Langston Hughes, American poet of the 20th century, wrote:
I'd rather see a sermon than to hear one any day. I'd rather one walk with me than just to show the way. The eye is a better pupil and more willing than the ear. Advice may be misleading but examples are always clear. And the very best of teachers are the ones who live their creed For to see good put into action is what everybody needs. I can soon learn to do it if you let me see it done I can watch your hand in motion but your tongue too fast may run And the lectures you deliver may be very fine and true But I'd rather get my lesson by observing what you do. For I may misunderstand you and the fine advice you give But there's no misunderstanding how you act and how you live Tonight, Maundy Thursday, the night before Jesus’ crucifixion and death, we don’t so much hear a sermon as see one. Later, Jesus will command the disciples to love one another as he has loved them, but first, Jesus washes their feet. He, their master, their teacher, their savior, kneels at their feet, ties a towel around himself, and literally gets his hands dirty. Jesus performs an act of service reserved for the lowest servant of the house. Performs a mundane act of care. Performs a daily chore necessitated by their 1st century circumstances. For these are not 21st century US feet, wrapped in wool socks, pedicured, and cared for by physicians. These are dusty, dirty, hard-worn soles aided only by sandals or even bare, walking rough-hewn roads in the desert wilderness. Tonight, we wash one another’s feet, but we don’t really-wash one another’s feet. For us, foot washing is a ritual act, a symbol, a carefully orchestrated and thoroughly clean endeavor. Jesus washing the disciples’ feet would be like, today, a friend, partner, or neighbor buying our groceries when we are sick, snowblowing our driveway, driving us to a doctor’s appointment, or responding to a midnight summons for help. If I have learned nothing else in the short time I’ve lived in Minnesota, I have learned that the lessons of Maundy Thursday are not lost on you. I have seen time and again this very sermon lived out before me. This past week, my neighbor whom I had met only once before snowblowed our driveway. Throughout Lent, many families here at St. John’s fed this community prior to MidWeek Lenten worship—even ensuring there were gluten-free options for me. When a tree went down due to wind here at church, almost immediately Jeff was there to cut it up, take it away, and grade the driveway. I have witnessed you joyfully cleaning the church. On a personal level, our insurance agent, the superintendent of schools, bank tellers, people working at the library and thrift stores have all gone out of their way to make life easier for us. And I have heard you, the people of St. John’s of Cedarbrook, tell stories of serving others, in daily, mundane ways. Getting up in the middle of the night to fix a family’s furnace or to help a grieving family with a seriously ill pet, serving as an EMT or with the fire department, mowing a neighbor’s lawn or helping with the demolition of a house, aiding young people in securing employment or providing a meal for someone recently hospitalized. As I interviewed with St. John’s, and Richard and I prepared to move here, one thing I clearly remember someone telling us was, “Please let us know if you need help. Around here, we help each other.” So you get it. There’s no misunderstanding how you act and how you live. And there’s no misunderstanding how Jesus acts and how Jesus lives. For here he is: the night before he dies. He knows, when he goes to the garden later with the disciples, Judas will betray him. He knows, when he’s arrested, all the rest of the disciples will abandon him. He knows, when Peter is confronted in the courtyard by by-standers, Peter will deny him. He knows none of the disciples will be seen at the cross, that only the women will be standing near. Yet he washes Judas’ feet, Peter’s feet, the feet of all the disciples. And then he commands them to love one another as he loves them, foot washing as his primary example. When we not only listen to Jesus’ sermon but also watch it, we see that he washes the feet of those who hurt him, those who deny knowing him, those who walk away from him at the very moment he needs a friend. And this is where Jesus’ command and his sermon of foot washing challenge us, for those we are called to love won’t always love us the way we hope. Jesus washes their feet even though they will betray and deny and abandon him—because love is not a barter chip, something we risk in order to earn more love. I distinctly remember the day this lesson sunk in. Of course, after years of Bible camp, campus ministry, seminary, and parish ministry, I had taught and preached Jesus’ love countless times—in addition to a lifetime spent in church where I doubtless heard the good news of Jesus’ love for me on the regular. But it wasn’t until May 2015 that I got it. During worship at Grace Lutheran Church one Sunday that May, we had a baptism. Of an adult who had been coming to worship for several months. I had met with him a couple of times to discuss the meaning of baptism in the Lutheran church, and though he had not grown up in the church, he had studied philosophy. So he understood the Christian theological tradition in its wider context while less familiar with the rituals and traditions of the church. For the day of his baptism, we had decided his dear friend who was his baptismal sponsor would stand at the lectern and share why he was coming to be baptized. When his friend got to the lectern, she veered from the topic at hand and talked about how he cared for her during difficult times in her life, how he helped her do hard things, and how their friendship blossomed over time. I’ll never forget how she said: “One day, I realized he loved me long before I ever loved him.” To love one another as Jesus loves us is to love one another, regardless. Whatever our crabby family member or neighbor, ornery coworker or community member do, we love them as Jesus loves us. Whether we agree with them or not, whether we judge them or not, we love them as Jesus loves us. To do so doesn’t mean we have warm, fuzzy feelings for them. It doesn’t mean we like or endorse what the other person is doing. It doesn’t mean we are saints with perfect composure and patience in all circumstances. Rather, love means rolling up our sleeves, getting our hands dirty, and doing love. We love because we have been loved in the very same way. Even though we betray and deny and abandon Jesus. Even though we, like all humans, will never love Jesus back perfectly. Jesus loved us long before we ever loved him. Tonight, Jesus washes the feet of the disciples. There is no misunderstanding how he acts and how he lives. With love—for every one of us. Thanks be to God! Amen.
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AuthorPastor Sarah Stadler shares her sermons from the previous Sunday. Archives
May 2024
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