O holy day
Commentary
Object:
Holidays point back. We celebrate them in the present and some of them may especially prompt us to think about the future. At their core, though, most holidays point back to some event in the past.
The day you were born, the day you were married, or the day that the Declaration of Independence was signed -- these are all occasions from the past that you may celebrate annually in the present. Of course, before the word "holiday" became the generic thing that it is in our culture today, it was rooted in the concept of a "holy day." In scripture, those are the dates that deserve to be circled and celebrated: the ones that are holy. And those, too, typically pointed back to some event in the past.
For the Old Testament people of God, Passover, Succoth, and Purim recalled events in their past. Those annual celebrations were deliberate remembrances. They prompted the people -- year after year, generation after generation -- to remember what God had done for them.
Meanwhile, for us as Christians, there is a whole new layer of holy days to celebrate. Jesus' birth, his death, and his resurrection -- these are events from the past that the church (and to a certain extent the larger culture) recalls and celebrates every year. They are holy days and in congregations with a strong sense for the liturgical calendar, there may also be deliberate remembrances of the day he was baptized, transfigured, or ascended.
And then there is today.
Today is Maundy Thursday -- sometimes called Holy Thursday. It is among the holy days that Christians observe each year. Therefore some of our congregations will gather together this evening to partake of a sacrament. We call that sacrament by different names: Communion, the Lord's Supper, the Eucharist. Both the sacrament and the occasion represent a pointing back. The question for us to consider with our people, however, is to what event in the past this holiday points. For this is a holiday with several layers. Our three passages will help us to discover those layers together.
Exodus 12:1-4 (5-10) 11-14
This is the first layer of the Maundy Thursday celebration. It may not be immediately recognized as such, for it does not take place around that familiar table where Jesus ate his "Last Supper" with his disciples. But just as a significant portion of the glacier and the tree are invisible below the surface, so too with our sacrament of Communion.
The setting of this passage -- this first layer of Maundy Thursday -- comes from over a millennium before Jesus' earthly life and ministry. The children of Israel are slaves in Egypt, where they were essentially ambushed by a Pharaoh 400 years earlier. They settled in the land as honored guests: the extended family of Joseph. Then a frightened and malevolent Pharaoh changed their status from company to property, and so they had toiled under the lash for four centuries without relief.
In recent days, however, the Lord had begun to act through a man named Moses. Little by little, the Lord had been displaying his power, supernaturally bullying the current hard-hearted king of Egypt. That Pharaoh had shown momentary signs of surrender, but he always returned to his stubborn default position, refusing the release the slaves.
Now, after that series of plagues, that had devastated Egypt but had not freed the Hebrews, God was about to deal the final blow. In order to prepare his people for their deliverance, God gave these instructions to Moses and Aaron. Indeed, we might even call the passage a recipe, inasmuch as the instructions are for a meal.
Such is the nature, of course, of God's strange and mysterious ways. The attack on Jericho was no conventional military strategy but just a combination of marching and shouting. The defeat of Midian was not with a great army and many weapons but with pots and torches in the hands of only a very few Israelites. The snake-bit Hebrews were not cured by medicine or surgery but by a metal snake on a pole. Here, too, God's method is inexplicable: prepare for your release, not by planning an escape route, but by sitting down to a meal.
Central to the meal was a lamb, by whose blood the people would be saved from the death that would ravage the rest of Egypt. That blood was a distinguishing mark. God would see the blood on Israel's doors, and know to pass over them. Do we presume, though, that the omniscient God needed such a signal? That he could not otherwise have distinguished between the Israelites and the Egyptians? No, surely it was not so much essential to him as it was to his plan and to his people. They needed to take the faithful action that would distinguish them. They needed to understand that the distinguishing, saving sign was blood, nothing less. Sitting on this side of Calvary, of course, you and I can certainly see and rejoice in the significance of the saving blood of the lamb!
Meanwhile, not only did this meal have a certain menu, it also had a certain pace. Contrary to every hostess' invitation not to eat and run, God's people were to eat this meal in a hurry. With coats on and car keys in hand, the people were to be perched and ready to go. After centuries of waiting, it seems the deliverance from their bondage was now going to be a very sudden thing.
This meal God prescribed had so much significance that he commanded the people to eat it every single year. It was to be "a day of remembrance for you... throughout your generations." So it was that, over a thousand years later, Jesus and his disciples sat down to eat that very Passover meal together one eventful night in Jerusalem.
1 Corinthians 11:23-26
It may be that our most familiar account of the moment that gives birth to our Communion ceremony comes not from the gospels but from the epistles. The language of Paul as he describes the Last Supper to the Corinthians has become the standard liturgy for so many of us when we officiate. And we may preach that familiar account this Sunday.
Interestingly, Paul identifies that night as "the night (Jesus) was betrayed." There are other options that could have identified that particular night just as effectively: the night he shared the Last Supper with his disciples, the night he gave them the new commandment (see below), the night he was arrested, the night before he was crucified. Yet Paul chooses to think of it as "the night he was betrayed."
Paul does not elaborate at all on that element in the plot of Jesus' passion, and so we are left to guess why he gives it such prominence here. Perhaps he saw the betrayal as the first of the dominoes to fall that led to the cross. Perhaps, with the Last Supper in mind, he saw the betrayal as the fork in the road, for Judas was part of the supper but left early. Or perhaps, with his own personal history of having persecuted Christ himself (see, for example, Acts 9:1-5, 22:4-8; 1 Corinthians 5:9), Paul had a profound sense of identification with Judas' treachery.
Meanwhile, the reference Paul makes to Jesus giving thanks may seem, at first blush, like a minor narrative detail. In point of fact, however, it is the very detail that gives rise to one of our names for the sacrament. For the Greek verb employed here for "he had given thanks" is the source of our word "Eucharist."
Beyond the etymological issue, though, there is the loveliness of the example. The narrative detail that Jesus gave thanks is striking because of the circumstances. Everything about the dialogue that evening suggests that Jesus knew precisely what awaited him. The very bread for which he gave thanks -- the broken bread -- he understood to be his body. Yet even within that daunting context, still Jesus gives thanks. We should think of this occasion the next time we read Paul's instruction to "give thanks in all circumstances" (1 Thessalonians 5:18). Jesus gave thanks "on the night he was betrayed." Jesus gave thanks as he broke the bread that represented his body and the suffering that lay ahead.
Finally, Jesus' instruction to his disciples that night suggests that he expected them to partake of this meal in the future. "As often as you drink it" he said as he shared the cup with them. That makes perfect sense to us, of course, inasmuch as we are accustomed to celebrating the sacrament regularly and for centuries. In its immediate context, however, the first hearers could not have been imagining the sacrament.
I suppose that, when the disciples first heard Jesus' words anticipating future partaking, they must have thought instinctively of the annual eating and drinking of the Passover meal. Against that backdrop, we gain new understanding of Jesus' instructions to eat and drink "in remembrance of me." For we recall that, in the Old Testament passage, God had originally told Moses and Aaron that the Passover meal should be "a remembrance for you."
For more than a thousand years, the people of God had been partaking of the elements of that meal. They ate and drank in remembrance of how God had saved their ancestors from bondage in Egypt. On this one particular Passover around this one particular table in Jerusalem, Jesus reframed the remembering of the meal. From now on, as often as his followers did it, they were to do it in remembrance of him.
That's what we are all doing tonight.
John 13:1-17, 31b-35
John does us the great favor of giving the fullest accounting of the events of this night. Indeed, in terms of sheer volume, one could make the case that Maundy Thursday is the central event of John's entire gospel. After all, the gospel of John is 21 chapters long and five of those chapters are devoted to the events and dialogue of this night.
Even beyond the mere mathematics of it, Maundy Thursday is arguably the heart of the fourth gospel in terms of content -- so many of the major themes in John are echoed in these chapters. Furthermore, key understandings are brought to completion in the things Jesus says, teaches, and prays in this episode. So we do well to turn to John on this particular holiday, for this particular holiday is so central to his gospel.
Because John's coverage of the Last Supper is more extensive than Matthew, Mark, or Luke, we discover some elements of the story that we do not find elsewhere. It's not simply that John elaborates on the story that we already know: He reveals whole parts of the story that we wouldn't know without his testimony.
Since we mentioned above Paul's identification of this night as "the night (Jesus) was betrayed," it is worth noting Judas' prominence in this account. He is a shadowy figure here, and his portrayal is sinister, indeed, in the connection made to the devil (v. 2), in his distinctive uncleanness (vv. 10-11), and in his early departure (v. 31).
Meanwhile, one of the important elements of John's Last Supper account, which is not found in the synoptic gospels, is Jesus' "new commandment." We'll explore that in more detail below. The distinctive element that dominates this portion of John 13, however, is the story of Jesus washing the disciples' feet.
Certainly this event is consistent with what we see of and hear from Jesus in Matthew, Mark, and Luke, but the episode itself belongs exclusively to John. We read elsewhere of his self-understanding that he came "not to be served but to serve" (Matthew 20:28; Mark 10:45). Furthermore, he makes it clear to his disciples that his kingdom's highest calling is servitude (e.g., Mark 9:35; Luke 22:25-26). And, of course, the whole trajectory of his incarnation, ministry, and crucifixion speak of humility, submission, and servitude (see Philippians 2:5-8). But it is in John's Last Supper account that we meet this stark embodiment of what Jesus taught.
Since our society is not so harshly divided into classes as first-century Palestine was, and since we no longer have "servants" and "slaves" as part of the cultural norm, we are somewhat handicapped in our ability to appreciate this passage -- both the action of Jesus and the response of Peter. Suffice it to say, though, that what Jesus undertook to do was nearly scandalous.
If we or our people are able to identify someone in their organization, business, or community who is "way above" them, that person might be a good starting place. Have each individual imagine that person in their lives -- the principal, the professor, the foreman, the CEO, and so on -- coming over to their house not to eat but to wash the dishes, shine the shoes, fold the laundry, or scrub the toilets. Such a shift in roles would be an embarrassment to most of us. And that is just a poor approximation of the step Jesus took and of the reluctance that Peter felt.
In the end, of course, Jesus' self-demotion was not a denial of his authority or an abdication of his lordship. He was not denying his role relative to the disciples. "You call me Teacher and Lord," he said to them, "and you are right." But it was precisely because he had the role that he did that his actions were compelling. For his endeavor was to "set you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you."
Indeed, many churches and movements have followed Jesus' example, making foot washing a regular part of their worship and fellowship. More than that specific physical act, however, Jesus was no doubt trying to cultivate within his disciples the attitude behind the act. For there is no job too low for love; there is no task too menial for Christian humility; and there is no chore that is beneath the ones who follow the foot-washing Master.
Application
So we gather tonight to celebrate a holy day. Part of our celebration will be the sacrament of the Lord's Supper and both the day and the sacrament direct our attention to things past.
The day points us back to the Thursday night of Jesus' eventful last week in Jerusalem, when he shared the Last Supper with his followers. The sacrament points us back to his words on that night, where he used the bread and cup to reference his body and blood. Those words and elements, therefore, also do some pointing: directing us to the cross, where his body was broken and his blood was shed.
Beneath all of that, the occasion on which Jesus and his followers ate that memorable meal was itself a holy day that pointed back. They were participating in the annual observance of the Passover, which recalled God's deliverance of their ancestors from bondage in Egypt. And that ancient Hebrew holy day serves as a helpful backdrop against which to understand the holy day and sacrament we celebrate tonight.
First, we recognize the continuity of God's will and purpose: he is always eager to set his people free from their bondage. For Moses' generation, it was the temporary, physical bondage of slavery. For all people at all times, however, there is the eternal, spiritual bondage of sin. That is the real slavery from which he is eager to set us free.
Second, we recognize the central importance of blood. It was brushed on the doorposts and lintels of those Hebrews' homes. It was represented by the cup Jesus shared, and it was shed on the cross.
Finally, we see the unspeakable love of God in his deliverance. The liberty of Moses' day, we observe, was a demonstration of God's power, and it was lambs and Egyptians that died to achieve that deliverance. But the deliverance that came through Christ -- the deliverance we remember on this night and in this sacrament -- was a demonstration of his love, for it was the Son of God himself who died to achieve it.
Alternative Application
John 13:1-17, 31b-35. "Not Just Any Thursday." The term "Holy Thursday" makes more immediate sense to folks. We recognize that an important event happened on the Thursday of this week, and we often refer to this larger context as "Holy Week." So "Holy Thursday" is nearly self-explanatory.
"Maundy Thursday," on the other hand, is not so immediately accessible. Indeed, a great many children through the years have misunderstood the holiday as "Monday Thursday," which is quite incomprehensible. Yet this excerpt from John's account of the original Maundy Thursday contains the clue to the nomenclature.
Our term "Maundy" derives from the Latin word for commandment. So the holy day is named for the fact that it was on this occasion that Jesus gave to his disciples "a new commandment." At first blush, that new commandment doesn't sound all that new -- "love one another." That seems as old as Leviticus, where the ancient people of God are told to love their neighbors as themselves (19:18). But it is the "as" that makes this commandment new: "as I have loved you" is the new standard set by Jesus.
Our natural tendency -- our default setting -- is to love others as they love us. We tend toward reciprocity, for better or for worse. Leviticus challenged the people higher than that though: "love your neighbor as you love yourself." Regardless of how well you love me, therefore, I am called to love you as I love myself. Self-interest is not often a virtue, but it can be a useful standard for how I ought to love others.
On this occasion -- just after washing their feet and just before going to the cross -- Jesus presents his followers with the highest standard of all for love: "as I have loved you." Again, reciprocity is not the method, for my love for you is independent of how you do (or do not) love me. Yet I am called to an even higher and more liberated love than what I know from loving myself. Now I am invited to let his love inform my love.
As we gather on this Maundy Thursday, therefore, we would do well to contemplate his love. Let us meditate on it as we remember his humble service, as we remember his suffering, and as we remember his sacrifice. Let us meditate on it as we reflect on how we have known that love personally. Then, with that loveliness firmly in mind, we will know better how we are commanded to love one another.
The day you were born, the day you were married, or the day that the Declaration of Independence was signed -- these are all occasions from the past that you may celebrate annually in the present. Of course, before the word "holiday" became the generic thing that it is in our culture today, it was rooted in the concept of a "holy day." In scripture, those are the dates that deserve to be circled and celebrated: the ones that are holy. And those, too, typically pointed back to some event in the past.
For the Old Testament people of God, Passover, Succoth, and Purim recalled events in their past. Those annual celebrations were deliberate remembrances. They prompted the people -- year after year, generation after generation -- to remember what God had done for them.
Meanwhile, for us as Christians, there is a whole new layer of holy days to celebrate. Jesus' birth, his death, and his resurrection -- these are events from the past that the church (and to a certain extent the larger culture) recalls and celebrates every year. They are holy days and in congregations with a strong sense for the liturgical calendar, there may also be deliberate remembrances of the day he was baptized, transfigured, or ascended.
And then there is today.
Today is Maundy Thursday -- sometimes called Holy Thursday. It is among the holy days that Christians observe each year. Therefore some of our congregations will gather together this evening to partake of a sacrament. We call that sacrament by different names: Communion, the Lord's Supper, the Eucharist. Both the sacrament and the occasion represent a pointing back. The question for us to consider with our people, however, is to what event in the past this holiday points. For this is a holiday with several layers. Our three passages will help us to discover those layers together.
Exodus 12:1-4 (5-10) 11-14
This is the first layer of the Maundy Thursday celebration. It may not be immediately recognized as such, for it does not take place around that familiar table where Jesus ate his "Last Supper" with his disciples. But just as a significant portion of the glacier and the tree are invisible below the surface, so too with our sacrament of Communion.
The setting of this passage -- this first layer of Maundy Thursday -- comes from over a millennium before Jesus' earthly life and ministry. The children of Israel are slaves in Egypt, where they were essentially ambushed by a Pharaoh 400 years earlier. They settled in the land as honored guests: the extended family of Joseph. Then a frightened and malevolent Pharaoh changed their status from company to property, and so they had toiled under the lash for four centuries without relief.
In recent days, however, the Lord had begun to act through a man named Moses. Little by little, the Lord had been displaying his power, supernaturally bullying the current hard-hearted king of Egypt. That Pharaoh had shown momentary signs of surrender, but he always returned to his stubborn default position, refusing the release the slaves.
Now, after that series of plagues, that had devastated Egypt but had not freed the Hebrews, God was about to deal the final blow. In order to prepare his people for their deliverance, God gave these instructions to Moses and Aaron. Indeed, we might even call the passage a recipe, inasmuch as the instructions are for a meal.
Such is the nature, of course, of God's strange and mysterious ways. The attack on Jericho was no conventional military strategy but just a combination of marching and shouting. The defeat of Midian was not with a great army and many weapons but with pots and torches in the hands of only a very few Israelites. The snake-bit Hebrews were not cured by medicine or surgery but by a metal snake on a pole. Here, too, God's method is inexplicable: prepare for your release, not by planning an escape route, but by sitting down to a meal.
Central to the meal was a lamb, by whose blood the people would be saved from the death that would ravage the rest of Egypt. That blood was a distinguishing mark. God would see the blood on Israel's doors, and know to pass over them. Do we presume, though, that the omniscient God needed such a signal? That he could not otherwise have distinguished between the Israelites and the Egyptians? No, surely it was not so much essential to him as it was to his plan and to his people. They needed to take the faithful action that would distinguish them. They needed to understand that the distinguishing, saving sign was blood, nothing less. Sitting on this side of Calvary, of course, you and I can certainly see and rejoice in the significance of the saving blood of the lamb!
Meanwhile, not only did this meal have a certain menu, it also had a certain pace. Contrary to every hostess' invitation not to eat and run, God's people were to eat this meal in a hurry. With coats on and car keys in hand, the people were to be perched and ready to go. After centuries of waiting, it seems the deliverance from their bondage was now going to be a very sudden thing.
This meal God prescribed had so much significance that he commanded the people to eat it every single year. It was to be "a day of remembrance for you... throughout your generations." So it was that, over a thousand years later, Jesus and his disciples sat down to eat that very Passover meal together one eventful night in Jerusalem.
1 Corinthians 11:23-26
It may be that our most familiar account of the moment that gives birth to our Communion ceremony comes not from the gospels but from the epistles. The language of Paul as he describes the Last Supper to the Corinthians has become the standard liturgy for so many of us when we officiate. And we may preach that familiar account this Sunday.
Interestingly, Paul identifies that night as "the night (Jesus) was betrayed." There are other options that could have identified that particular night just as effectively: the night he shared the Last Supper with his disciples, the night he gave them the new commandment (see below), the night he was arrested, the night before he was crucified. Yet Paul chooses to think of it as "the night he was betrayed."
Paul does not elaborate at all on that element in the plot of Jesus' passion, and so we are left to guess why he gives it such prominence here. Perhaps he saw the betrayal as the first of the dominoes to fall that led to the cross. Perhaps, with the Last Supper in mind, he saw the betrayal as the fork in the road, for Judas was part of the supper but left early. Or perhaps, with his own personal history of having persecuted Christ himself (see, for example, Acts 9:1-5, 22:4-8; 1 Corinthians 5:9), Paul had a profound sense of identification with Judas' treachery.
Meanwhile, the reference Paul makes to Jesus giving thanks may seem, at first blush, like a minor narrative detail. In point of fact, however, it is the very detail that gives rise to one of our names for the sacrament. For the Greek verb employed here for "he had given thanks" is the source of our word "Eucharist."
Beyond the etymological issue, though, there is the loveliness of the example. The narrative detail that Jesus gave thanks is striking because of the circumstances. Everything about the dialogue that evening suggests that Jesus knew precisely what awaited him. The very bread for which he gave thanks -- the broken bread -- he understood to be his body. Yet even within that daunting context, still Jesus gives thanks. We should think of this occasion the next time we read Paul's instruction to "give thanks in all circumstances" (1 Thessalonians 5:18). Jesus gave thanks "on the night he was betrayed." Jesus gave thanks as he broke the bread that represented his body and the suffering that lay ahead.
Finally, Jesus' instruction to his disciples that night suggests that he expected them to partake of this meal in the future. "As often as you drink it" he said as he shared the cup with them. That makes perfect sense to us, of course, inasmuch as we are accustomed to celebrating the sacrament regularly and for centuries. In its immediate context, however, the first hearers could not have been imagining the sacrament.
I suppose that, when the disciples first heard Jesus' words anticipating future partaking, they must have thought instinctively of the annual eating and drinking of the Passover meal. Against that backdrop, we gain new understanding of Jesus' instructions to eat and drink "in remembrance of me." For we recall that, in the Old Testament passage, God had originally told Moses and Aaron that the Passover meal should be "a remembrance for you."
For more than a thousand years, the people of God had been partaking of the elements of that meal. They ate and drank in remembrance of how God had saved their ancestors from bondage in Egypt. On this one particular Passover around this one particular table in Jerusalem, Jesus reframed the remembering of the meal. From now on, as often as his followers did it, they were to do it in remembrance of him.
That's what we are all doing tonight.
John 13:1-17, 31b-35
John does us the great favor of giving the fullest accounting of the events of this night. Indeed, in terms of sheer volume, one could make the case that Maundy Thursday is the central event of John's entire gospel. After all, the gospel of John is 21 chapters long and five of those chapters are devoted to the events and dialogue of this night.
Even beyond the mere mathematics of it, Maundy Thursday is arguably the heart of the fourth gospel in terms of content -- so many of the major themes in John are echoed in these chapters. Furthermore, key understandings are brought to completion in the things Jesus says, teaches, and prays in this episode. So we do well to turn to John on this particular holiday, for this particular holiday is so central to his gospel.
Because John's coverage of the Last Supper is more extensive than Matthew, Mark, or Luke, we discover some elements of the story that we do not find elsewhere. It's not simply that John elaborates on the story that we already know: He reveals whole parts of the story that we wouldn't know without his testimony.
Since we mentioned above Paul's identification of this night as "the night (Jesus) was betrayed," it is worth noting Judas' prominence in this account. He is a shadowy figure here, and his portrayal is sinister, indeed, in the connection made to the devil (v. 2), in his distinctive uncleanness (vv. 10-11), and in his early departure (v. 31).
Meanwhile, one of the important elements of John's Last Supper account, which is not found in the synoptic gospels, is Jesus' "new commandment." We'll explore that in more detail below. The distinctive element that dominates this portion of John 13, however, is the story of Jesus washing the disciples' feet.
Certainly this event is consistent with what we see of and hear from Jesus in Matthew, Mark, and Luke, but the episode itself belongs exclusively to John. We read elsewhere of his self-understanding that he came "not to be served but to serve" (Matthew 20:28; Mark 10:45). Furthermore, he makes it clear to his disciples that his kingdom's highest calling is servitude (e.g., Mark 9:35; Luke 22:25-26). And, of course, the whole trajectory of his incarnation, ministry, and crucifixion speak of humility, submission, and servitude (see Philippians 2:5-8). But it is in John's Last Supper account that we meet this stark embodiment of what Jesus taught.
Since our society is not so harshly divided into classes as first-century Palestine was, and since we no longer have "servants" and "slaves" as part of the cultural norm, we are somewhat handicapped in our ability to appreciate this passage -- both the action of Jesus and the response of Peter. Suffice it to say, though, that what Jesus undertook to do was nearly scandalous.
If we or our people are able to identify someone in their organization, business, or community who is "way above" them, that person might be a good starting place. Have each individual imagine that person in their lives -- the principal, the professor, the foreman, the CEO, and so on -- coming over to their house not to eat but to wash the dishes, shine the shoes, fold the laundry, or scrub the toilets. Such a shift in roles would be an embarrassment to most of us. And that is just a poor approximation of the step Jesus took and of the reluctance that Peter felt.
In the end, of course, Jesus' self-demotion was not a denial of his authority or an abdication of his lordship. He was not denying his role relative to the disciples. "You call me Teacher and Lord," he said to them, "and you are right." But it was precisely because he had the role that he did that his actions were compelling. For his endeavor was to "set you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you."
Indeed, many churches and movements have followed Jesus' example, making foot washing a regular part of their worship and fellowship. More than that specific physical act, however, Jesus was no doubt trying to cultivate within his disciples the attitude behind the act. For there is no job too low for love; there is no task too menial for Christian humility; and there is no chore that is beneath the ones who follow the foot-washing Master.
Application
So we gather tonight to celebrate a holy day. Part of our celebration will be the sacrament of the Lord's Supper and both the day and the sacrament direct our attention to things past.
The day points us back to the Thursday night of Jesus' eventful last week in Jerusalem, when he shared the Last Supper with his followers. The sacrament points us back to his words on that night, where he used the bread and cup to reference his body and blood. Those words and elements, therefore, also do some pointing: directing us to the cross, where his body was broken and his blood was shed.
Beneath all of that, the occasion on which Jesus and his followers ate that memorable meal was itself a holy day that pointed back. They were participating in the annual observance of the Passover, which recalled God's deliverance of their ancestors from bondage in Egypt. And that ancient Hebrew holy day serves as a helpful backdrop against which to understand the holy day and sacrament we celebrate tonight.
First, we recognize the continuity of God's will and purpose: he is always eager to set his people free from their bondage. For Moses' generation, it was the temporary, physical bondage of slavery. For all people at all times, however, there is the eternal, spiritual bondage of sin. That is the real slavery from which he is eager to set us free.
Second, we recognize the central importance of blood. It was brushed on the doorposts and lintels of those Hebrews' homes. It was represented by the cup Jesus shared, and it was shed on the cross.
Finally, we see the unspeakable love of God in his deliverance. The liberty of Moses' day, we observe, was a demonstration of God's power, and it was lambs and Egyptians that died to achieve that deliverance. But the deliverance that came through Christ -- the deliverance we remember on this night and in this sacrament -- was a demonstration of his love, for it was the Son of God himself who died to achieve it.
Alternative Application
John 13:1-17, 31b-35. "Not Just Any Thursday." The term "Holy Thursday" makes more immediate sense to folks. We recognize that an important event happened on the Thursday of this week, and we often refer to this larger context as "Holy Week." So "Holy Thursday" is nearly self-explanatory.
"Maundy Thursday," on the other hand, is not so immediately accessible. Indeed, a great many children through the years have misunderstood the holiday as "Monday Thursday," which is quite incomprehensible. Yet this excerpt from John's account of the original Maundy Thursday contains the clue to the nomenclature.
Our term "Maundy" derives from the Latin word for commandment. So the holy day is named for the fact that it was on this occasion that Jesus gave to his disciples "a new commandment." At first blush, that new commandment doesn't sound all that new -- "love one another." That seems as old as Leviticus, where the ancient people of God are told to love their neighbors as themselves (19:18). But it is the "as" that makes this commandment new: "as I have loved you" is the new standard set by Jesus.
Our natural tendency -- our default setting -- is to love others as they love us. We tend toward reciprocity, for better or for worse. Leviticus challenged the people higher than that though: "love your neighbor as you love yourself." Regardless of how well you love me, therefore, I am called to love you as I love myself. Self-interest is not often a virtue, but it can be a useful standard for how I ought to love others.
On this occasion -- just after washing their feet and just before going to the cross -- Jesus presents his followers with the highest standard of all for love: "as I have loved you." Again, reciprocity is not the method, for my love for you is independent of how you do (or do not) love me. Yet I am called to an even higher and more liberated love than what I know from loving myself. Now I am invited to let his love inform my love.
As we gather on this Maundy Thursday, therefore, we would do well to contemplate his love. Let us meditate on it as we remember his humble service, as we remember his suffering, and as we remember his sacrifice. Let us meditate on it as we reflect on how we have known that love personally. Then, with that loveliness firmly in mind, we will know better how we are commanded to love one another.
