Love to the End

A Sermon preached at St. Mark's Episcopal Church on Maundy Thursday - April 17, 2025

I speak to you in the name of One God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

Tonight, we enter into the beginning of the Paschal Triduum - the great three holy days at the center of the Church year.

And we begin in an upstairs room with Jesus and his disciples.

The Gospel of John tells this story differently from the other Gospels. They are all at the last supper, but there’s no mention here of the bread and the wine. The familiar words of the institution, of taking the bread, blessing and breaking and giving it - those are absent. Instead, we have an image of water. A basin. A towel. And a teacher bending down in humility.

John tells us that Jesus “loved them to the end.” And that’s how this evening begins - in relationship. With love. And this is not just affection, or a moment of tenderness - this is a love that knows that the cross is coming, and yet Christ chooses to serve anyway. This is a love that moves toward death with a purpose. A love that bends down in humility.

This is the only Gospel that includes the washing of the feet. And this should tell us something about what John wants us to understand. Foot washing was an act of hospitality, an act of welcome for guests. But usually, it was done before the start of the meal, certainly not in the middle. And it was always done by servants, not the host - and certainly not by a teacher - and never by the Lord.

But Jesus breaks the pattern.

Jesus rises from the table. He takes off his outer robe. He kneels and wraps a towel around his waist and begins to wash their feet. It is incredibly awkward. But intimate. Uncomfortable.

Things are out of order in this scene. The disciples don’t know what’s happening.

And yet that is exactly what love looks like.

This act - this lowly and humble gesture - is not a distraction from Jesus’ glory, it is the shape of it.

And we can see the connection in stories over the past few days and weeks. You will remember that twice we have heard the story of Mary washing Jesus’ feet with costly perfume, anointing Jesus, wiping his feet with her hair.

That extravagant act of devotion was a preparation for what was to come. And now, we have Jesus returning the gesture - this time not with perfume, but simply with water.

Not with weeping, but with a silent tenderness.

And not just for the ones who love him - but for all the disciples - even Judas.

Even Judas.

Jesus does not only wash the feet of those who will stay with him. He washes the feet of the one who will betray him. He knows. And still, he kneels. Still, he serves. Still, he loves.

And isn’t interesting that Jesus doesn’t use this moment to unmask Judas, to shame him, or condemn him. He doesn’t show the disciples who they are, he doesn’t make an example of them. Instead, Jesus shows them who he is.

He is the one who loves to the end.

And then, when he rises, Jesus simply says, “Do you know what I have done to you?”

He doesn’t lecture. He doesn't give a parable. He gives an example. “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.”

This is what it looks like to fulfill those words that he says later - “Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another.”

This commandment to love is what gives this day its name. The word maundy comes from the Latin mandatum, meaning commandment. And it is more than a suggestion. It is the thing that defines our lives as Christians - to love as Christ has loved us.

What does this mean?

It means loving not just in thought or theory, but in action and humility. It means love that goes beyond what feels comfortable. Love that prepares a place for others. Love that removes the barriers that keep people from coming to the table. It means loving those who might never love us back. It means entering someone else’s hour of need.

And it means allowing Christ to serve us first.

And that might be the hardest part. Peter protests. “You will never wash my feet!” And maybe we get it - maybe we, too, resist the idea that the Son of God should kneel before us. But the invitation tonight is not to prove our worth like Peter so wanted to do. It is not to show our strength. It is instead to receive.

To receive the love of Christ.

To receive his humility.

To receive the one who washes feet - and gives himself away.

We are not just observers in this Gospel, though too often we only observe the Gospel. We are participants. Jesus brings the disciples into the same trajectory he shares with the Father: humility, unity, and sacrificial love. And now, he brings us into that path too.

So tonight, as we begin these holy days, as you wash one another's feet, I invite you to let your heart recall all of those who have served you - all of those in your life who have brought you closer to God by their quiet faithfulness, by their love. Maybe that was a mother who was devoted to you, or a father who went out of his way to help you, or a sibling who was there for you when you didn’t expect it - a friend who guided you and supported you when you needed it most - a stranger who gave you a kind word - Remember them with thanksgiving. Give thanks for the love that has made your life better and more whole.

And as your own feet are washed tonight - or even if you simply watch - allow the grace of what is happening to settle on your heart. Let it comfort your soul.

This moment is not about the physical water and towels and the act that we do.

This is about communion.

A communion of love that does not even flinch in the face of betrayal because love is that much greater.

A communion that prepares us for the cross, and for the glory beyond.

Jesus loved them - to the end.

May each of us be strengthened to love like that.

Amen.