The Divine Universe

 

In John’s Gospel there is a long description of Jesus’ last meal with his friends: a Passover meal (John 13-17). I have been to a number of Passover meals with my nephew’s Jewish family (he married a Jewish lady) and, in spite of their religious and ritual nature, they have always been very light-hearted and cheerful affairs. One year the family made the children organise the whole thing so they could get to understand the ritual better. Even the year I went with them to the synagogue, where there was more formality and long Bible readings in Hebrew by the Rabbi, there was humour and light-heartedness, and plentiful food and wine at the end. But Jesus’ last Passover meal with his disciples was a solemn and bittersweet occasion. It is hard to imagine the deep and complex emotions Jesus must have been feeling.

He had a lot to say to his disciples. During the meal he speaks several times of “my commandment”. On one occasion he calls it “a new commandment”. But it was not really new; it was just a stronger affirmation of the command in Leviticus to love your neighbour as yourself (Lev. 19:18). But there was a new dimension to the commandment when Jesus expressed it; he added the words “as I have loved you.”

At the beginning of this meal, Jesus had performed a traditional act of hospitality. He had washed his disciples’ feet. It was a dramatic and symbolic action, normally a slave’s job, but he tells his disciples they should wash one another’s feet too: that he has left them an example to follow. I don’t think he meant only to wash each other’s feet; I think he meant that they should be servants of each other.

That is not so strange to us in this egalitarian age when only the very rich have servants to do the chores for them, but people’s expectations vary. Male chauvinistic husbands still expect their wives to do all the menial jobs in the house. We are all thoughtless at times, especially us males, and dreamy teenagers, in a world of their own, are famous for leaving stuff in the sink and a trail of mugs and empty Coke cans around. Luke tells us of a twelve-year-old Jesus who seemed quite oblivious of his parents’ need to know where he was.

Such things are often quite trivial. Jesus’ symbolic act tells us that love begins with small things at home, but I have to admit that I don’t know if Jesus was any different from other men regarding menial jobs. He got Judas to look after the money, he got some disciples to set up this meal for them and, while Matthew says they sang a hymn before they left, there is no mention of them doing any washing up. I guess there were some women there.

Jesus’ commandment was new: it went further than the authors of Leviticus had in mind. From the beginning of his ministry, Jesus reached out to others. As soon as he heard of John the Baptist’s murder, he went to Galilee where John’s disciples were grieving and perhaps a little fearful. Immediately he offered them, not sympathy, but leadership. “Follow me,” he says, “And I will make you fishers of people.” He was taking John’s place, only differently. He was not just telling them to repent but to begin a whole new life.

Jesus was supremely good at bringing out people’s talents and potential. This appeared in his healing miracles, where he inspired new levels of faith and confidence. He challenged people to change, to live with new hopes, and sometimes to venture out in new ways: to expand their lives.

A vital ingredient in this was his frequent expressions of and references to forgiveness. He challenged conventional notions, especially religious ones. Jesus said, “If you keep my commandments you will remain in my love,” but he doesn’t mean that if we fail to keep his commandments he will stop loving us; his love and forgiveness are universal and unconditional. Jesus had to be very patient with his disciples – they seemed quite unable to understand him. Forgiveness for us begins with little things but, by his example, he makes a stronger challenge. Sometimes there are big things to forgive.

A bit further on in his talk, Jesus repeats his commandment to love one another as he has loved them, adding that one can have no greater love than to lay down one’s life for one’s friends. The way Jesus himself did that in the end was horrific indeed, although it was a routine event under Roman rule. It was the ultimate act of giving himself to his paranoid and confused enemies, obsessed with their status and power.

After the resurrection, Jesus laid down his life even further by living in us, even in the poorest and most afflicted. Paul expressed it as us being “in Christ”, but that amounts to the same thing. According to Matthew Jesus said that, inasmuch as we do anything to anyone, we do it to him (Matt. 25:40ff). Bishop John Robinson, in his famous book Honest to God, labelled Jesus as “the man for others”. He saw Jesus’ mature life as one lived entirely for the benefit of other people; not that he was passive or anyone’s doormat. He was assertive in his teaching and ministry as well as being responsive when people brought their needs to him. His challenging parables and sermons were aimed to draw people to fuller, more abundant life.

In effect, Jesus commands us to lay down our lives. He doesn’t mean we should all go out and get ourselves crucified. Laying down your life means living for other people. We have gifts to share. In the offertory sentence in our Prayer Book, we thank God for “these gifts”, not just bread and wine, but all our God-given gifts. The money and groceries we give in church are just tokens of the many diverse gifts we have to share. The more willingly and actively we share our individual gifts of strength, intelligence, possessions, time or whatever in the service of others, the more we are laying down our lives for them.

Christ commands his friends, including us, to love one another as he loves us. From daily attention to the needs of the family to the most costly acts of self-sacrifice, we lay down our lives for our friends. That does not necessarily mean heroics; it may just require generous thoughtfulness.