The Example

John 13:1-17

March 29, 2018 (Maundy Thursday) • Mount Pleasant UMC

There are a lot of things I don’t understand. Theoretical physics, for one. A lot of financial lingo, for another. I don’t understand everything my son tries to tell me about video games and computer coding and how he creates video animations. When Rachel talks to me about medical things and the parts of the body and how to care for a patient, I tend to only understand the parts I’ve been through as a patient myself. There are a lot of things I don’t understand, but there are a lot of situations I’ve found myself in where I’ve learned even through the experience. Much of the little I know about home repair I’ve learned by going on mission trips; much of what I know pastoral care in the hospital has come because I’ve been a patient myself. We often learn through our experiences, and that truth is what makes the statement in John 13:7 so amazing to me. Even after three years of experiences with Jesus, living and walking with, listening to Jesus, these twelve disciples are still at the place where they don’t understand who he is and what he’s about. It’s the final night Jesus will be with them, and there are still a lot of things they don’t understand.

It’s Thursday night, and the disciples have gathered with Jesus for the Passover meal. Passover was and is actually on Friday evening—at the beginning of the Sabbath—but these thirteen men are celebrating early. It’s not because Jesus will be dead by this time tomorrow; it’s because they come from Galilee, the northern part of the country, and Galilean Jews celebrated the Passover meal on Thursday rather than Friday. We’re not dealing with a mistake on John’s part; we’re dealing with two separate observances, two separate ways of celebrating. So they’ve gathered for the meal but John doesn’t tell us about the meal. As I’ve said throughout this Lenten season, John, as the last living disciple and the last of the Gospel writers to put his story on paper, isn’t interested in telling us things he is certain we already know. Matthew, Mark and Luke have told us the story of the meal. John wants us to know the rest of the story; he focuses on what happens after supper (cf. Card, John: The Gospel of Wisdom, pg. 152).

The roads of Palestine in those days were, for the most part, unpaved and uncleaned. A week or so ago, I got behind a street cleaner while I was trying to get to my next meeting, and at first I was very frustrated, not being able to get around. But later, as I thought about it, I became very thankful for those who do such thankless jobs. Without their work, we would have a mess on our roads, which is exactly what first century travelers in Palestine had. If the weather was dry, as it usually was and is, their feet would become covered in dust, and if it rained, as it occasionally did and does, they would become dirty with mud. Inside the door of most houses, then, were large waterpots, and it was expected that, when you entered someone’s home, a servant would be there to wash your feet, to clean off the mess from the streets. When Jesus and his disciples had come into this home where they were having their Passover meal, there would have been a waterpot by the door. But they had no servants in their midst. And by now, after three years of traveling with Jesus, they all considered themselves too good to wash anyone’s feet. So the waterpot went unused and their feet remained dirty all throughout the meal (cf. Barclay, The Gospel of John, Volume 2, pg. 139).

To understand the context of what happens next, we have to turn briefly over to Luke 22, where we are told that, in the midst of the after-dinner conversation, the disciples began to argue over which one of them was the greatest (cf. Luke 22:24). Can you imagine? And this is not the first time this argument has taken place. In Matthew 18, they try to ask it subtly: “Who, then, is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?” (18:1). Jesus’ answer: anyone who takes the lowly position of a child. They probably were hoping he would name names—preferably one of their names! In Mark 9, Jesus calls them out for arguing about who is the greatest as they are walking to Capernaum and in the next chapter, Mark 10, two of the disciples (and probably their mother) come to Jesus asking to be appointed as the greatest, asking to have the position of greatest influence in Jesus’ kingdom—and of course that makes the others angry. But these are the kinds of arguments they have been getting into, clear up to this last night together (Card 152). So Jesus, who has taught them and taught them and taught them, who has corrected them and corrected them and corrected them, who has preached and preached and preached—Jesus now gives up on words. What he does next, in his own words, is set them an example (cf. John 13:15). And after this night, they will never again argue about who is the greatest (cf. Card 152).

What happens first is that Jesus changes his appearance. Probably while they are still arguing, with all the noise that arguments produce, Jesus slips away from the table (did they even notice at first?), takes off his outer garment, wraps a towel around his waist, and picks up a basin, pouring water into it. He deliberately changes his appearance from that of a rabbi or teacher to that of a servant or, more accurately, a slave. At what point, do you suppose, did the argument stop and silence take over? Because, as he begins to wash the feet of each and every disciple, there is no record of any conversation taking place.

Feet are very basic things. We don’t often give a lot of thought to our feet, unless they start hurting us. Some folks think their feet look all right, and others may think their feet are ugly, but feet are, by and large, just ordinary. Biblical scholar Tom Wright says feet are “down to earth.” We all wash our feet, and often so quickly or so routinely that we don’t even think about it. But to wash someone else’s feet is a very intimate act; it’s “up close and personal.” You have to kneel down, bow in front of someone else. To wash between someone’s toes is incredible personal and tender. It’s not something that happens to just anyone. The few times I have been involved in a time of foot washing, it’s always awkward and uncomfortable—and not just when we wash someone’s feet. It’s even more awkward and uncomfortable when someone washes our feet. There’s something in us that wants to say, “Why don’t you just let me do that?” So we get Peter and why he responds the way he does. In fact, part of me wonders why it took so long for someone to respond; we get the idea that Peter’s are the last feet he’s washing. And Peter, who up to this point has been amazingly silent in John’s Gospel, resists Jesus’ actions. “You shall never wash my feet,” he tells Jesus. He’s even more emphatic than it sounds in the English translation. “You shall never, ever, into all eternity, wash my feet.” Peter knew—actually, all of them knew—this was not something a rabbi would do, least of all a rabbi they considered to be the Messiah, the savior of the world. The Messiah was not supposed to kneel down; the Messiah was not supposed to serve (cf. Card 153; Wright, John for Everyone, Part Two, pg. 43).

And isn’t that the point? Had they done what they were supposed to, he would not have had to. Had they swallowed their pride and been willing to stoop down, no matter what someone else in the room might have thought, he would not have had to. Their unwillingness to serve each other has been the spark that causes Jesus to kneel. After all, as he has already told them elsewhere, he did not come to be served, but to serve (cf. Mark 10:45). That’s why, when he sits back down and begins to explain what he has done to the disciples, he tells them, “Now that I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also should wash one another’s feet. I have set you an example that you should do as I have done for you” (13:14-15). He set an example for the disciples, and he is setting an example for us, for all of those who claim to follow Jesus. He’s the teacher who shows us how to work the math problem on the board. He’s the father who shows us how to drive. He’s the retiree who comes alongside the next generation to share how a job can be done. “This is how I do it; now you do it.” That’s Jesus’ message to these squabbling disciples, because if they get busy doing what he has shown them to do, they won’t have time to fight or worry about who is the best or who is first.

But what is the example he wants us to see in this action? Is it literally washing feet? I mean, should we be going up and down the streets of Terre Haute, making people sit down and letting us wash their feet? Or is there something more profound here? Are we, perhaps, meant to be willing to do the things others refuse to do? Is Jesus here telling us that there is nothing that we are “too good” to do? Sometimes we get as wrapped up with position and prestige as the world does and we begin to believe there are certain things we are “too good” or “too educated” or “too important” to do. In this example of Jesus, we’re not supposed to say, “Well isn’t that impressive, this one who came from God is washing feet!” No, it’s because he came from God that Jesus had to wash feet…and talk to nobodies…and touch lepers…and reach the unloveable and the unloved. In many other places in the world, where Christians are not a majority, this example becomes a matter of ministry and sometimes even survival. We were in Egypt just a year after the “Arab Spring” when an uprising had gotten rid of the dictator and free elections had just taken place. One way people there had protested was by throwing their trash all over the place—in parks, on sidewalks, everywhere. No one would pick it up because they were too good to do it, so the Christians took on that task. They became the garbage collectors. Though some saw it as a form of humiliation, from their vantage point, it was a way of following Jesus’ example and serving others by doing what no one else would do. The example Jesus sets is not just what happens here in the upper room; he’s been setting an example for his disciples and for us all throughout his ministry. Every action, every movement, every word and teaching and story—he has been setting an example for us.

It was a Friday morning, and I had just gotten my kids on the bus and off to school. It was quiet, and I had settled in to read a good book. After reading a chapter on servanthood, I closed the book to pray about it and process what the chapter said, when suddenly our doorbell rang. Who in the world would be ringing my doorbell this early in the morning? When I opened the door, there was one of the kids from the neighbor’s home. Now, you need to know that these were less than ideal neighbors. We had answered several police inquiries when officers came looking for the people who lived there but they weren’t home—they ended up at our door asking questions. Our block was sometimes disturbed by police responding to domestic disturbances, and more than once we had seen the man who lived there being taken away in handcuffs. One morning, Cathy and I watched the SWAT team come in and surround the house. These were not ideal neighbors, and yet here is this boy at my door. “I missed the bus,” he says, “and my parents aren’t home. Can you take me to school?” Everything in me wanted to say no, and then the Holy Spirit brought to mind what I had just read about servanthood. “I have set you an example…” Don’t you hate when the words of Jesus come back to bite you? So I got myself together and took him to school. To my remembrance, I never got a thank you, and certainly not from the parents, but that wasn’t why I did it. Jesus washed feet; he set us an example.

And he did it earlier this evening as well. Before the feet were washed, he shared a meal with these twelve men, these disciples who have been his closest friends. It’s a Passover meal, a meal that reminded them of their captivity and rescue from slavery in Egypt centuries before. It’s a meal that reminded them that God had saved them from death; when the Angel of Death visited Egypt, he “passed over” the Hebrew homes. It’s a meal that was meant to remind them who they were as the people of God. Jesus retained all those meanings as he changed Passover into holy communion. He set them an example and told them to do it often. Take the bread and be reminded that his body was broken on the cross for you. Take the cup and be reminded that his blood, his very life, was poured out for you. In the death of Jesus that was to come the next day, the whole world could find life. “I have set you an example,” Jesus says as he offers them these two simple tokens. “Do this often and remember who you are.”

On my desk, I keep this small statue, carved out of olive wood and purchased several years ago in Bethlehem, of Jesus washing Peter’s feet. It’s just at the moment Jesus is ready but Peter is resisting. You can almost see his response on his face: “No, Jesus, you can’t wash my feet. It just wouldn’t be proper.” And in Jesus’ face there is such love. His hands are open. He is bowed low. “Unless I wash you,” he seems to be saying, “you have no part of me” (13:8). It’s a critical moment in the example Jesus is setting, because Jesus is telling Peter that if he doesn’t “get” this, he doesn’t “get” Jesus (cf. Card 153). Peter, if you don’t see me as the Servant Lord, you don’t understand me at all. And if we don’t see in what Jesus does here as the ultimate example for our discipleship, for the way we follow Jesus, we don’t really understand what it means to be a Christian. It’s a life of loving service, of serving when no one else will, of kneeling when the world says to stand. If we don’t get this, on this night of nights, we won’t get why he does what he will do tomorrow. He is setting us an example and he expects us to follow.