what God wants us to do. There will be times when we will like Jesus, be left alone. There will be times, too, when, like the apostles, we will fear and fall away and distance ourselves from Jesus and even, at times, abandon or betray or disown him – God forbid. There will be times when we will feel as if we are put on trial, or like the apostles as though events are running away from us, as though they are out of our control and all we can do is stand by and watch. There will be times when we will experience our Golgotha moments of darkness and destitution, and our Holy Saturday moments too of waiting and waiting and feeling helpless and hopeless and not knowing what to do or where to turn and we will not be able to move on or move anywhere, when we will want to lock ourselves away. And there will be times too when we will be filled with the joy of the resurrection, with the joy of the empty tomb, of the unbelievable joy that Christ brings.
But tonight, tonight, of all nights, we will have our feet washed, and we will watch and wait with Jesus, and we will receive from Jesus’ hands the bread and wine, his body and blood, the gift of himself. And we will be challenged to move on from this night and take what we receive in this Mass, on this night, into our lives. Are you brave enough, foolish enough, are you trusting enough to move on? Are you inquisitive enough and thirsty enough to find out more and experience more and grow closer to Jesus? Do you dare to come close? And do you dare to have your feet washed? And do you dare to wash the feet of others?
On his death bed, St Francis said, ‘Let us now begin to serve the Lord for up to now we have done nothing.’ In serving the Lord we are called to serve one another.
So let us begin.
Tonight the smell of feet will fill the air and there is no bouquet of flowers in sight to ward off unpleasant smells. How disgusting, how unappetising, how coarse, how common! Why, in the midst of our eating and drinking, would we dare to break with etiquette, why dare to break social norms and acceptable behaviour, and get our feet out? Why? Because on the night he gathered with his friends in an upstairs room, Jesus left the table and taking bowl and water and wearing a towel around his waist, bends to the feet of his disciples and washes their feet in a gesture that is so out of the ordinary it takes even his disciples by surprise. ‘What are you doing?’ ‘You will never wash my feet.’
But this is not a one-off. This is not an isolated gesture, it’s not a party trick, or a novelty, neither is it a once a year event, a gesture to look back on, smile at, gasp about or be lost in melancholy moments. Jesus is very clear about what he is doing and why he is doing it. ‘Do you understand what I have done to you?’ he asks. ‘You call me Master and Lord, and rightly so; so I am. If I, then, the Lord and Master have washed your feet, you also should wash one another’s feet. I have given you an example that you may copy what I have done to you.’
The command is there to continue what he has done, to copy his example, to carry on his work, to fulfil his command. The mandate has been set before us. It’s what we must do! And not just once a year either! The command to wash one another’s feet is one that should characterise our lives, it is one that should fill our lives, so that we become a stooping people: stooping low to serve, showing no partiality, no picking and choosing, no turning of our backs. I can’t decide to wash the feet of someone ‘respectable’ who looks as though their feet are clean but ignore the man I passed on Bute Street today, half cut, looking half human, gobbing in the street, staggering on his way, the smell clinging to his clothes. But that is the challenge, that is where Jesus wants us to be. Serving whoever comes our way. How difficult, how challenging – yet also how wonderful and beautiful it is too. It also means, of course, that there can be no picking and choosing of who serves us. Sometimes it is as difficult to have your feet washed as it is to wash the feet of someone else. Peter discovered that. ‘Not me, Lord.’
There is a story told by a Methodist Minister of fifty years of a dream he once had. He thought he was a tourist in heaven and wandered into the museum of that holy city. There was some old armour there, much bruised with battle. Many things were conspicuous by their absence. I saw nothing of Alexander’s nor of Napoleon’s There was no Pope’s ring, not even the inkpot that Luther is said to have thrown at the Devil, nor Wesley’s seal and keys…I saw a widow’s mite and the feathers of a little bird. I saw some swaddling clothes, a hammer and three nails and a few thorns. I saw a bit of fishing net and the broken oar of a boat. I saw a sponge that had once been dipped in vinegar, and a small piece of silver…Whilst I was turning over a common drinking cup which had a very honourable place, I whispered to the attendant, “have you not got a towel and a basin among your collection?’ ‘No,’ he said. ‘Not here. You see they are in constant use’
Read the gospel of John and you will find no account of the institution of Eucharist: it appears to be substituted by the washing of feet - because in a way, they are the same thing: an example of Jesus’ giving of himself to us. And if we too gather regularly at the Mass, to do as Jesus has commanded us to do – for that is why we do it – then we too should be filled with the courage and compassion to wash the feet of others, willingly, lovingly, regularly. We are servants of one another.
Oh yes, this night is a once in a year event, but the things that happen this evening, and all through the next few days are ‘Through the Year,’ Through our Lives’ things. For yes, there will be times when we will feel so intimate with Jesus, so close, so loving as though reclining at table with him, enjoying his company. There will be times when we will be aghast at the things he says. There will be times when we will want to argue or remonstrate, when we may want to take another way, a different way. There will be times when we will have our Gethsemane moments, when we will struggle like Jesus with what God wants us to do. There will be times when we will like Jesus, be left alone. There will be times, too, when, like the apostles, we will fear and fall away and distance ourselves from Jesus and even, at times, abandon or betray or disown him – God forbid. There will be times when we will feel as if we are put on trial, or like the apostles as though events are running away from us, as though they are out of our control and all we can do is stand by and watch. There will be times when we will experience our Golgotha moments of darkness and destitution, and our Holy Saturday moments too of waiting and waiting and feeling helpless and hopeless and not knowing what to do or where to turn and we will not be able to move on or move anywhere, when we will want to lock ourselves away. And there will be times too when we will be filled with the joy of the resurrection, with the joy of the empty tomb, of the unbelievable joy that Christ brings.
But tonight, tonight, of all nights, we will have our feet washed, and we will watch and wait with Jesus, and we will receive from Jesus’ hands the bread and wine, his body and blood, the gift of himself. And we will be challenged to move on from this night and take what we receive in this Mass, on this night, into our lives. Are you brave enough, foolish enough, are you trusting enough to move on? Are you inquisitive enough and thirsty enough to find out more and experience more and grow closer to Jesus? Do you dare to come close? And do you dare to have your feet washed? And do you dare to wash the feet of others?
On his death bed, St Francis said, ‘Let us now begin to serve the Lord for up to now we have done nothing.’ In serving the Lord we are called to serve one another.
So let us begin.
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