April
2, 2015
John
13:1-17, 31b-35
I've seen a picture on social media
of a birthday cake, baked and decorated at Walmart. The inscription on it was a
basic birthday wish to the birthday person, but along with the words
"Happy Birthday," the decorator also included a message that went
something like this, "underneath this write, 'we love you!'" The
person decorating the cake confused the instructions with the inscription. The
heading given to this picture is "First Day on the Job." It is a
picture that has gone viral on all forms of social media. People love it
because it makes them laugh. I admit, the first time I saw it, I laughed too. I
laughed the second time as well. But lately I've been thinking about the person
who made this now infamous error. Maybe it was his or her first day on the job.
Maybe this person was trying desperately hard to do a good job on the cake,
because while this Walmart job may not be so good, it's the only work available.
Maybe this person just didn't know any better. Maybe this person can't read,
but is too ashamed to admit it. So in order to keep the job they've learned to
copy words, but don't understand what they are copying. The scenarios are
endless, but what is certain is that the unfortunate person who did this is
known for a mistake; known and mocked.
As I said,
I laughed the first time I saw this picture. I shook my head and wondered how
anyone could be so dumb. I know if I had been the one to place that cake order,
I would have been furious when I opened the box and saw the mistake. I mean,
how hard is it to get an inscription on a cake right? Right?
Then I come
to this passage in John's gospel, and I come to this week and to this night,
and these familiar words – words we hear and read every year on this night –
sound different to me. I see my dismissive mocking of that silly mistake on a
silly birthday cake in a different way. Maybe there was an opportunity for love
there, but derision and mocking happened instead. I didn’t take this picture. I
don’t know who did it or where it happened. I didn’t post it to social media
myself. But I laughed. I shook my head. I scorned someone I don’t know and may
never meet. I was complicit in the ridiculing of another human being. Maybe
there was an opportunity for love there, but derision and mocking happened
instead.
Scorn is
not a part of this passage in John’s gospel. While I know that John is heavy on
metaphor and layers upon layers of meaning, this seems a far more
straightforward passage than most. It was Passover and Jesus was sharing what
we know as the Last Supper with his disciples. Jesus knew the time had come for
him to leave the world. “Having loved his own who were in the world, he loved
them to the end.” It was the end, and according to John, Jesus knew and
understood how all of the events leading to his crucifixion would play out.
Judas Iscariot was poised to betray him. Soon, very soon, Jesus would be
arrested, tried, and executed. Some might have tried to hide or escape that
fate. Some might have sought to preemptively strike before being struck. But as
I said on Sunday, my unofficial theme for this week is “expect the unexpected.”
What Jesus did next was certainly unexpected. He took off his robe, put a towel
around himself, poured water into a basin, and began to wash the feet of the
disciples. He did what a servant would do for a master, what one who was of low
birth would do for one of a higher station. He, their rabbi, the one whom they
followed, turned all expectations and social conventions upside down and washed
their feet.
Jesus told
the disciples that this was an example of what they should also do. He washed
their feet; therefore they should also wash the feet of others. And as we read
at the end of our passage, Jesus equated his washing of their feet to love. He
gave them a new commandment – love one another as he loved them. As he
demonstrated by washing their feet, loving one another meant serving one
another.
Without
doubt, this was all unexpected. We know from Peter’s response that for a master
to wash the feet of servants, or a teacher the feet of students, was unheard
of. Peter, in his own impetuous way, first protested the washing then asked for
more than was necessary. While the disciples found all of this unexpected, I do
not. I know the story. We know the story. None of this is unexpected. Except.
There is one aspect of this story that I have never considered before. Jesus
washed the feet of all the disciples. Every one. Even Judas. Jesus knew who
would betray him. He commented that not all of them were clean. If we were to
read on in verse 18, Jesus made it clear that he knew the one who would turn
against him, but that one had been chosen to fulfill scripture. But Jesus still
washed Judas’ feet.
I suppose Jesus
could have waited until Judas did what he was chosen to do. I would have. I
suppose Jesus could have put off washing their feet until after Judas took the
bread Jesus dipped in wine – Jesus’ sign of the one who would betray him. I
probably would have. Jesus even told Judas to go and do what he had to do quickly.
Jesus could have held off on washing the disciples’ feet until after Judas
left. “Hey guys, he’s gone. Now let me give you this new commandment.” I doubt
any of us would question the story had Jesus made that choice. But Jesus washed
Judas’ feet too. He washed the feet – he served in love – the one who would
most obviously betray him. I suspect that Jesus did not wash Judas feet
perfunctorily. Instead I imagine he washed his feet with love and with
tenderness.
Of all that
is unexpected in these verses, that reality surprises me the most. I am
perfectly willing to serve others. I do not see myself as any better, or any
worthier than anyone else. I can even accept that I am called to love and serve
others who are unlovable. I don’t want to shy away from loving the other, the
stranger, the hurt, the poor, the weak or the needy. But to wash the feet of
one who has hurt me, harmed me, willingly betrayed me – that challenges
everything I think I know. Jesus washed Judas’ feet too.
Yet what I
find even more profound is not just that I am commanded to wash the feet of
those who have harmed me, but that others might wash mine. When I began my
preparations for this evening, I thought about that cake decorator at Walmart,
the one I willingly jeered. I thought that if I should ever meet that person,
an act of love and remorse would be to wash his or her feet. I believe that
this would be an act of love and contrition, but would I be able to let that
person wash my feet? Would I be able to look at someone that I have harmed –
directly or indirectly – and be awash not only in water, but in cleansing love?
Jesus
commanded the disciples, and it is our commandment as well, to love one another
as he loved them. He showed them this love by serving them, by doing what would
have been considered most lowly. In one way or another, they would all
disappoint him and fall short of their calling. But still he washed their feet
– all of their feet. Can we give that
same tenderness, that same love to all of God’s children? Can we wash the feet
of those who have harmed us, betrayed us, used us, and disappointed us? Can we
also recognize the Judas in us, and accept the love and forgiveness of others?
On this night when we remember Jesus act of love, his commandment to us to do
the same, and prepare our hearts and minds for the even greater, more unexpected
act of love to come, may we find grace, forgiveness, and love in washing and
being washed. Let all of God’s children say, “Amen.”
No comments:
Post a Comment