I think it’s a safe assumption that all of us here have some idea of what this day represents on the calendar of Holy Week. Tonight we get our feet washed, celebrate the Eucharist, strip the altar, and prepare for tomorrow, Good Friday. That’s all true, but we do tonight a disservice if we get caught up too soon in the events of tomorrow even before we arrive at tomorrow. Holy Week is not about moving directly from Palm Sunday to Good Friday. Maundy Thursday comes in between them, and tonight is as good as any an opportunity to think through its importance.  

Over the last several days, as I was contemplating what I might share tonight by way of reflection, four questions kept returning to my mind. Perhaps these are questions you’ve asked yourself: 1) Why is tonight called Maundy Thursday? 2) Why do we wash each other’s feet? 3) Is there a connection between foot-washing and the Eucharist that follows? 4) How does this inform how we ought to live on a daily basis? So if you indulge me, I’d like to offer a response to these questions.  

The first point is that the term “Maundy” comes from the Latin word mandatum, which is where we get our English word “mandate.” Mandatum was used as a translation of the Greek work for “commandment.” In tonight’s Gospel, we heard Jesus’ words: “I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another.” So Maundy Thursday is when we gather to contemplate the “new commandment” that Jesus gave his followers, right before his arrest.  

What makes this commandment to “love one another” new? You may remember the story of a religious leader asking Jesus, “What is the greatest commandment in the law?” Jesus tells him that the greatest commandment is to love God, and the second is like it: to love your neighbor as yourself. But here, tonight, near the end of his life, Jesus puts a twist on this. He doesn’t remind his followers to “love your neighbor as yourself.” Instead, he gives a new commandment: to “love one another as I have loved you.” Jesus wants his followers to pattern their practice of love after his own practice of love for them.  

What exactly is Jesus’ practice of love? This relates directly to the second question of washing feet. In Jesus’ day, there was no such thing as a toilet that flushed. Households would typically dump accumulated human excrement out of windows onto city streets each morning. And on top of that, animal excrement was ever-present outside. Regardless of how frequently a person bathed, the feet were always dirty. It makes me think of the grass on the Silver Birch side of the church. Quite a few of us have stepped in dog poop and then had to clean our shoes. Imagine open-toe sandals or bare feet! In Jesus’ day, if you were invited to someone’s house to eat, foot washing would be a courtesy before entering, and it was performed by those of low-honor status. No one but lowly servants would be given the task of cleaning poop off feet.  

This historical context opens a window for us to appreciate how Jesus practices love. Jesus is all about assuming that lowly position, stooping down, and cleaning off all the crap that is caked on our feet. No one that I know has ever intentionally stepped in poop. We all do our best to avoid it. Such is life in general: we don’t desire the worst for ourselves. But sometimes bad things happen to us that we would much prefer didn’t. We’re all victims of suffering, in one way or another. Jesus meets us in those moments, healing our woundedness, and setting us back on track.  

In Jesus’ day, the feet were symbolic of agency and purposeful action. People, as we all know, can exercise their agency in ways that are good and life-giving, but also in ways that are toxic, oppressive and destructive. So having our feet washed on Maundy Thursday is also a way for us to be reminded that Jesus cleans off the crap done to us and the crap that we inflict on others.  

But how exactly does this happen? Do we simply go through the liturgical motions of tonight and strive to feel better about ourselves? No. Dietrich Bonhoeffer—the German theologian killed in a concentration camp by the Nazis—had a term for that: “cheap grace.” So how does Jesus meet us and wash our feet? How do we encounter him in our day, in ways that give us strength to pass through our suffering or in ways that challenge us to amend our actions to be more loving? This is where the third question comes in, that of the connection between foot-washing and the Eucharist.  

Did you know that, of the four Gospels, John is the only one that does not contain any details of the last meal that Jesus ate with his closest followers? Matthew, Mark and Luke each recount Jesus breaking bread and sharing the cup—but not John. Instead, John stresses something else that happened on that night: the washing of feet and the new commandment. For John, that is the most significant thing about tonight. I’d like to suggest that our eucharistic celebrations—which we practice regularly, multiple times each week, including tonight—must be undertaken each time as though we are gathering to wash each other’s feet. In coming forward to receive bread, we are commiting ourselves to care for each other—to love each other—to the extent that we are willing to stoop low and clean off the poop smeared on the shoes and feet of those next to us.  

I’m already beginning to venture an answer to the fourth question: How does all of this shed light on how we ought to live day by day? Maundy Thursday informs the entirety of Christian existence. If we’re going to be known as followers of Jesus, then we must love each other—not as we love ourselves, but as Jesus has loved us. His is the kind of love that gets down low and wipes off all the dirt we’ve been unable to avoid. We must be willing to get down low, too, to clean the dirtiest feet. But we also need to allow others to show us love, to clean our feet. That can sometimes take the form of humble challenge, of showing us a better way to act and live, so that we don’t continue to exacerbate the suffering of others.  

Jesus’ entire public life is metaphorically summed up in the action of washing feet. He invites us to continue this work. And as we do it—as we demonstrate this radical love for each other—Jesus comes close to us, and we draw closer to him.