Part and Parcel
Lent 2 – Narrative Lectionary 4
February 25, 2018
Grace, Mankato, MN
John 13.-1-17
One day during college at Gustavus, it was either my junior or senior year, I walked into the cafeteria and approached a table with a few of my frat buddies. At the tables was Dave, who was arguably my best friend at Gustavus and for some years later. Needless to say, I was shocked when Dave looked at me in the eye and said, “I have no time for you, Scott.” Stunned and embarrassed, I slunk away, not knowing what I did to deserve such a public rebuke. Thankfully, Dave and I did talk later and we did resolve the problem between us. We are still friends to this day.
Though I rarely presume to tell people, “I know how you feel,” I think I can understand a bit of Peter’s embarrassment and shock in today’s reading. When Jesus tells Peter that, unless he lets Jesus wash his feet, he’ll have no part of him and have nothing to do with him, Peter gets appropriately flustered and upset. The occasion is the Last Supper, the last meal that Jesus has with his disciples before his passion. As we’ll see, this is not a Passover meal because the timing in John’s Gospel has Jesus crucified on Passover; Jesus is the Passover lamb. Even so, the Last Supper is a time for Jesus to give last minute instructions to his disciples before going the way of the cross.
As some wags have noted, it’s the longest after-dinner speech in the Bible, taking up chapters 13-17. Jesus knows it’s the last time he will have with his followers and he wants to make every minute count, but he acts before he speaks. As Mary Austin rather pointedly notes, “Instead of giving his disciples a strongly worded lecture about loyalty and honor, he takes off his robe, exposing more vulnerability.” It’s a prophetic act pointing to his death, the laying down of his robes showing his willingness to lay down his life for them and others. It’s an act of service to be emulated by them.
Washing someone’s feet is such an intimate act that in Jesus’ day masters could not force their slaves to do it. Perhaps that’s why it never became a sacrament, because is far too intimate of an act. (Although it’s been observed that if it was a sacrament, we’d argue about how often to do it, how old we need to be to receive it, and how much water to use.) As I thought about a modern parallel, I thought about and experience I had recently. A week ago I at a pastor’s retreat I had the opportunity to receive a massage, a first for me. (I know; tough duty.) I felt incredibly vulnerable to have a stranger touch me in such an intimate way. Yet, as humbling as the experience was, it was also incredibly life-giving.
I’ve talked often about sociologist Dr. Brené Brown’s work on vulnerability, about the importance of providing a place where we can make meaningful connections with others in our community of faith. Appropriate vulnerability and compassion are necessary to make connections with one another, to live with our whole hearts. Your leadership, the council, will be laying down a day and half to go on retreat Friday night and most of Saturday. They are doing it in order to serve you better so you can follow Jesus in service, to discern where Jesus is calling us as a community of faith “who live and work to serve others.” We will be reporting back to you what that means and how we’ll be moving forward together in faith, to be a part of Jesus.
Meanwhile, let Jesus love you. Let Jesus remove from you all that prevents you from following him. Let Jesus love you because love is still the best answer to every hurting, stinking thing in the world. Amen.
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