Maundy Thursday Sermon
Maundy Thursday Sermon
I wonder if they knew? Probably not. The disciples wouldn’t have known that as they ate and drank with their beloved Jesus, it would be for the last time, at least in this kind of setting, as 13 men, brothers in all but blood, having endured three years of ministry and stress. If they knew it was going to be the last time, perhaps they would have acted differently. Perhaps they would have said the things they really wanted to say to Jesus but never did. They would have soaked it all in and treasured not only the meal that night but the last three years. But they didn’t know.
There are so many times in our life that if we knew that we were experiencing something for the last time, we would have soaked in the moment. We would have taken some kind of mental snap shot so we wouldn’t forget how important the experience was. But we never know. We never know when the last time will be the last time.
That idea breaks my heart. I can think of so many times in my life where I never realized that the last time was the last time. I don’t know when my children stopped falling asleep on my shoulder. I loved the feeling of their little heads resting on my shoulder or chest. But now, they are grown, and even the youngest one is too old to fall asleep as I rock him gently in my arms. And my heart grieves for that past. One day, they will be in their own homes and my experience as a father of young children will be over. And I never even knew that the last time was going to be the last time.
Our mortal life is like that. Filled with first times. Filled with last times. Just when we think that the routines we have established will last forever, they are suddenly over. One day, I will write my last sermon and lead my last service. I can remember leading my first service and preaching my first sermon quite vividly. What will it be like to do those things for the last time?
The fact that we know that this night, when Jesus reclines with his disciples and eats with them, or, in John’s Gospel, washes their feet, is the last time the disciples and Jesus will be together in such a fashion, makes this evening melancholy. We can resonate with it based on our own life experiences, when we had our last meal, or last encounter with someone we love and didn’t even realize it. We can echo the heartache of this moment, and we can only imagine what the disciples were thinking when the new day dawned, and their beloved master was raised on a cross and everything they thought they knew came crashing down around them. As they grieved for Jesus, they must have thought about everything they should have done or should not have done, and they would have regretted those moments. That seems to be the lot of mortal life. To sit with our regrets for all we did or didn’t do and wonder why we didn’t do things better.
And so much of that grief surrounding our past actions comes from the fact that we feel should have been better. When I think about the grief that comes from my children having grown and that part of my life being over, I think about all the ways I could have been a better parent. I wish I could have done more for them and been better for them. When I think of the last sermon I will preach or the last service I will lead, I know I will grieve the loss of something that was so key to who I was, but I will also grieve for all the wasted opportunities. I will be filled with regret for the all the sermons that didn’t land, the services that didn’t work and all the ways I let my parishioners down. The disciples, staring at Jesus dying on a cross, less than 24 hours after that had eaten their last meal together, would have mourned the loss of Jesus, but also regretted all the ways in which they had fallen short, all the ways they could have been better. Why did they ask to sit a Jesus’ right and left hand? Why did they fail to understand so much of what Jesus had taught them? Why couldn’t they have protected him from this horror?
The sin of regret for the sins that we have committed. It is a vicious circle. It robs from us the joy of what was. Like all sin, it sucks the life out of us. The disciples were far from perfect. But was it Jesus’ desire that they disappear after the resurrection and ignore everything that they had learned from him? He would have hoped that they continued his ministry. Yet it took his return to push them back into the world and become evangelists to that world. Sin can rob us of the name of action and take from us the joy of life. I shouldn’t regret my time as a father, but I do sometimes because of how I wish I could have been better. Sin robs us of the opportunity to see the joy God has given us and makes us fixate on all that we have done wrong.
But Jesus does come back. The disciples endured the horror of Good Friday. They retreated back to their previous lives. And then the risen Christ comes and finds them and gives their life back and takes from them the sin that would have left them crippled and sad and broken for the rest of their days. They are given back their purpose. They are given back their life. They are set free.
It might feel like we are left to languish in our regret and our melancholic nostalgia. We can wish we had done things different and been better. We can wish for the time we had back so we could do better, and that desire ends up crippling us. But then Jesus breathes life into us. The Holy Spirit renews our spirits, and we can begin to see life with eyes that are not clouded with sin. Rather, we can look with eyes of gratitude and see that God was at work with us, through us, and around us. The disciples saw that, and they went out renewed in the Spirit to change the world.
All this leads us back here. To the meal and the washing of feet. These could be looked upon as sad moments, as Jesus eats with and then serves his disciples for the last time. Or those moments can be looked upon for the blessing they are. In the meal, the disciples and all who have since partaken, have come to know God’s forgiveness, offered in the bread and wine. In the washing of the feet, the disciples came to know the extent of Christ’s love for them and the measure of love they were asked to share with the world. It is also what we are shown, on this night and every time we encounter the story of Christ. These are not things to grieve over or be nostalgic for. These are living realities that are meant to be celebrated. God has set us free from the sins of our past and the sins of regret so that we can see with eyes of joy and live into the life of the Spirit.
Amen