The Passover lamb has been slaughtered. The table is set. The bread is unleavened. The wine is poured out. Twelve men are arguing about which one of them is the greatest.
And the King of kings wraps a towel around his waist.
Not a crown on his head. A towel around his waist.
He kneels before the men who will abandon him. He takes into his hands the feet that will run away. He washes the feet that will carry Peter back to a charcoal fire, back to denial, back to shame.
He washes them anyway.
Do you understand what I’ve done to you?
They didn’t.
We might.
Because this is no mere object lesson in humility. This is the Eternal Word, who was in the beginning with God, stooping into the dirt of our humanity and saying: this is what love looks like when it gets to work.
He took the bread. Blessed it. Broke it. He gave thanks.
He said, This is my body, which is for you.
Not which is impressive. Not which is instructive. For you. Given. Broken. Poured out. For you.
Paul told the Corinthians: every time you eat this bread and drink this cup, you proclaim the Lord’s death.
Not remember it quietly. Proclaim it.
Because what happened at that Thursday table was not the beginning of a tragedy. It was the beginning of the answer to every tragedy that ever was.
The cup he lifted was the new covenant in his blood.
And he said: Do this.
Not admire this. Not study this. Do this.
Come to this table. Receive what he gives. Go where he goes.
He kneels before you even now.
The only question is whether you’ll let him.
The Joy of the Gospel 