And during supper Jesus, knowing that the Father had given all things into his hands, and that he had come from God and was going to God,got up from the table, took off his outer robe, and tied a towel around himself. Then he poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples’ feet and to wipe them with the towel that was tied around him.He came to Simon Peter, who said to him, ‘Lord, are you going to wash my feet?’ Jesus answered, ‘You do not know now what I am doing, but later you will understand.’ Peter said to him, ‘You will never wash my feet.’ Jesus answered, ‘Unless I wash you, you have no share with me.’Simon Peter said to him, ‘Lord, not my feet only but also my hands and my head!’ Jesus said to him, ‘One who has bathed does not need to wash, except for the feet, but is entirely clean. And you are clean, though not all of you.’ For he knew who was to betray him; for this reason he said, ‘Not all of you are clean.’

After he had washed their feet, had put on his robe, and had returned to the table, he said to them, ‘Do you know what I have done to you?You call me Teacher and Lord—and you are right, for that is what I am.So 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 also should do as I have done to you.

– John 13:1-14

Many New Testament scholars believe that the famous “kenosis” passage in Philippians 2:5-11 is actually an ancient hymn based on the events of John 13. It certainly brings out one of the great lessons of the footwashing account.

Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus,
who, though he was in the form of God,
did not regard equality with God
as something to be exploited,
but emptied himself,
taking the form of a slave,
being born in human likeness.
And being found in human form,
he humbled himself
and became obedient to the point of death—
even death on a cross.
Therefore God also highly exalted him
and gave him the name
that is above every name,
so that at the name of Jesus
every knee should bend,
in heaven and on earth and under the earth,
and every tongue should confess
that Jesus Christ is Lord,
to the glory of God the Father.

 

Nothing could have stopped this Pascal mystery of God and humanity. No amount of super-good discipleship or wisdom or hindsight would make a lick of difference to God’s determination to draw all people to God’s self through Jesus lifted high and on a cross.

See, we are no different than the shouting crowds – those that do the right thing for the wrong reason or those who do the wrong thing for the right reason.  There is no better class of improved people.  There are just people.

And as soon as we think the good news is that we know better than those caught up in into the tragic events of that first Holy Week, we are mistaken. As soon as we think the good news is that we now know how to do the right things and for the right reasons we are mistaken.

Because it had to happen like this.   When the Pharisees told Jesus to stop his disciples from such an embarrassing display, he said that were they to stop even the stones would cry out. So there had to be crowds who shout praise  and friends who betrayed and followers who denied and women who wept and soldiers who mocked and thieves who believed. It would have happened like this even if the Jesus event were happening now instead of then.  Even if we knew everything in advance – were we the ones on the street we too would shout Hosanna and a few days later shout crucify him.  And that’s the good news when it comes down to it. Because these people of the Holy Week story are we people.  And we people are the likes of which God came to save. God did not become human and dwell among us as Jesus to save only an improved, doesn’t make the wrong choices kind of people. There is no improved version of humanity that could have done any differently.

So go ahead. Don’t wait until you think your motivations are correct.  Don’t wait till you are sure you believe every single line of the Nicene creed (no one does).  Don’t worry about coming to church this week for the right reasons. Just wave branches. Shout praise for the wrong reason. Eat a meal. Have your feet washed. Grab at coins. Shout Crucify him. Walk away when the cock crows.  Because we, as we are and not as some improved version of ourselves…we are who God came to save. And nothing can stop what’s going to happen.

Palm Sunday Sermon about Morbid Reflection,
Home Perms, and Fickle Crowds
Nadia Bolz-Weber

“While Jesus is giving the new commandment to the apostles (now eleven), Judas betrays him for thirty pieces of silver. In Christ Taking Leave of the Apostles, his sideways position, shown up by the half-open door, is in contrast to the close-knit group of disciples. They are all turning the same way in thoughtful attitudes, the soft drapery of their coloured robes animating the whole scene. As in the Washing of the Feet and the Last Supper Duccio has avoided halos since the conspicuous shape of the golden discs might have created an overpowering effect, besides taking up most of the space in the picture.” (WGA)

 

Source: Web Gallery of Art

“The Last Supper is dominated by the central figure of Jesus who, to the astonishment of the onlookers, is offering bread to Judas Iscariot (shown in other panels with the same features). An unusual experiment with space has been made with John, whose position is traditional: the head of the favourite disciple is painted in front of the figure of Christ, and his halo behind Christ’s shoulders. Wooden bowls, knives, a decorated jug and a meat dish, and the paschal lamb, are set on the table, which is covered with a simple tablecloth woven in a small diamond pattern.” (WGA)

NOTE: One of the traditions of Monday-Wednesday in Holy Week is spring cleaning, which goes back to the customs of Jewish families as they prepared for Passover. In honor of this tradition, here is another look at one of CM’s posts from July, 2010. And, heavens no, he is not actually doing any spring cleaning!

* * *

I came home from a weekend away intent on cleaning out closets.

This urge occasionally strikes, and when it does, I’ve learned to lie down until it goes away.

Ridding home and life of clutter sometimes seems overwhelming, especially now, living in a house and at a time of life when most of it is out of sight. Motivation was easy when I had to look at the mess, and when we were tripping over it all the time.

The nest is now mostly empty, with seasonal lodging for our college students. Only the occasional visit from grandchildren leaves our floors covered with toys. It used to be that way a half dozen times a day. We have plenty of closet space, an attic that is big enough to be a third floor, and basement and garage storage.

And it’s all full.

My wife and I are certainly not hoarders, and though we lean toward the “pack rat” end of the spectrum, we don’t have an extraordinary amount of stuff. However, we have been married for more than three decades, had four children, are sentimental about our family memories, and are admitted book- and music-aholics. Our children live nearby or are in college, so lot of their stuff is still stashed at mom and dad’s.

Plus, we’ve been in school or ministry and traveling ever since we’ve known each other, so we’re always collecting articles, magazines, ministry tools, souvenirs and keepsakes. There are boxes of empty three-ring binders, boxes of stuff from our India trips, boxes filled with items from my desk and files at church, boxes of journals filled with six or seven pages of writing before I lost interest, boxes of old kids clothes, blankets, books, and papers we didn’t want to part with, boxes of stuff we retrieved from boxes of stuff at grandma and grandpa’s home when they cleaned their closets.

I’ve always loved taking pictures, and so we have a gazillion photos, a few photo albums and lots of bulging boxes. We’ve used a personal computer since 1988. What in heaven’s name do you do with all those disks, cords, adapters, manuals, drives, modems, scanners, cds, printers, cameras, and other equipment now collecting dust because they became outdated or replaced by newer stuff? We put it all in boxes and shove it in the back of the closet.

I’m not even sure what’s in all the boxes in the attic and basement. I’m sure I don’t want to know.

In traditional lingo, the metaphor of the “closet” implies that a person is hiding something. “Coming out of the closet” means making a public declaration of something you’ve been trying to avoid revealing. If you have “skeletons” in your closet, you’ve been covering up for a long time.

In the classic devotional story, My Heart Christ’s Home, Robert Munger uses closet imagery to discuss how Christ wants to penetrate every area in our life, even the areas we try to hide from him, in order to cleanse and transform us fully.

One day I found Him waiting for me at the door. An arresting look was in His eye. As I entered, He said to me, “There is a peculiar odor on the house. Something must be dead around here. It’s upstairs. I think it’s in the hall closet.”

As soon as He said this, I know what He was talking about. There was a small closet up there on the hall landing, just a few feet square. In that closet, behind lock and key, I had one or two personal things that I did not want anyone to know about. Certainly, I did not want Christ to see them. I knew they were dead and rotting things left over from the old life. I wanted them so for myself that I was afraid to admit they were there.

That’s a legitimate and, at times, convicting use of the metaphor. But it’s not really what I’m talking about here. We’re not hiding anything in our closets, at least as far as I know. That, in fact, would be self-defeating, since we probably couldn’t find said hidden treasure if we wanted to get our hands on it.

Continue reading “Holy Week: Another Look at “Cleaning Closets””

Six days before the Passover Jesus came to Bethany, the home of Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead. There they gave a dinner for him. Martha served, and Lazarus was one of those at the table with him. (John 12:1-2)

* * *

This story intrigues me. Normally, when reading John 12:1-11, we focus on Mary’s act of anointing Jesus and Judas’s objection to what she did. But the narrative about Mary’s deed is framed with an emphasis on Lazarus. Twice it points out that Lazarus was the one Jesus raised from the dead. To set the stage for the story of the meal, John notes that Lazarus was present at the table with Jesus and that the dinner was given in honor of Jesus — presumably to thank him for restoring Lazarus to life. Then, following the anointing account, the text ends with these words:

When the great crowd of the Jews learned that he was there, they came not only because of Jesus but also to see Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead. So the chief priests planned to put Lazarus to death as well, since it was on account of him that many of the Jews were deserting and were believing in Jesus.

I don’t think I’ve ever heard a sermon on what it must have been like to have dinner with someone who had recently been a corpse, dead and buried for four days. But that’s a genuine curiosity, don’t you think?

What would American church culture do with this? Can you imagine? With our technological and marketing skills, Lazarus would have been a religious superstar of the highest order. Book and movie contracts. A tour of appearances and interviews. Given our hunger for the supernatural and the sensational, Lazarus’s “experience” would be first proclaimed and promoted, and then dissected and discussed and debated ad nauseum. I’m sure there would be a thousand questions about Lazarus’s “death experience” — what he saw and encountered on the other side. There would, of course, be doubters and those arguing that it couldn’t have happened as advertised because the experiential claims go against sound doctrine. Some would proclaim the event a clear sign that the last days are upon us.

The text itself (along with John 12:17-19, the last mention of Lazarus in the NT) indicates that Lazarus and what Jesus did for him attracted crowds and generated enthusiasm. If true then, can you conceive of the media blitz that would accompany a happening like this today?

Dinner with him once dead. Can we even imagine?

And then it struck me: if the Lord’s Supper is a true sacrament, if Jesus, our crucified and risen Lord is present, and if the baptized who come to the Table are those who “have been buried with him by baptism into death, so that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, so we too might walk in newness of life,” (Rom. 6:4), then each time we meet together for Communion, we are having dinner among the once dead.

The crowds may not come.

The event may not make the news.

It may, indeed, seem the very opposite of spectacle and enthusiasm.

But his flesh is true food and his blood is true drink — Jesus’ dying love for the life of the world.

And we who come were once dead, but now live in the risen Christ.

A once in a lifetime experience for Lazarus has now become (at least) an every week event. And you are invited — Dinner with him once dead! With a whole room of people once dead!

Y’all come.

Source: Web Gallery of Art

The Gospel reading for Monday in Holy Week is John 12:1-11. This tells the story of Mary, Lazarus’s sister, anointing Jesus’ feet at a dinner in their home in honor of Lazarus, whom Jesus raised from the dead. That act of bringing Lazarus back to life is emphasized throughout the text and was of such import that the officials decided they should not only kill Jesus, but Lazarus as well. Duccio’s panel portrays the event itself, which is recorded in the previous chapter, John 11.

Note the vivid colors, the intensity upon the faces of the characters, the depictions of Mary kneeling at Jesus’ feet and Martha making her request, Lazarus himself tightly bound in the grave-cloths, and the lifelike, almost humorous portrayal of the man holding his nose for fear of the stench of death.