John 13:1-17
In
Lutheran understanding, a sacrament is 1) an event associated with the life of
Christ that we are commanded/commended to repeat, 2) an event that has an
earthly element or elements (tangible parts or acts), and 3) has a promise of
God attached to it.
What
makes foot washing not a sacrament?
When
Jesus tells his disciples to serve one another in this humble way, what’s
happening?
- He’s wearing
nothing, but a towel (exposure).
- He’s physically
close to them (proximity).
- They have to
respond by receiving (communion).
It’s
a terribly, terribly intimate scene. Intimacy is a word we don’t use a lot in
church. We talk about sex occasionally. (Okay, I do and you listen horrified.)
We talk about service. But we rarely discuss intimacy.
Here
we have a semi-naked Jesus, clothed like a slave, performing the task of a
slave, for other free men. He is on his knees. His hands are on their feet. He
is cleaning them, drying them, touching them. Peter can literally feel the
breath of God on his shins, shifting the dark hairs numbered by the same Lord.
And,
God love him, Peter gets it. He’s as uncomfortable because he can grasp the
edges of what Jesus is doing, is saying, is revealing. Does he want to accept
it? Will he lean into this intimacy? Is this discomfort worth it to dwell in
the light?
This
is precisely the question the Johannine community would have been asking
themselves. Is the persecution, the rejection, the frustration worth it to
dwell in the light they have perceived, received, believed? The gospel writer
organizes this scene for that early church community, urging them to care for
one another because they are all they have.
For
most of us, church is but one community in our lives. It is important to us,
but intimacy is not a word we associate with this experience. It might not be a
word we want to associate with church. However, intimacy, closeness, deep
vulnerability is supposed to be the hallmark of who we are and what we’re
about.
Every
week, we have six or so 12-step groups that meet in this building. When people
go to those meetings, they introduce themselves- I’m so-and-so and this is my
struggle. They are greeted by name, Hi, So-and-so, and brought into the intimacy
of that community. Of knowing that other people have the same struggle, of
hearing the stories of people who would be strangers except for the common
bond. A stranger going into a 12-step knows he or she can find people to hold
him or herself accountable, to intercede, to advise. They have a closeness, a
bond, that is enviable.
Except
that we shouldn’t envy it, we should be re-creating it. Right here, right now. Hi,
I’m Julia and I’m a doubter, a Lutheran, a follower of Christ, a believer with
questions. Everyone who comes in those doors should know that they’ll be
welcomed by name and that they have entered into a community of people who are
like them, who have the same struggles, and who are prepared to walk with them
through darkness and light.
Kneeling
at the feet of the disciples, in this intimate moment, Jesus is creating a holy
conspiracy. Not a plot, but a community rooted in the true meaning of conspire-
in Latin= con- with, spirare- to breathe. Literarly, to
breathe with, to breathe together… Spirare
is also the root of Spirit, respiration, inspiration, aspiration. Jesus is
close enough as he washes their feet to breathe with them and this is what he
urges them to do for one another. It’s not just about feet, it’s about being
will to serve and be served with a closeness that allows breathing together.
It’s
about being willing to see others for who they truly are and allowing them to
see you. It’s about sharing, not gossiping, lifting up, honesty and compassion
together. When we breathe together, our stewardship takes on a different look.
We know that we are giving our money, our time, our talents to something that
affects us deeply, affects us at the core even to the way we do something as
necessary as breathing.
We
have sanitized the sacraments in the church over the years. They are small,
quick, and clean. We don’t fling water everywhere. We don’t set up tables for a
love feast. We’ve made as much space between ourselves as possible. When we do
that, we cannot con-spire. And then, most assuredly, we are not creating the
beloved community that Jesus is commanding here.
It’s
a terrible, frightening intimacy to which we are called. If we avoid it, we are
truly failing to heed Jesus’ most basic instructions. There is grace in this
closeness, in this together breathing, in this intimacy, that we are depriving
ourselves and others of because of what… fear?
This
is the life to which we have been called. This is the work for which we have
been strengthened. This is the truth that has been poured into our hearts. Do
we dare to embrace it and all that comes with it? Do we dare to breathe
together, to risk intimacy, to realize that beloved community is only a hand or
a foot away?
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