Maundy Thursday - “Christ, dying and living still…”
Maundy Thursday, the night of the Last Supper, is made up of
what have been described as ‘gestures charged with soul.’ Each gesture is meant
to be more shocking than the next. So much so that it is a wonder the disciples
did not all pick up and go home that very night in Jerusalem, during the
celebration of Passover – that festival that remembers when the Lord God YHWH
heard the cry of a disparate group of slaves in Egypt and came to their rescue
and to deliver them to a new life of Freedom in covenant with the One God of
what would become Israel – those who strive with God. The One of whom our Book
of Common Prayer says, “In whose service is perfect freedom.”
In 1st Corinthians 11: 23-26, Paul is reminding
one and all that the Eucharist is not some sort of ecumenical high tea, nor is
it the kind of bacchanalian mad house that has become the church in Corinth!
Paul reminds us that this is a sacrificial meal that proclaims Christ’s death
until he comes again. Yes, The Eucharist recalls a final meal before the
soon-to-be prisoner Jesus is hauled off to be executed by a merciless local
Roman official, but Paul knows it represents a sacrifice on a number of levels.
Later this evening when we strip the altar, what will remain is not a dinner
table, but a stone slab like that in the Temple upon which animals would be
sacrificed. The priest would butcher the animal, drain the blood, burn some
parts on the altar and return the rest to the worshiper to eat. The worshipper
would be symbolically sharing a meal with God. Jesus, in dramatic fashion, says
that he is that meal – that the bread he blesses is his flesh. But he goes one
step further in calling all present to drink the blood of his sacrifice, which
was strictly forbidden in the dietary rules of Israel. At the very thought of
this, the disciples cry out, “This teaching is difficult; who can accept it?”
[John 6:60] It is a gesture charged with soul.
As we look at the altar when it is stripped, we are to be
reminded of the tension between however elegant the dining room may be, it
begins in the soil, the barnyard, and in the slaughterhouse. Table manners
depend upon something’s having been grabbed by the throat. Now we wrap meat in
plastic wrap on a foam tray as if to hide the violence that goes into fixing
dinner.
The scandal deepens as John tells the tale in chapter 13, where
the shock-effect is heightened when their Lord and Master, the Son of God,
strips off his robe, takes up a towel, and gets on his hands and knees to wash
their feet – usually the task of the youngest slave or servant in the
household. Walking the dusty, rocky roads of Israel to get to Jerusalem from
Galilee with bare feet, or sandals at best, would make having your feet bathed
feel really really good. Speaking for everyone, however, Peter blurts out, “No,
Lord, I should be washing your feet! I won’t let you do this!” Once again
rebuking Jesus in front of others. Yet, Jesus insists on making his point – his
followers are to be servants to one another and to all whom they meet. We are
called to a life of perfect service, acts of faith, to put the interests of others
before one’s own, most especially for the poor, widows, orphans, the homeless
and sojourners in the land, and even to love our enemies and to pray for those
who persecute us. Yet another gesture charged with soul.
On Columbia Road in the Adams Morgan neighborhood of the
District of Columbia is a statue cast by Jimilu Mason of Jesus, on his knees,
ready to wash feet. It sits in front of a building called Christ House, a
shelter and medical center for homeless men. In the evening, some of the men
sit on benches around the figure of Jesus, watching the traffic and pedestrians
pass by. Established by the Church of the Saviour, the men are grateful that
there are Christians in our Nation’s Capital who sacrifice time and money to
help them experience new life. I know because they have told me so on those
nights when I used to play music next door at Chief Ike’s Mambo Room. After
setting up my drums, I would ask if I could join them for a while, getting to
know them, and resting around this figure of our Lord, on his knees, as if inviting
those walking by to rest and let him wash your feet, while reminding one and
all of what Jesus chose to do that last night in Jerusalem to remind us what it
means to take up your cross and follow him.
The final gesture is declared in a New Commandment: “Now
the Son of Man has been glorified, and God has been glorified in him. … Little
children, I am with you only a little longer. … so now, I say to you, `Where I
am going, you cannot come.’ I give you a new commandment, that you love one
another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. By this
everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one
another.” It is a new mandatum, a new command, a new mandate from
which this night gets its name – Maundy Thursday. This final gesture charged
with soul lies in the hook: “Just as I have loved you.” Just as I go to
lay down my life for you, and for the whole world, you are to offer your entire
life as a sacrifice for one another and for the whole world. John’s description
of the Last Supper is symbolic of a New Passover that marks the movement from
sin to reconciliation, from death to life. Jesus is the Paschal Lamb of the
Passover feast, in whose service is perfect freedom.
Benedictine monk and priest, Aidan Kavanaugh summed up the
Eucharist like this: “His broken body is my broken body upon which others feed.
His blood spilled is my blood shed to rejoice the hearts of all! His tomb is
mine, and in it others die to rise again. I have become him, the Stranger, and
through me he beats the bushes, herding everyone in to dinner by creation’s
fireside. His unique Spirit I breathe into each of my sisters and brothers. For
he and I have merged by grace into one being, and we abide together for the
life of the world.”
[Aidan Kavanaugh, “Christ, dying and rising still…” in
The Sacraments, Alba House, NYC: 1981, p. 271]
Later that night, Jesus prays in Gethsemane that the cup of
his suffering be taken away, but if it is my Father’s will, then I say “Yes.” The
true miracle of that night in Jerusalem is that those present said ‘Yes’ as the
bread that is his flesh and the cup of wine that is his blood was passed to
them, and that they let him wash their feet. Just as Mary said, “Yes.” Just as
Abraham and Sarah had said, “Yes.” Just as Ruth and Naomi said, “Yes.” Just as
the Church of the Saviour said, “Yes,” when they built Christ House for
homeless men.
Gestures charged with soul. Christ, dying and living still.
This evening, the last thing we will do on our way out is to pick up off a tray
a paper pill cup with the sacrament – a safe practice during this time of the
Pandemic. We have just a short time to reflect on the altar stripped bare and
all that it represents, but that is enough time to remember what we are saying
“Yes” to as we pick up that cup. “Christ, our Passover, is sacrificed for us.” We
are called to consider just how much sacrificial love do we mean when we take
the cup, look at the bread, and remember all those who have said “Yes”
throughout the ages, to become one with the Body of Christ who gives life and
light to the whole world. Now it is time once again for us to join with them
and say, “Yes,” I too dedicate my whole self to a life of perfect freedom
serving others as Christ serves all who come to him for rescue and relief.
Amen.
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