April 13, 2006
(Maundy Thursday)

This Is Personal

  by The Rev. Canon Linda Yeager, Canon Deacon

Exodus 12:1-14a  •  Psalm 78:14-20,23-25  •  1 Corinthians 11:23-26(27-32)  •  John 13:1-15 or Luke 22:14-30
(From The Lectionary Page)

One of the steps in the training of most clergy is Clinical Pastoral Education or CPE. CPE is a form of theological education that takes place not exclusively in academic classrooms, but also in clinical settings, like hospitals, where ministry is being practiced. CPE includes in-depth study of both the people who receive care as well as a study of ourselves, the givers of care. Through the practice of ministry and the reflection of this ministry with supervisor and peers, the experiential learning that is CPE takes place. It is a fairly rigorous experience of several months, and as I neared its completion, I thought it would be fun to make a list of the top ten learnings of CPE, compiled mostly in jest. Some of the learnings included such ideas as, for example, the term “hospital food” is an oxymoron; that the term “debriefing” is not an advertising campaign concocted by Fruit of the Loom; that “intubation” has nothing to do with baby chicks, and so on.

But my number one learning was this: Most people have ugly feet. I decided on this because as a regular hospital visitor, I saw lots and lots of bare feet, and most of them were not viable contestants for nail polish ads. Many of us have had the privilege of giving a baby a bath. There is nothing in the feet of a baby that is not delightful, from the soft, new skin to the tiny little toes. Fewer of us have had the privilege of giving an old person nearing death a bath. These feet have walked their life journey and show the wear and tear of age and use. These feet are often gnarled, roughened, arthritic, and misshapen. Yet these feet are as precious in God’s eyes as are the feet of an infant to our eyes.

Nevertheless, most of us are self conscious about our own feet. When you think about it, our feet take lots of punishment, from squeezing them into poorly fitting shoes to giving them heavy duty usage to insisting on them to take us wherever we want to go. The older I get, the more complaints I have about my feet. In fact, I, like most of you, I assume, keep my feet covered with shoes, socks, etc., when I am in public. Therefore, removing my shoes in church is embarrassing enough, not to mention letting the dean or—even worse—the bishop wash my feet on Maundy Thursday. And yet, that is exactly what I will be doing this evening.

Given the embarrassment and humility that it takes to allow people whom I greatly admire to wash my feet, I ponder why I find it important to allow them to do so. And that brings me to the message in our gospel passage this evening. When Jesus got up from the supper table, took off his outer robe, and tied a towel around himself, I’m sure the disciples wondered what he was up to. And then he poured water into a basin and began to wash their feet and to wipe them with the towel that was tied around his waist. Peter, the outspoken one, the one to whom most of us relate very well, stopped Jesus and said adamantly, “You will never wash my feet.” Can’t you just imagine what was going through his mind? Here was the person that Peter most admired in the world, the one to whom all his hopes clung, the one whom Peter had proclaimed as Messiah, wanting to demean himself to wash Peter’s feet. This task was one that a servant performed, a lowly person on the totem pole, a person with whom a visitor had nothing in common and with whom a visitor could be comfortable allowing to wash his feet. No way was Peter going to allow Jesus to wash his feet.

And then Jesus changed everything—not only for Peter, but also for us. Jesus said, “ . . . if I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet. For I have set you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you.” He turned everything upside down. The master becomes a servant to those who serve him. And Jesus expects us to follow his example, to serve one another with loving, caring, personal interest. It’s as if there are no boundaries anymore between us. In a very intimate way, we belong to one another and we serve one another.

Of all the days of Holy Week, Maundy Thursday is the most intimate. It is on this night that we share the last meal of our savior, we experience the washing of the disciples’ feet, and we listen to Jesus’ message to us to act as servants to one another. It gets very personal if we allow it to. Garrison Keillor relates the story of his uncle who read the story of Jesus’ passion and death at family gatherings during Holy Week. Each year, when he came to the part where Jesus was betrayed, he would burst into tears. Everyone knew this embarrassing blubbering was coming and they all waited in self-conscious silence until the uncle was able to continue reading. Keillor noted that his uncle took the death of Christ “so personally.” Then Keillor added, “The rest of the church had gotten over that years ago.”

I hope not. But not everyone feels Jesus’ walk to the cross personally. You are here because you do. And those who do take this week seriously are the ones who understand tonight, tomorrow, and Sunday. Tonight we take part in the memorial ritual of the washing of the feet, a potentially humbling experience for all concerned. Yet Jesus insists. We are called to wash others’ feet and to allow others to wash our feet. Can we allow the presence of Jesus to come that close?

It's common to hear that no one can fully appreciate the joy of Easter Sunday without experiencing the darkness of Good Friday. But the disciples would have been bewildered by both without the lesson of Maundy Thursday, the day they received the command to love, had their feet washed by a messiah, and received the bread and the wine that would become the sacrament of Christ’s body and blood.

At the close of the service tonight, we will take all the ornamentation from the sanctuary, from the area around the altar. The entire area, including the chancel, this area outside the communion rail, will be stripped—all extras removed. The altars, which represent Christ, themselves will be stripped. Both the main altar and the chapel altar will be stripped. Then the bishop and the dean will wash the altars. There are five crosses incised in each altar, representing the wounds of Christ. These crosses will be traced by the bishop and the dean with holy oil, representing the anointing of Christ for his burial. This is a solemn and holy experience for us all. Any remaining consecrated bread or wine will be taken to the back of the nave and placed on an altar of repose by the healing desk. Those who wish to take communion on Good Friday will receive the sacraments that are consecrated tonight. No bread or wine will be consecrated on Good Friday or during the day on Holy Saturday, the day of waiting. The sanctuary will be darkened and will remain dark until Easter is celebrated. This is personal; these are the dark hours. This is the time that Christ was being betrayed, tormented and tortured; this is the time when the disciples were desolate. This is the time to allow the pain and suffering of our savior to enter our hearts. This is the time to face the darkness that the disciples faced. This is a time to remember the sacrifice of our savior. This is personal for you and for me. This is the time to weep and wait—and to care for one another personally.