Discerning the Body

A Maundy Thursday Meditation

1 Corinthians 11:23-30; John 13:1-17, 31b-35

When I was a newly minted priest in the Diocese of Chicago, William Wiedrich was the suffragan bishop. Bishop Wiedrich was known as a great storyteller. I am particularly fond of a story he told of a church he once served as rector that seems to have had a problem with static electricity. This problem was only exacerbated when they installed a new carpet in the sanctuary. The combination of dry air and the new carpet built up a considerable electrical charge. The first Sunday after the new carpet was installed, Father Wiedrich prepared to distribute the body of Christ. It happened that the first person at the altar rail was his senior warden, kneeling reverently with his mouth open to receive the sacrament. Father Wiedrich said, “The Body of Christ, the Bread of Heaven.” But, as he placed the wafer on the tongue of his warden, there was such an electric discharge that it knocked the warden on his backside. The static electricity became such a problem that Wiedrich enlisted an acolyte to stay near him so he could touch the acolyte to take the shock rather than the people at the rail. The acolytes, in turn, began to draw straws to see who would have to serve as the rector’s human electrical ground. At least at that church, people began to understand that celebrating the Lord’s Supper is serious business and not altogether safe. 

Apparently, the church at Corinth had forgotten that. Of course, the Corinthian church is notorious for being dysfunctional. There were divisions of several kinds. Some of its members were so sure of their superior spiritual prowess that they had pretty much left everyone else behind, including Paul. Some prided themselves on their sophistication and looked down on those they considered unsophisticated in their faith. Others were scandalized by those who did not see things their way. The church was divided over which leader of the larger Christian movement was most worthy to be associated with. There was sexual misconduct and confusion. There were class prejudices that divided the church when they gathered for the Lord’s Supper. In other words, it was pretty much church as usual.

In 1 Corinthians, Paul, rather sternly, reminds them–and reminds us–that church as usual is not the same as being the body of Christ. He warns us against being content with anything less than living together as the body of Christ. He does that by reminding us of the Lord’s Supper and its seriousness. It is serious business because it is where the body of Christ ‘happens’. In the mystery of the Eucharist we encounter, tangibly, the presence of Christ in the Bread and Wine. And in that same mystery, we who have been baptized into the body of Christ are re-membered again and again as we regather in communion at the Communion Table. It is shocking and not altogether safe because what happens is partly determined by the quality of our common life. The quality of our encounter with the Body of Christ in the Eucharist is inseparable from the quality of our common life and the way we engage one another as the body of Christ in our life together and in the world. Paul even warns that if our life together does not rhyme with his, it is possible to receive Jesus in an unworthy manner. We can eat and drink judgement to ourselves. That is shocking.

                                     

Jesus said, “This is my body, which is given for you. Do this in remembrance of me.” That is part of the command the we receive on Maundy Thursday. Jesus freely offers himself to us, nourishing, forgiving, healing, and transforming. But, essential to that remembrance is obeying the other command which he enacts in the footwashing. "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." Then he lays down the fundamental mandatum, “I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another.” They are all of a piece.

Discerning the body means we recognize Jesus in our midst and in each other. So we submit ourselves to one another in love, giving ourselves to one another and receiving one another, just as Jesus gives himself to us and we receive him in the Eucharist. Discerning the body means every Eucharist is a challenge to again take up the cross and follow Jesus in his Passion; to live as he lived, to love as he loved, to serve as he served, to be people of the basin and towel. Discerning the body means recognizing that the Lord’s Supper, the self-denying disciplines of love, and life in community are inseparable. Am I prepared to receive Jesus in the Bread and Wine if I am not prepared to receive him in the neighbor who comes to Table with me? Am I prepared to receive Jesus offered in the Bread and Wine if I am not prepared to similarly offer myself to that neighbor? If we discern the body, we will engage one another with the reverence and gentleness due the body of Christ.

We are made the body of Christ in baptism and called to live the grace-filled Eucharistic life of Jesus with and for one another. We are both judged and nourished by the body of Christ in the Eucharist. Together we are called to be the body of Christ, broken and poured out for the sake of a hungry, hurting world. That is serious business. It is not altogether safe. It is not the usual, expected way of the world. When we actually live it, it is also, in the best sense of the word, shocking.

See also:

He Washed Our Feet!

Whose Feet Will You Wash?

He Washed Our Feet!

A Maundy Thursday Sermon

John13:1-15

My name is John, the Beloved. Though it was a long time ago, I still remember clearly the last night we were with the Master. Nothing that had happened before prepared us for what we did that night. 

He never was one to fulfill expectations. When we expected him to be gentle, he was stern. When we expected him to condemn, he forgave. He honored the dishonorable and rebuked the reputable. Every time it seemed anyone thought they had him pegged, he deliberately said or did something to bring them up short. But nothing had prepared us for what he did that last night we were together. The lengths to which he would go to hammer home his love for us.

There we were . . . huddled around the table in that small, rented room. Smoke from the lanterns filled the room. The tension hanging in the air was thicker than the smoke. We were edgy with anticipation. We could sense that something big was coming. We didn’t know what. By this time the crowds and adulation seemed a distant memory. Now it was pretty much down to the twelve of us and the master. For the first time, it was clear that his friends were outnumbered by his enemies. He had begun to talk and act strangely. He kept talking about his hour having come. We couldn’t get him to tell us simply what that meant (or, when he did, we weren’t ready to hear). Whatever it meant, it hung over us like a cloud of smoke.

The Master also looked at us differently . . . like he was sifting us, sifting us in ways he had not sifted us before. Other times he would stare into space as if he was sifting the very fabric of creation. He was somehow both relaxed and tense. Like an archer who had pulled his bow to the point that it must either let fly or break. He made me nervous. I guess we were all a little nervous, if not scared, as we reclined around the table eating with anxious anticipation. Whatever we anticipated, it was not what happened.

The Master got up, and without saying a word, stripped his clothes off . . . stripped!  And tied a towel around his waist. All conversation stopped. He poured some water into a basin, set it at the feet of one of the group, and began to wash his feet. 

I don’t remember whose feet he washed first, or second, only that they were too shocked and stunned to react much before it was done. I remember Andrew was third. He had more time. As it got closer to his turn, you could tell he wished he had sat on the other side of the table. He looked around at the rest of us for help, but we were all helpless. What do you do when your master becomes your servant? As the Master set the basin at his feet, Andrew sat up. His eyes bulged as if he thought the water was going to scald him. The Master stared into his eyes and smiled. Then he looked down and began to wash his feet.

Of course, later, we began to understand some of what he was doing. He loved to say and do strange and mysterious things, things that meant more than was obvious.  Like the prophets of old. Sometimes he would explain them to us, sometimes he left us to guess, and sometimes his explanations left us guessing. For the moment, we were left guessing.

He moved on around the table. He came to Thaddeus. Thaddeus was one of the more inconspicuous among us. He was not as well educated as some. He was not a natural leader like Peter; not as sharp as Thomas; not as experienced as Matthew; not as outgoing as  Philip. I am ashamed to admit I sometimes thought he had no business being among us in the first place. Yet, there was the Master, bent over, cradling his feet as he washed them.

With each foot he washed, he got a foot closer to mine. I began to wish I had thought to get up and wash his feet first. As his disciple, that would have been fitting. And if he still wanted to turn things upside down and wash ours, at least I could feel he was just reciprocating. But, before I thought to serve him, he chose to serve me. What do you do when your master becomes your servant?

He even washed Judas’ feet. The Betrayer! I have no doubt that he knew by then that Judas was up to no good. If any of the rest of us had known, we would have spit in his face. But, the Master . . . the Master washed his feet.

He was getting closer to me. I began looking at my feet to see how dirty they were.  Not too bad, considering where they had been. But surely there was a slave or servant in the house who should do this. Not the Master.

He came to Peter. As usual, Peter spoke when the rest of us were speechless. He was the only one with the nerve, or the audacity, to challenge the Master. More than once, it got him into trouble. He stood up and said, “Lord, are you going to wash my feet?” 

         

The Master replied, “You may not realize now what I am doing, but you will later.” 

Peter declared, “You shall never wash my feet!” 

“If I do not wash you,” the Master answered, “you will have no share in me.” 

In that case, Peter replied, “I want a full bath.” But that was not the point. He washed Peter’s feet and moved on.

He moved on to me. I was desperate to leave. I was desperate to stay. How could I let my Master humiliate himself and serve me? After what he said to Peter, how could I not?  He cupped my foot in his hands and began to knead it like wet clay, rubbing his hands over and under it. Somehow the offensiveness disappeared with his touch. Those confident hands that had healed so many, now healed parts of me I did not know needed healing. As he switched to my other foot, he looked up. I thought I saw a tear in his eye, but his smile was so kind; for a moment filled with eternity, I was his beloved. As he washed me, I was struck with what ends he would go to demonstrate his love for me; even this humiliating service.

Of course, we know now that this was a symbol of the Great Humiliation that he underwent on our behalf. The next day, he would be stripped again. And this time more than water would be poured out. And the washing we have received has made us cleaner than we could ever have hoped to be.

But that night remains. It was the night the Master became Servant, and the servants became masters. The One Who Was Sent sent us to be the masters of his message.  And not just those who were there, but all who, like you, have been baptized into his service. The question is, “What kind of masters of the message are we going to be?” 

The Servant Master, who is the Master Servant, shows us the way. What do you do when your master becomes your servant? He said, “You also should do as I have done to you.”

Whose Feet Will You Wash?

Maundy Thursday is a reminder that our Lord’s call to communion with himself is inseparable from our communion with one another as members of his body. Basil of Caesarea (c. 330-379) understood this and warned in his monastic Rule against seeking communion with God outside of community:

How shall you show humility, if you have no one in comparison with whom to show yourself humble? How shall you show compassion if you cut yourself off from the fellowship of the many? How can you exercise yourself in patience, if no one contradicts your wishes? If you think the teaching of the Holy Scripture is sufficient to correct your character, you are like a person who learns the theory of carpentry but never makes anything.

The Lord, because of his great love of humanity, was not content only with teaching the word, but, so that he might accurately and clearly give us an example of humility in the perfection of love, he girded himself and washed the feet of the disciples in person. [If you neglect life in the community] whose feet will you wash? Who will you care for? In comparison to whom will you be last?

A Life Pleasing to God, The Spirituality of the Rules of St. Basil by Augustine Holmes OSB, Cistercian Publications, WMU Station, Kalamazoo, Michigan, 12000, p. 142