Love as God loves is commanded on you tonight; this same divine love is modeled for you and planted within you to bear into the world.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
Maundy Thursday
Text: John 13:1-17, 31b-35

Sisters and brothers in Christ, grace to you, and peace in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen

“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.”

This commandment names today. “Maundy” is Middle English for “mandatum,” Latin for “command.” This is “Commandment Thursday,” the night we are commanded to love as God has loved us in Christ. So every year we return to these eight days from Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem to the empty tomb, and walk with Christ through this week to learn what “love as I loved you” really means.

Tomorrow when we stand before the cross, we witness the deepest, truest love.

God reveals the truth about the universe at the cross: love that gives itself away restores life, reconciles, brings healing, so when the eternal and Triune God offers the very life of God for love of the world, all things are restored, the universe is changed.

“I give you a new commandment,” Jesus said. “Love one another like this.” And therein lies our problem. It is likely none of us will be crucified. Most, if not all, of us won’t literally lay down our life for another person, die for them.

So how can we love with the love we see at the cross? On this Night of the Commandment, we begin to see.

We first see Love on its knees, serving others.

This powerful sight of the Son of God, kneeling half-naked like a slave, washing the dirty feet of his followers, grounds Jesus’ new commandment. You don’t have to know the master-slave culture of the first century to understand how radical this was. The fact that so many congregations today still resist doing footwashing reveals how distasteful the whole scene is.

That’s why Jesus says tonight, “Do you know what I have done to you?”

Do you? You may never offer your physical life and die for someone. But Jesus shows you the path of Christ-love begins on your knees before others, offering your life as service.

That’s harder than the hypothetical “maybe someday I’ll give my life for someone.” Giving your life every day in service to all, that’s hard. That’s true love. And that, Jesus says, is my new commandment.

On the Mount of Olives, Love is on its knees again, sharing our fears.

If Christ-love is servant love, it’s easy to find objections. People will take advantage of you. Maybe no one will look out for your needs. You risk losing things you value. It will be inconvenient to constantly look for ways to serve others. Like that person on the entrance to the freeway. Or that family member who really doesn’t deserve it. Or that person who is always unkind to you.

It’s not the same as being nailed to a cross, but in our own small way, we have the same problem Jesus has on his knees in Gethsemane. “I would rather this cup be taken from me,” he prays. “I don’t want to do this painful thing, even if it is the only way to love this world.”

Sometimes love is on its knees asking to be taken off the hook. But once again, Jesus leads the way. “Not my will but yours be done.” That’s the movement of faith. When you let go of the objections, the concerns, the fears, and say, “I will love because that’s what you ask of me.” That’s when you see your Christ-path.

In between these two visions is the grace to make them real in your life.

On this night of betrayal, Jesus gave the disciples the meal of the life they needed to follow this new commandment. What he did that night was so powerful the newborn Church immediately started repeating it.

“Take this bread. Take this wine. Eat and drink. You are taking my very body and my blood into you for your life, your forgiveness, your healing.” That’s the gift of love in this Supper. Don’t forget these are not symbolic words. We believe Jesus: in this bread and wine Christ is actually alive and feeding you. The power of divine love inhabits these common, earthly things, and transforms them for life.

And if everyday bread and wine can be Christ’s body and blood, so can everyday people. In this meal you become the body and blood of Christ in the world, the embodiment of God’s love. That’s how you and I will keep this commandment.

Tonight Jesus says, “you don’t know now what I’m doing, but later you’ll understand.”

Maybe later is now. Understanding comes the more we watch through these days and nights with Jesus, staying awake to what Jesus is really doing and commanding.

But later can mean later, too. Understanding comes in bits and pieces. Glimpses of clarity. So we do this every year. We walk again through this with Christ and understand more. The Spirit points your eyes to new things, opens your heart to new possibilities for your love in this world.

It’s the Night of the Commandment. Stay awake, watch, and pray, and you will begin to understand this divine love that is commanded, you will see your path of Christ-love emerge.

“Ubi caritas et amor, Deus ibi est.” “Where love is, there is God.” By your being Christ and offering yourself, body and blood, life and breath, as servant to God’s creation, all will finally know the embrace of God’s love, will see God.

In the name of Jesus. Amen

The self-giving love of God we see at the cross, the same kind of love that is asked of us, is the only thing that can heal this world.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Sunday of the Passion, year C
Texts Luke 22:14 – 23:56 (The Passion), but focusing especially on 23:33-34; Philippians 2:5-11

Sisters and brothers in Christ, grace to you, and peace in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen

“They don’t know what they’re doing.”

Jesus spoke truth. The soldiers with hammer and nails, the religious leaders with righteous anger, the cowardly disciples fleeing the scene, the crowds seeking spectacle: none knew what they were doing that Friday.

Neither do we. Unlike most everyone there that day, we’ve come to believe Jesus is exactly who he claimed, the Son of God. But we still struggle to grasp what this cross tells us about the true nature and depth of the Triune God’s love and what it means for how we live.

Just look at this one moment. As God’s Son is nailed to a cross, brutally executed by a humanity whose love has gone dry, whose taste for violence and control and power cannot be sated, he prays for mercy. “Forgive them. They don’t know what they’re doing.”

We simply could not have expected a love like this. Not from us. Not from God.

We live lives with limits. We try to love others. But our selfishness, our carelessness, our fear of vulnerability, our limited willingness to forgive, all keep us from living in love. At our best, we strive for unconditional love at least for our family. We fail. We don’t even come close with those outside that circle.

So we can’t grasp how God could love in unlimited ways. Like humans always do, we want powerful gods whom we can blame if things go wrong, try to appease when we want something, and sic on those we don’t like. Even though the Scriptures repeatedly speak of God’s eternal love for the creation and for humanity, we put limits on whom we believe God can love.

So when we see the truth of God’s love today, it strains our poor ability to imagine.

The Son moves out of the grace of the divine dance of the Trinity, and joins humanity.

Jesus did not consider equality with God something to be exploited, Paul says. God’s power simply won’t work to love the creation back into God’s life. So the Christ of God emptied all divine right and power and took on our humanity. How could we have anticipated that?

God’s Son came in our flesh to teach us, face to face, to love as we were made to love. Set aside power and dominance, gave up control out of love for us. To ask us to turn around and live this same love. “Love to the loveless shown, that they might lovely be.”¹

And we don’t get it. We don’t know what we’re doing.

But today, looking at the cross, we begin to see the universe can only be healed by self-giving love, starting with God.

Power and might can’t stop human evil, oppression, violence, war, pollution, abuse, destruction, because they can’t force love. The only thing that can heal this world is God offering vulnerable love to the creation. A love that forgives the one trying to kill it. True unconditional love, and nothing can stop that, not fear, not doubt, not even death. There are God-sized cracks in this creation that need God-sized stitches. God offering God’s own life out of love will bring that healing.

But there are billions of human-sized cracks that need human-sized stitches, too – your self-giving, vulnerable love. Mine. That’s what Jesus is doing at the cross: not just revealing God’s love, but showing you and me what is needed of us. So all things might be healed and brought back to God.

Now that we know this, now that we’ve seen such unimaginable love, we know our path.

We can’t just stay here and sing about this love, as our hymn hopes². We are sent out, knowing God’s true love, to bear this love in our own bodies, hearts, voices, lives, no matter the cost.

So, let’s go from here, filled with this vulnerable, unconditional love we never could have dreamed was possible, but now we know is ours, and in our every breath, pour this love into God’s world until all creation is healed.

In the name of Jesus.  Amen

¹ “My Song Is Love Unknown,” Samuel Crossman, 1624-1683, ELW 343, sung between the reading of the Passion and this sermon.
² Again, from “My Song Is Love Unknown.”