Maundy Thursday's Service, and its Parts

 

Sermon. 17 April 2025. St John the Evangelist's, Ovington.

Maundy Thursday.

 

Gospel: John 13.1017, 31b-35

 

This sermon is going to have three parts.

You know: a beginning, a middle, and an end.

Except I am teasing you.

Today I actually am going to speak of a beginning, an end, and a middle!

I am thinking about parts of this service.

The beginning, end, and middle of this service,

 

The beginning.

 

We began the service tonight with the welcome of the oils. The olive oils.

St John the Evangelist’s people may remember that I said that the Greek for olive oil, elaion, is probably related to the word for having mercy, ele-eo, and mercy, eleos. So oil is an embodiment of Gd’s mercy. And “mercy” is much broader than forgiveness, than pardon. It means more God’s tenderness towards us.

 

These oils have all been blessed by the bishop at the cathedral. You have seen the three kinds:

the oil of healing, which I call the oil of strengthening;

the oil of baptism, for baptismal candidates, when they are sealed by the sign of the cross;

the fragrant oil of chrism, for, well, for whenever someone is commissioned to be the particular kind of disciple they are being called to be.

You’ll see we have four sets. One for each church.

So here is another way in which are all together.

This ceremony is not ancient. I am not pretending it is. It is modern.

But surely it is a good thing.

It is a good thing to go into these Most Holy Days by seeing, and welcoming, the embodiment of the tenderness of God, to welcome these gifts for us.

 

From the beginning to the end.

 

I rejoice that this church has had a tradition of stripping the altar at the end of this service. It is a powerful experience for many. We are used to ending our service with some combination of a triumphal song, a slow or at least a deliberate procession, and a solemn-ish blessing… and then fun and chat, over coffee and delicacies (I can vouch for the delicacies). It’s quite something, then, if we hurry to empty the church of the things we can remove, leaving it barren and bereft, and then just depart. In silence.

 

We find it shocking, and we get that we are meant to be shocked.

Why? Why is it good to be shocked at the end of this service, uniquely?

 

It isn’t hard to say, and it isn’t a secret. We have here a different kind of embodiment. Here we are embodying the disciples, who fled from Jesus at his time of trial, after the Last Supper. They deserted him. They didn’t even hesitate. They fled. We mark that.

 

But, perhaps, if I put it that way, we might also be sensing this… don’t we need something more? Are we to stay frightened and isolated and away from Jesus? I say we do need something more. In a way, the stripping of the altar is Act One. It makes sense if it is followed by Act 2. What would Act 2 be?

 

Act 2 is that we seek to mend what the disciples broke. For we are free. We are free to play the role we choose in this story. Where the disciples fled, we can stay. We can watch and pray. And so the stripping of the altar gives way to a garden of repose. A garden, where Jesus rests, abides, in the form of the Blessed Sacrament. It is our own Garden of Gethsemane, right here in Ovington. That is what we can do.

 

We will empty the church of the usual things (in truth, there isn’t that much to take away), and we will set up a new focus, with the Blessed Sacrament, signs of nature (a garden) and candles.

 

So there is an invitation, there. You are invited to stay and pray before Jesus (the Blessed Sacrament) and the Garden. Throughout the world, some will be praying and keeping watch throughout the night. Some will keep watch until midnight. But, because I know (think) this is new to you, I suggest.., stay for a while.  You can leave before, during, or after. But please leave as quietly as possible. Either way, there is no formal ending. And it’s not a time to chat (sorry about that).

 

From the beginning to the end, to the middle.

 

I mean what is next in this service. The washing of the feet. Yes, we are doing it! Just like the welcome of the oil, and the watch before the garden, this is not my idea. I am not bringing in anything that is my idea. They are all there in the service books. And, if you paid attention to the Gospel, you can perhaps see why.

 

I can be blunt about it: Jesus tells us to do it.

He tells us to wash one another’s feet. Hear it again:

“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 should do as I have done to you.”

It sounds pretty clear, doesn’t it?

 

We typically… don’t do it. We don’t wash each other’s feet literally. We say it’s an image, a symbol. We say it’s a way of saying we need to serve one another in the ordinary matters of life. Giving lifts to hospital, carrying shopping, going to funerals, challenging a bully, overlooking one another’s mistakes, and so on. And this is right. This is our service.

But… what if… foot-washing does mean all of that,

and is also something we need to do literally, in the plain sense of the words?

 

It's embarrassing for us, of course, to show our feet. It’s not very C of E. Notice, though, that it seems to have been embarrassing for Peter as well,

and Jesus didn’t let him hide away.

 

I’m inviting anyone who wants to have their feet washed to come forward. Nobody is obliged to. And don’t  - do not - do it just to please me. But don’t avoid doing it, just because it is out of what we now call your “comfort zone”.

 

It’s a two-way gift, two-way sharing, two-way invitation.

One party offers the vulnerability of actually showing their feet.

The other has the gift of washing them,

with the attitude of service and of tenderness that (I remind you)

Jesus himself showed.

 

This service marks Jesus’ Last Supper of course. In Matthew, Mark, Luke, and in Paul, for that matter (as we’ve heard), the focus is on the meal, and the bread and the wine, and what Jesus says about them, how he prays with them, and identifies himself with them.

That’s entirely absent from John.

In John, the focus is on the washing of the feet.

We can presume that Jesus meant this.

 

But, look, there’s anything but a spirit of bullying, or even cajoling here.

I am just inviting you to think about it.

 

Let’s return to the beginning and the end.

Remember the oils, the embodiments of God’s mercy,

God’s eleos, God’s tenderness.

As we enter these three Most Holy Days,

let us look for God’s tenderness, for ourselves, and for others.

Remember the invitation to watch and pray

(for we are free to watch and pray).

If we don’t do it here, let us do it in our own way.

God will supply what we need, to watch, pray, and find God’s tenderness.

Amen.