“A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another, even as I have loved you, that you also love one another.” Commandment. Mandatum. Maundy. This night is like a rich tapestry woven with several beautiful threads: important themes, each enhancing the other, strengthening the whole. It’s like a symphony with melodies and counterpoints, variations and elaborations: food, servanthood, light, darkness. Food: nourishment, empowerment; the bread of the world broken and given. Servanthood: the washing of feet, an act of humility and servitude. Light: the light of Christ, the light of the world, redemption. Darkness: Judas, betrayal; the darkness of evil.

But standing as a summary of all the images, mandatum: mandate, command. “A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another, even as I have loved you, that you also love one another.” This is the eleventh commandment. Not a negative, “thou shalt not”, but a positive, “you shall love.”

Not only a command is given on this night, but empowerment and example are also given. The empowerment is the Eucharist. The example is the washing of feet. And both show us the grace of God, the caring graciousness of Christ. This night we see the nature of divine love. This night is the first in the three-part drama of salvation history which reveals that love: Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and Easter. As we enter into the divine story and into our salvation history we enter into a deeper experience of our own redemption.

We are the recipients of this divine grace which knows no boundaries. You and I, every person, is targeted by God not for damnation, but salvation. By the action which occurred so long ago in an upper room, in a garden called Gethsemane, on a hill called Calvary, in a tomb outside a city wall. By those events we are given eternal life.

A gift is given, we have but to receive. On this night, in that upper room, Peter resisted the gift. On this night, in this room, we still resist the gift. Let’s look at Peter’s reaction and in so doing perhaps we’ll discover our reaction to the gift.

“The Jesus poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples’ feet and to wipe them with the towel with which he was girded. He came to Simon Peter, ‘Lord, do you wash my feet?’ And Jesus answered him, ‘What I am doing you do not know now, but afterward you will understand…’ And Peter said to him, ‘You shall never wash my feet!’”

Imagine you are Peter. You have left everything to follow this Jesus of Nazareth: the nets, the boats, your home, your wife. For three years you have listened, you have wondered, you have learned. And you have believed. Not so long ago at a place called Caesaria Phillipi, when Jesus asked you, “Who do men say I am?”, without really thinking, as though something, no, as though some one within you was speaking, you declared this Jesus of Nazareth to be Messiah, the Son of the Living God. And when you said that he looked at you, really looked in you with those eyes that see everything, and told you that you were “the rock” upon whose faith his church will be founded.

This Christ, this Messiah, this King, this Lord, this Master, now becomes servant, washing dirty feet. Peter resists because Jesus upsets his presuppositions. The master becomes the slave. This is the divine reversal; it turns everything around and upside down. This is the holy absurdity: that weakness is power and the powerful are made week.

That’s why Peter resists the foot washing. That’s why we resist the foot washing. And then, there’s Peter’s pride. And there is our pride. Of all the liturgical actions of the Church Year this is the most resisted. It’s relatively new to us Episcopalians. It still makes us uncomfortable. Peter didn’t want to do this because it required him to be on the receiving end of his master’s charity. We are told it is better to give than to receive, but it may be harder for us to receive because it means we need something. It’s fairly easy to be doing good, especially for people we love, but to be the recipient of another person’s gift to us? Someone has said, “Good works are endless giving. Faith is endless receiving.” Our pride gets in the way of our faith.

Jesus commands us to love. He gives us his own example of love. And he gives us the power to love. This night, as we celebrate the institution of the sacrament of the Holy Eucharist, we find ourselves, once again, on the receiving end of God’s grace. We find we are enabled to love, not because of our power, our goodness, but because of God’s power, God’s goodness. Because he is with us and in us, because we ingest Christ and he dwells in us and we in him. As his broken body heals our brokenness, as his blood pours out and transfuses our wounded spirits, we discover his love and his power in our lives. Every time we open our mouths and are fed by the Body and Blood of Christ we are engrafted more and more into his Body, the Church, and enter more and more into the mystery of God with us, God for us, and God in us. We discover our oneness with him and the power to live our lives for him.

This night we are encouraged by the example of servanthood as seen in the washing of feet. This night we are empowered by the sacrament of death and life called Eucharist. So we, as foolish as it seems to the world, proclaim a master who is servant. We, as foolish as it seems to the world, proclaim a savior who would not save himself. We, as foolish as it seems to the world, proclaim a death out of which comes life. Amen.