An old friend of mine, a theologian actually, once said the story the Bible tells us is really quite simple. It goes like this: we keep messing up, and He keeps taking us back. I liked that line years ago, and I still like it today. It's easy.
But really, nothing about the Christian faith is easy really, unless you're a child, I suppose.
Last night's Maunday Thursday worship featured John 13, where Christ's brings out a basin and insists on doing the dirty work, washing the boys' feet. That little dirty exercise sits at the very core of everything about to happen, the whole bloody story of Christ's passion. "Oh no," Peter says when he sees what Jesus is about to do, "You'll not wash my feet."
Jesus says something like this. "Yes, I will, Brother Peter, and if you don't understand what's going on here, you're missing everything, the whole story, the whole point."
Because the whole point of what's going on, that sloshing basin before them even as they speak, the whole point about what's going on and what will be coming soon--the Garden, the hill, the stone, the empty cave--is not only humbling, it's humility, it's giving and not receiving, it's all about the other guy and not yourself. The whole point of the whole operation and the whole bloody story is self-sacrificing love.
For more years than one could count, pride has been #1, top of the chart of the deadly sins, that which almost always goeth before the fall. It's virtually uncontested reign is not imperiled by anything today--not lechery or laziness or greed. Pride is our life's breath.
I won't speak for others. The withering response Christ gives to Peter's posturing is, to me at least, one of the most powerful lines in holy scripture: if you don't get it, Peter, you're hopeless. When I hear that line--no matter when--I can't help but know how blasted hopeless I am because the core, the center, the heart of the good news is humility.
I'll spare the pain, but I know a dozen stories of late when humility was out of the country, and I don't have to think back far.
That sloshing basin is the indescribable gift of the incarnation: the Word becomes flesh to live, and die, among us.
That's the story this Good Friday.
What a story. What a blessing. Even when we, like Peter, don't get it right--which is just about all the time--Christ keeps soaping our feet, loving us anyway.
What a savior. Ought to make us proud, I guess.
No, ought to make us humble.
But really, nothing about the Christian faith is easy really, unless you're a child, I suppose.
Last night's Maunday Thursday worship featured John 13, where Christ's brings out a basin and insists on doing the dirty work, washing the boys' feet. That little dirty exercise sits at the very core of everything about to happen, the whole bloody story of Christ's passion. "Oh no," Peter says when he sees what Jesus is about to do, "You'll not wash my feet."
Jesus says something like this. "Yes, I will, Brother Peter, and if you don't understand what's going on here, you're missing everything, the whole story, the whole point."
Because the whole point of what's going on, that sloshing basin before them even as they speak, the whole point about what's going on and what will be coming soon--the Garden, the hill, the stone, the empty cave--is not only humbling, it's humility, it's giving and not receiving, it's all about the other guy and not yourself. The whole point of the whole operation and the whole bloody story is self-sacrificing love.
For more years than one could count, pride has been #1, top of the chart of the deadly sins, that which almost always goeth before the fall. It's virtually uncontested reign is not imperiled by anything today--not lechery or laziness or greed. Pride is our life's breath.
I won't speak for others. The withering response Christ gives to Peter's posturing is, to me at least, one of the most powerful lines in holy scripture: if you don't get it, Peter, you're hopeless. When I hear that line--no matter when--I can't help but know how blasted hopeless I am because the core, the center, the heart of the good news is humility.
I'll spare the pain, but I know a dozen stories of late when humility was out of the country, and I don't have to think back far.
That sloshing basin is the indescribable gift of the incarnation: the Word becomes flesh to live, and die, among us.
That's the story this Good Friday.
What a story. What a blessing. Even when we, like Peter, don't get it right--which is just about all the time--Christ keeps soaping our feet, loving us anyway.
What a savior. Ought to make us proud, I guess.
No, ought to make us humble.
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