Tonight it’s been good to share Maundy Thursday Communion at Harrogate Road church and to help people think about the last supper and Jesus washing feet. Maundy Thursday is all about servanthood, being there for others, a body broken and blood spilt, feet soothed with warm water by one who surprises us by stooping down to us. It’s been good to share an hour and a half of the watch in the cathedral up to midnight as we remember Jesus in the garden and the folly of those who he has just served: “could you not watch with me one hour?”
I think the Archbishop of York sums up today for us brilliantly:
And for those who know the story, but don't know the story, when, after supper, and knowing his end is near, and that God has put all things into his hands, and possessed by a special sense of divine commission and authority, Jesus rises from the table, you might assume – as my esteemed, predecessor, William Temple, put it – that he will ‘order a throne to be (put in place) that he may receive the homage of his subjects.’
But if you know the story, and know the meaning and depth of the story, then you know that it was not for such a purpose, and never could be, for Jesus is among us, as one who serves, and in him we learn that this, self-emptying, and ever giving service is the very nature of God; not God, becoming a servant for a season, but a revelation of the very heart of God, that God is love, and those who live in God, live in love. And so it is, that taking a towel and a basin of water, Jesus washes his disciples feet.
And this isn’t easy. Again, as Temple puts it, ‘We are ready, perhaps, to be humble before God; but we are (not so sure) that we want God to be humble in His dealings with us.’
Sometimes we think that we are not worthy at all. Or judge others either more worthy than us, or really not worthy at all. Or else we think that something this precious needs limits and conditions put around it. And sometimes, perhaps, because we have not worked out how to receive it, we just refuse it, or even scoff at its unseemly generosity.
Peter says, ‘Wash all of me, or none of me.’ Judas has his feet washed, and then goes out to betray Jesus to his enemies.
But Jesus persists. He loves to the end. Because this is what love does. He washes the disciples feet. Peter and Judas. And he says to them, I give you a new commandment: love one another as I have loved you.
And if you know the story, and know the meaning and depth of the story, and can also find yourself in the story, then, at this point, you may just recoil or wince for – and here I have to say we not you – we know our own betrayals all too well, our refusals, and the limits we place on love. And the many ways in which we don't love or serve each other.
And Jesus persists. He loves to the end. Because this is what love does. This is how people will know you are my disciples, says Jesus: not your good works, nor your fine words; not because you'll always get everything right, not because you always agree with one another, but by your love.
Our world needs the story and example of this love. It is the only way we will secure peace in Ukraine. It is the only way we will learn to live lightly on the Earth. It is the only way we will ensure the poorest in our land have the food and fuel and dignity, so often denied them by the inequalities of wealth and opportunity that we have learned to tolerate.
Our church needs the story and example of this love, for we are divided on various issues and sometimes tempted to conclude that we don't need each other. But love, the love that Jesus demonstrates by washing all our feet, shows us that this is not an option. We cannot choose our fellow disciples. We cannot even choose whether Jesus washes us or not, but we can wash each other's feet.
‘I am among you’, says Jesus, ‘as one who serves.’
So let me finish with a story. I first heard this story told by a Jesuit priest, but I think it comes from the folk tradition of Cherokee Indians. An old warrior tells his grandson about a battle that goes on inside people.
He says, my son, the battle is between two wolves inside us all. One is evil, though it often dresses convincingly in the clothes of what is good, so self-confidently sure of itself that even its apparent goodness tramples over others. It can end up gaining its own perfect world, but losing its soul. But you know it is evil, because inside you there is anger, envy, jealousy, greed, arrogance, self-pity, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego.
The other wolf is good. Often misunderstood and overlooked, but always transparently itself. It is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion, and faith.
His grandson thought about the story for a minute and then asked his Grandfather: ‘Which wolf wins?’ The old warrior simply replied: ‘The one you feed.’
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