‘I received from the Lord what I also handed on to you.’
What we do goes right back to Jesus himself, and Christians
have done it for centuries. As I talked about last night, we simply step into
the stream of faith and let it wash over us. It is not the invention of the Victorians,
or the Romans, or whatever period of history you would like to choose. What we
do tonight takes us right back to that Upper Room in the company of Jesus
himself and his disciples.
Maundy Thursday is one of my favourite days of the year, but,
in many ways, it is the most difficult and the most emotional, because it is a
night on which we know that, when we receive Holy Communion, the Lord will be
handed over, and the next thing we do will be to gather at the cross, which we
will do tomorrow afternoon.
On Monday, we considered Mary’s ‘I love you too’ to Christ’s
‘I love you’. On Tuesday, we considered how love must be released to become
what it is meant to be. Yesterday, we considered that love that was prepared to
love and forgive even those who brought about the Lord’s pain and suffering.
Tonight, we consider Jesus’ love that loved to the end—a love
that stood the test of time—a love that endured.
Very often on Maundy Thursday, we—rightly—preach about
Christ’s love that stooped to wash the disciples’ feet. It is a love that was
willing to assume the very lowest position to serve others. It was a love that
showed such love and tenderness.
We often reflect on that call of Jesus to his disciples to love
as he loved us. We reflect on the fact that we are called to follow Christ’s
example.
In many parishes, the priest will wash the feet of twelve parishioners,
as I will do this evening. The twelve symbolise the twelve apostles whose feet
Jesus washed. They are not chosen because they are the vicar’s favourites, or
because they are more important than anybody else. This year, I have asked the
churchwardens and vergers to allow me to wash their feet. I have asked my
mother to allow me to wash her feet. I have asked some others who I thought might
be willing to allow me to do that. I do that because I have to be reminded that
I am here to serve. I have to remember that I must always seek to follow the
example of Christ. Very often it hurts my back to kneel down and bend for such
a long time. Very often it brings tears to my eyes to assume that position and
to touch the feet of some of the people I serve. But I do it because Christ did
it. I do it because Christ told his apostles to follow his example.
I do it for all the right reasons, but it always brings the
same issues every year. Whom should I ask? And it always brings some hesitancy from
the people I ask.
It is hard enough to love. It is hard enough, when we
reflect on Christ’s love, and the call to imitate that love, to even begin to
try to live out that love in our lives. It is hard to love those whom we don’t
like. It is hard to love those with whom it can be difficult to get on. It is
hard.
But what Maundy Thursday often brings home to me, especially
as I ask people to let me wash their feet, is how hard it is to allow ourselves
to be loved, to be touched, to be made clean.
Most of us are very nervous about our feet. Our feet can be
smelly. Our feet can have very thick and dry skin. Our feet can have all sorts
of lumps and bumps on them. Our feet can be ticklish, sensitive to touch. Most
of us will allow very few people to see, or to touch our feet. Only in the most
intimate of relationships will we allow others to touch our feet. It requires
love, and it requires trust. It is to allow the most sensitive parts of
ourselves to be seen and touched by another. It is to allow those part of
ourselves, that we most often keep hidden from view, hidden from touch, to be
seen, to be touched.
It is to make ourselves vulnerable. It is about giving up
pretence, and being seen as we really are, knowing that the person who sees us
loves us so deeply and so completely that such an openness begins to seem
possible. Only then can we be truly loved, and only then can we truly love in
return.
What we are called to is not an easy journey.
It is a journey in which we give up the struggle, we give up
the wrestling, and we simply come. We simply come to Christ. We simply come to
allow Christ to touch our lives, to touch our hearts. We simply come as we are,
no longer pretending, no longer acting. We lay down our egos. We lay down our
sense of our own importance. We lay ourselves down. We simply come and open our
hearts.
If we allow him to, Christ will touch our hearts. If we
allow him to, Christ will make his home in our hearts. If we allow him to,
Christ will begin to transform us from the inside out. Christ will forgive us
our sin. Christ will cleanse our hearts. Christ will make us a new creation.
But in order for Christ to do that, we must allow him to. We
must allow him in. We must be willing to allow him to touch the deepest parts
of ourselves, knowing that in allowing him to do that we will have to change.
It is about surrender. Christ calls us, gently and lovingly to surrender. Such
surrender is not easy. It is not always comfortable.
In a short while, we will strip the sanctuary of the Church,
and we will come tomorrow to the foot of the Cross. We are called to surrender,
but we are called to surrender by him who was willing to surrender for us.
May Christ find our hearts ready and open to receive him.
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