Maundy Thursday - A thought experiment

Tonight, we stand on the threshold of the darkest hours of our Lord’s earthly life. The shadows lengthen, betrayal lurks, and the air crackles with a tension. We are here to remember, to reflect, and yes, perhaps to squirm a little in our comfortable pews. Let us gather our thoughts this Maundy Thursday. A peculiar name, isn’t it? “Maundy.”

The word “Maundy” itself, you see, derives from the Latin word “mandatum,” meaning “commandment.” Specifically, the commandment Jesus gave to his disciples at that last, fateful supper: “A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another.” (John 13:34).

Now, let’s be honest. “Love one another” sounds lovely, doesn’t it? Warm, fuzzy, like a freshly laundered fleece. But Jesus wasn’t suggesting a gentle hug and a shared cup of tea. He had just done something utterly scandalous, something that would have made the social hierarchy of the time choke on its unleavened bread. He, the teacher, the Lord, had knelt down and washed the grubby, travel-stained feet of his disciples. Including Judas’s. Think about that for a moment. The man who was about to plunge the dagger of betrayal into his heart had his feet tenderly cleansed by the very hands he would soon deliver to his executioners.

This, my friends, is the essence of the “mandatum.” It’s not just a suggestion; it’s a command, an instruction manual for how we are to live as followers of Christ. It’s not about lofty pronouncements from pulpits (though I am rather enjoying this bit, I must confess). It’s about getting down and dirty, about serving, about humbling ourselves before one another, even – especially – those we find difficult, those whose feet are particularly… fragrant.

Tonight’s service often centres on the sharing of bread and wine, the Eucharist, the Lord’s Supper. And rightly so. It is a powerful and profound act of remembrance, a tangible connection to that last meal, a sharing in the body and blood of our Saviour. But let us not forget the prelude to that sacred meal, the act that Jesus himself highlighted as the example to follow: the washing of feet.

Imagine, if you will, a Christian Church where the primary act of worship wasn’t the reverent receiving of a wafer and a sip of wine, but the humble, often awkward, act of washing each other’s feet.

Picture Sunday mornings. Instead of the hushed reverence as we queue for communion, we’d be lining up with towels and basins. The air would be thick with the scent of soap and perhaps the faint aroma of sweaty trainers… well, let’s not dwell on that. Pastors wouldn’t be polishing their sermons quite so diligently; they’d be scrubbing heels. The collection plate might be replaced by one of those foot spas.

Think of the theological implications! Our understanding of humility would be radically redefined. We couldn’t just *talk* about being servants; we’d have to *be* servants, literally. Church politics would likely be less about who gets the best committee chair and more about who’s willing to tackle Mrs Miggin’s notoriously pungent big toe.

Our outreach programmes would take on a whole new dimension too. Perhaps we’d have mobile foot-washing stations. Evangelism might involve a gentle exfoliation and a word of encouragement. Mission trips would require industrial quantities of foot cream.

Of course, there would be challenges. The shy amongst us would break out in a cold sweat at the thought of exposing their neglected extremities. The germaphobes would require hazmat suits. And let’s not even contemplate the logistical nightmare of an entire congregational foot-washing session. The health and safety regulations alone would be very challenging.

But consider the profound impact on our relationships. How could we hold onto grudges, how could we foster division, when we had just knelt before one another, intimately caring for a part of the body we often neglect and hide? The act of washing feet forces a vulnerability, a stripping away of pretences. It’s hard to feel superior to someone whose calloused soles you’ve just gently massaged.

This evening, as we reflect on the Last Supper, let us not just focus on the bread and the wine. Let us also remember the basin of water and the towel. Let us remember the command, the “mandatum,” to love one another as Christ loved us – a love that is not afraid to get its hands (and knees) dirty.

Perhaps we won’t all be rushing out to wash each other’s feet in the aisles after the service (though the thought is rather… invigorating). But let the spirit of that act permeate our lives. Let us seek out opportunities to serve, to humble ourselves, to show love in tangible, practical ways, even when it’s uncomfortable, even when it’s a bit smelly.

For in the washing of feet, we find not just an act of service, but a powerful symbol of the love that binds us together, the love that Christ commanded us to share. And that, my friends, is a command worth heeding, one grubby foot at a time. Amen.