MAUNDY THURSDAY: LITURGY OF THE LORD'S SUPPER
Once again, we have begun our commemoration of the Triduum Sacrum, the sacred three days leading to the pivotal point in the Christian year - and in many ways, Easter is the only point in the Christian year. The remainder of this week is like one of Wagner’s grand operas: as through each act the epic story unfolds, different themes are heard, developed and restated. And of course, tonight sets the scene. Act I, The Liturgy of Maundy Thursday.
Today is something of a mixed bag. It’s such a rich muddle of imagery and emotion, and shot through with paradox. Our service began with the formal reception if the Holy Oils, blessed by the Bishop of Bedford at the Cathedral this morning and brought back to the parish by your ministers. It’s a simple reminder that the ministry exercised in this place doesn’t stand on its own. It flows from the ministry of our bishops, and is always part of the work of the whole Church.
After the sobriety of Lent, this evening’s Eucharist is a celebration of the institution of the Lord’s Supper – so the Gloria is sung, and the liturgical colour is white. But the shadow of the cross falls across us so poignantly that any sense of celebration is muted and tempered by our anticipation of what is to come.
On this night, Jesus speaks to his disciples of love and sacrifice, of trust and betrayal, of greatness and humility. But louder is the message of what he does: he breaks bread, shares wine, and kneels and washes his bemused disciples’ feet.
The first time I saw Les Miserables I would have been quite content to have gone home at the interval because there is so much packed into the first half! The same might be said of Maundy Thursday....but of course, we have to see the story through to its bitter, and blessed end.
Our Sunday readings this year follow Mark’s Gospel, and our Monday evening Lent Course has looked closely and critically at Mark’s account, the earliest version, of the passion story. This evening, our remembrance of the Last Supper combines elements from all four gospels – a commemoration designed by a committee, if you like. Matthew, Mark and Luke do not use the story of how Jesus washes his disciples’ feet. Maybe they didn’t know it?
But they do tell how Jesus took bread and wine. In John’s version, written much later, there is no mention of bread or wine. Jesus talks with his disciples, gives them a new commandment to imitate him in his love – to love as he loves. And as a demonstration and seal of that love, Jesus takes the lowest place and washes the dirt and muck from their tired feet.
So if we had the four gospel writers here this evening, they may find it hard to come up with a description of the events of Holy Thursday they were all agreed on. ‘The night Jesus took bread’ won’t do. ‘The night Jesus washed feet’ won’t do either, and ‘the night before he died’, as the Eucharistic Prayer phrases it, isn’t very specific. But there is a theme running through the events of Maundy Thursday on which all four gospel writers would agree, and which is familiar for those of us who know older versions of the liturgy. For this is far more than ‘the night before he died’, but rather in the words of St Paul in 1 Corinthians, ‘the night he was betrayed’.
Those of us who have gathered here on Monday evenings have noted the repeated failure of the disciples to hear what Jesus is saying to them, and before this night is out they would all have deserted him. We demonise Judas and we pity Peter - but they all forsook him. They all denied him. They all betrayed him.
At the heart of the events of Maundy Thursday, and woven into the warp and weft of the church’s experience of the Eucharist ever since, is the reality of our failure to be faithful disciples of Jesus Christ. And as we considered at the beginning of Passiontide, their betrayal is our betrayal.
But let’s stick with John’s version of events. The Washing of Feet is the prominent symbolic act, rather than the sharing of bread and wine. But although John doesn’t narrate the institution of the Last Supper, he clearly writes to a community of Christians whose practice is to meet and remember Jesus by breaking bread.
But the feet-washing isn’t the only distinctive aspect of John’s story. John puts a spotlight on Judas more sharply than the other gospels. Jesus identifies him as the betrayer even as he sits at table with the twelve. It struck me for the first time at the Eucharist yesterday, when John 13 v21-32 was read. “The one to whom I give this piece of bread,” Jesus tells the Beloved Disciple, “ he is the one who will betray me”.
Just as the ‘Judas kiss’ identifies the Christ, the piece of bread identifies the betrayer.…..and what happens to you and me when we come to Communion, week by week, and on this night when together we recreate the events of the Upper Room?
We are given a piece of bread…..“Is it I, Lord?”
This evening, before the Stripping of the Sanctuary (symbolising the beginning of Christ’s agony and desolation) we will include the brief ‘Ceremony of the Judas Cup’. It’s part of the medieval liturgy of Durham Cathedral which in recent years has been restored to their Maundy Thursday worship.
After Communion, the brothers of the monastery would gather around the table, on which was placed the Judas Cup. As the dialogue from John’s gospel was read dramatically, a cup of wine was shared. In the original medieval liturgy, the cup was a large ornate bowl and in the bottom of the bowl was carved the face of Judas – so as the brothers drank, they saw as their reflection looking back at them, the face of the betrayer. “Lord, is it I?”
Once again, we have begun our commemoration of the Triduum Sacrum, the sacred three days leading to the pivotal point in the Christian year - and in many ways, Easter is the only point in the Christian year. The remainder of this week is like one of Wagner’s grand operas: as through each act the epic story unfolds, different themes are heard, developed and restated. And of course, tonight sets the scene. Act I, The Liturgy of Maundy Thursday.
Today is something of a mixed bag. It’s such a rich muddle of imagery and emotion, and shot through with paradox. Our service began with the formal reception if the Holy Oils, blessed by the Bishop of Bedford at the Cathedral this morning and brought back to the parish by your ministers. It’s a simple reminder that the ministry exercised in this place doesn’t stand on its own. It flows from the ministry of our bishops, and is always part of the work of the whole Church.
After the sobriety of Lent, this evening’s Eucharist is a celebration of the institution of the Lord’s Supper – so the Gloria is sung, and the liturgical colour is white. But the shadow of the cross falls across us so poignantly that any sense of celebration is muted and tempered by our anticipation of what is to come.
On this night, Jesus speaks to his disciples of love and sacrifice, of trust and betrayal, of greatness and humility. But louder is the message of what he does: he breaks bread, shares wine, and kneels and washes his bemused disciples’ feet.
The first time I saw Les Miserables I would have been quite content to have gone home at the interval because there is so much packed into the first half! The same might be said of Maundy Thursday....but of course, we have to see the story through to its bitter, and blessed end.
Our Sunday readings this year follow Mark’s Gospel, and our Monday evening Lent Course has looked closely and critically at Mark’s account, the earliest version, of the passion story. This evening, our remembrance of the Last Supper combines elements from all four gospels – a commemoration designed by a committee, if you like. Matthew, Mark and Luke do not use the story of how Jesus washes his disciples’ feet. Maybe they didn’t know it?
But they do tell how Jesus took bread and wine. In John’s version, written much later, there is no mention of bread or wine. Jesus talks with his disciples, gives them a new commandment to imitate him in his love – to love as he loves. And as a demonstration and seal of that love, Jesus takes the lowest place and washes the dirt and muck from their tired feet.
So if we had the four gospel writers here this evening, they may find it hard to come up with a description of the events of Holy Thursday they were all agreed on. ‘The night Jesus took bread’ won’t do. ‘The night Jesus washed feet’ won’t do either, and ‘the night before he died’, as the Eucharistic Prayer phrases it, isn’t very specific. But there is a theme running through the events of Maundy Thursday on which all four gospel writers would agree, and which is familiar for those of us who know older versions of the liturgy. For this is far more than ‘the night before he died’, but rather in the words of St Paul in 1 Corinthians, ‘the night he was betrayed’.
Those of us who have gathered here on Monday evenings have noted the repeated failure of the disciples to hear what Jesus is saying to them, and before this night is out they would all have deserted him. We demonise Judas and we pity Peter - but they all forsook him. They all denied him. They all betrayed him.
At the heart of the events of Maundy Thursday, and woven into the warp and weft of the church’s experience of the Eucharist ever since, is the reality of our failure to be faithful disciples of Jesus Christ. And as we considered at the beginning of Passiontide, their betrayal is our betrayal.
But let’s stick with John’s version of events. The Washing of Feet is the prominent symbolic act, rather than the sharing of bread and wine. But although John doesn’t narrate the institution of the Last Supper, he clearly writes to a community of Christians whose practice is to meet and remember Jesus by breaking bread.
But the feet-washing isn’t the only distinctive aspect of John’s story. John puts a spotlight on Judas more sharply than the other gospels. Jesus identifies him as the betrayer even as he sits at table with the twelve. It struck me for the first time at the Eucharist yesterday, when John 13 v21-32 was read. “The one to whom I give this piece of bread,” Jesus tells the Beloved Disciple, “ he is the one who will betray me”.
Just as the ‘Judas kiss’ identifies the Christ, the piece of bread identifies the betrayer.…..and what happens to you and me when we come to Communion, week by week, and on this night when together we recreate the events of the Upper Room?
We are given a piece of bread…..“Is it I, Lord?”
This evening, before the Stripping of the Sanctuary (symbolising the beginning of Christ’s agony and desolation) we will include the brief ‘Ceremony of the Judas Cup’. It’s part of the medieval liturgy of Durham Cathedral which in recent years has been restored to their Maundy Thursday worship.
After Communion, the brothers of the monastery would gather around the table, on which was placed the Judas Cup. As the dialogue from John’s gospel was read dramatically, a cup of wine was shared. In the original medieval liturgy, the cup was a large ornate bowl and in the bottom of the bowl was carved the face of Judas – so as the brothers drank, they saw as their reflection looking back at them, the face of the betrayer. “Lord, is it I?”
Now in one sense this shifts the focus away from Jesus and on to his disciples, on to us….and indeed you may think that labelling the Twelve and ourselves as betrayers is laying it on a bit thick. An unnecessary guilt-trip perhaps?
But it is, on this night especially, a necessary reminder, if we are to hear and understand Christ’s new commandment - the ‘mandatum’ which gives today it’s traditional name.
“I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.” (13.34)
It may seem odd that Jesus commands them to love one another. But Jesus commands his disciples to love one another because he knew that they were about to face a grievous breach in their fellowship; because they would inevitably point to the treachery of others in their number, rather than face up to their own.
Jesus didn’t wash his disciples’ feet as a show of humility. It was a simple act of defiant love towards those he knew where just hours from abandoning him. And he knew that it was only when they could face their own failure that they would learn to love like Him.
And that is true for us as disciples now, as indeed it was then. Only when we are aware of our own culpability are we able to take seriously Christ’s new commandment to love one another – as he loves us.
Within our congregation, our ecumenical partnership; within our deanery, our diocese, and our worldwide Communion. On this night, Christ calls us to love one another - knowing our faults and failings, bearing our hurts and foibles, and reaching beyond disagreement and division.
But it is, on this night especially, a necessary reminder, if we are to hear and understand Christ’s new commandment - the ‘mandatum’ which gives today it’s traditional name.
“I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.” (13.34)
It may seem odd that Jesus commands them to love one another. But Jesus commands his disciples to love one another because he knew that they were about to face a grievous breach in their fellowship; because they would inevitably point to the treachery of others in their number, rather than face up to their own.
Jesus didn’t wash his disciples’ feet as a show of humility. It was a simple act of defiant love towards those he knew where just hours from abandoning him. And he knew that it was only when they could face their own failure that they would learn to love like Him.
And that is true for us as disciples now, as indeed it was then. Only when we are aware of our own culpability are we able to take seriously Christ’s new commandment to love one another – as he loves us.
Within our congregation, our ecumenical partnership; within our deanery, our diocese, and our worldwide Communion. On this night, Christ calls us to love one another - knowing our faults and failings, bearing our hurts and foibles, and reaching beyond disagreement and division.
And by this, and this alone, will others identify us as followers of Jesus Christ.