Now before the feast of the Passover, when Jesus knew that his hour had come to depart out of this world to the Father, having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end. And during supper, when the devil had already put it into the heart of Judas Iscariot, Simon's son, to betray him, Jesus, knowing that the Father had given all things into his hands, and that he had come from God and was going to God, rose from supper, laid aside his garments, and girded himself with a towel. Then he poured water into a basin, and began to wash the disciples' feet, and to wipe them with the towel with which he was girded… When he had washed their feet, and taken his garments, and resumed his place, he said to them, "Do you know what I have done to you? You call me Teacher and Lord; and you are right, for so I am. If I then, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another's feet. For I have given you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you. Truly, truly, I say to you, a servant is not greater than his master; nor is he who is sent greater than he who sent him. If you know these things, blessed are you if you do them. ~ John 13:1-5, 12-17

I was sitting in the home of some church members some time ago, talking with them about a funeral service we were planning for their deceased family member. Three of us sat in a sunroom to discuss and design the service. I had only been there a moment when someone looked in from the kitchen and said: “Can I get you anything?” I said, “No, but thanks.” In just a moment, however, the same man walked out of the kitchen with a tall glass of iced tea and a slice of lemon, just the way I love it. (Knowing my geographical roots, he had even added sugar.) He said: “Northern hospitality works just the same as southern. You look thirsty. We can’t let you sit here without some tea.” Well, whichever side of the Mason-Dixon Line you’re from, there’s something lovely and kind about that, about simple hospitality, about people making other people feel they are welcome and wanted.

John must have appreciated acts of hospitality a great deal judging by how he began his rendition of what happened in the Upper Room. The other gospel writers apparently failed to notice what must have seemed to them a small act of simple courtesy. They virtually paid it no attention at all. But to John that act of Jesus stood out above all the others. He spends more time talking about that one deed than he does about the Last Supper itself. Here’s how he begins his story of what happened that sacred evening: “Then He (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.”

Hosts at dinner parties in that day and age always provided for that to be done because their guests, most of the time, journeyed by foot. They wore sandals while walking over dirty roads, and their feet would be hot and tired and dusty. So a good host would always provide a basin and a towel to wash the feet of his guests. It was an act of hospitality— much like we offer coffee or tea to someone who visits with us. The only difference in this story and the culture of that day was that the host of a party would have had one of his servants perform that duty. Never would the host himself have washed feet, but always instead a servant. But that night, Jesus stooped as one who serves. And when He had dried the foot of the final disciple, he looked at them all and said: “I have given you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you.”

Several years ago a little girl in the church I was serving then took hold of the stole I wear on my robe and said: “That’s a pretty scarf. My Mommy has some silk ones she wears with her dresses.” Obviously, she thought my robe was a dress—and my stole was a scarf—and I must, therefore, be about the ugliest Mommy in the whole wide world! I just said, “Thanks.” A few years from now, when she’s old enough to learn about it, she’ll go through Confirmation classes. And she will find out that the stoles we clergy wear on our robes are not scarves at all. They are, instead, towels. Stoles represent the towel Jesus used to wash and dry the feet of the disciples. It’s a symbol of service—a reminder that we are Called to get our hands dirty helping a broken world, and that no task is too small and no person is too soiled to be beneath our attention. Every time we put these things around our necks, we are reminded that Jesus stooped to serve, and He said: “I have given you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you.”

That is the first message from the Upper Room, as John tells the story. No need is a menial need, and no person is an unimportant person, and no opportunity for service is insignificant—whether you are a minister with a stole or anyone else at all. And so this Lenten lesson from the gospel of John confronts us with a litany of questions:

• Who have you helped this week?
• What have you done to make life better for somebody else?
• Whose pains have you soothed?
• Whose voices have you listened to, making them feel they still matter?
• Whose tired, dusty, broken lives have you washed with the spirit of kindness or hope?

“Then he poured water into a basin, and began to wash the disciples’ feet, and to wipe them with the towel with which he was girded... (And) he said to them, ‘I have given you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you’.”

Why did Jesus do that for them? Why did He stoop to serve? Why was He so determined to meet the needs of His disciples…just as He had met the needs of the people who were starving with no bread or fish…and the paralytic who was lowered through a roof… and sightless Bartimaeus who cried out to see…and the deaf who longed to hear…and the lepers…and the woman caught in adultery…and the sinful Zaccheus…and the little children whom the disciples tried to shoo away …and all the others across the ages who have called out to Him, and He has been there for them? Why was He so determined to hear and help and heal? Here’s how John answered that question: “Now before the feast of the Passover, when Jesus knew that his hour had come to depart out of this world to the Father, having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end.”

• Why did Jesus do what He did? Always, consistently, beginning to end, Jesus did what He did simply and solely out of love! That was the earmark of His life. From the cradle to the Cross, love was His motivation!
   
• When He healed the sick and forgave the guilt-stricken, those were acts of love.
   
• When He took the children on his knee, even though the harried disciples had tried to shoo them away, it was a moment of love.
   
• When He sympathized with the Gerasene Demoniac, and listened to his sad story of being abandoned and ostracized, and drove out the demons and brought him peace, it was an act of interpersonal, healing love.
   
• When He raised Jairus’ daughter, or the Widow of Nain’s son, or Lazarus from their beds of death, He did so with exquisite love.
   
• When He saved the life of a woman about to be stoned to death for adultery, He softly said: “Neither then do I condemn you,” and those words were to her like a love song.
   
• When He broke the bread and blessed the wine, He shared it as a gift of love.
   
• When He washed the disciples’ feet, it was because He loved them.
   
• When He went to the Cross, it was because He loves us!

“…that you should also do as I have done to you.” When I was a child, often one of my parents would ask me to help them do something around the house, to follow their example of serving the family. Sometimes, as a child, I would react by asking a pointless question: “Why do I have to do that?” That question always merely delays the inevitable (and has the potential of irritating the parent in the process). Occasionally my Mom or Dad would give me an explanation, rarely altering my level of enthusiasm about joining them in their work. Frequently, though, when I asked, “Why do I have to do that?” he or she would simply answer, “Because I said so.” So long as those requests are neither dangerous nor immoral (and my parents were never dangerous or immoral), then “Because I said so” is probably a reasonable reply.

Jesus did not explain to His disciples why they were called to love. He simply called them to do so. “I have given you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you.” As one of the sneaker companies puts it: “Just do it!” Why? Because Jesus said so—and he knows what meaningful, authentic life is all about. Apparently, it is about love.

I want to tell you what I heard from a great old preacher a long time ago. I was part of a group of young ministers just starting out. He told us about being brought up during the Depression. His daddy worked in a mill, and his mother stayed home and took care of five small children. They didn’t have much, but it didn’t stop them from loving. Their little white frame mill house was up a bank from a railroad track. Down the bank and about one hundred yards east toward the river was a hobo camp. Desperate men slept there. They were the ones who jumped the trains and went from mill town to mill town looking for jobs, most of which did not exist. They slept on the ground and usually were hungry. Some nights there would be a timid knock on the back door. One of the hobos would be so hungry (maybe not having eaten a single bite in days) that he would climb the bank to see if somebody had a crust or two of bread left over from dinner. The old minister said, “My mama had a rule. We were not allowed to eat all the food that was in the pot because we never knew when one of those men would come to the back door. She said: ‘No matter how little we may have, at least we have some­thing. And we will not turn away people who have nothing at all.’ Many a night,” he said, “I would’ve loved another piece of chicken, but instead some dirty man with torn clothes who hadn’t seen a bath in days would be sitting in the seat of honor at our table, with a chicken leg and a biscuit and a glass of milk. I am in the ministry today,” that man said, “because my parents, and especially my mother, taught me that there is no greater act in life than to give someone who needs it the gift of love!”

“Then he poured water into a basin, and began to wash the disciples’ feet, and to wipe them with the towel with which he was girded.... When he had washed their feet, and taken his garments, and resumed his place, he said to them, ‘I have given you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you’.”

Just before the Easter Story and its message of eternal victory comes another story, the story of a towel, a basin, and a Savior who stooped to serve. It is the story of love in action, of realizing that no one is ignored or overlooked by the Messiah. His love for us is unconditional and unending. But remember, He gives it to you in order that you can pass it along to somebody else. “There is no greater act in life than to give someone who needs it the gift of love!” Let that be your commitment for Lent and for life, and your deeds of loving service will reveal to others His signature on your soul!
Let us pray.

O Christ, who showed us how to love by serving, let us not forget that sacred lesson. Let us never settle for loving in word only, but may our feelings always give birth to actions. May we day by day discover how to find life by loving. This we pray in Your saving name. Amen.