WHY CALL THIS THURSDAY, "MAUNDY"?

Maundy Thursday, 1998

April 9, 1998

Why call this Thursday, "Maundy?"  Where does the name come from? Is it a name arising from early Catholic tradition? Is it a Medieval appellation for this Thursday before Easter and the special rite of Holy Communion we share with one another? Like the rest of the New Testament, is it a Greek word applied to our gathering in the upper room? Well, no, it's none of these. We call this Thursday "Maundy" because of the moment and event Pam Roberts just described for us as she read from the Gospel of John. Did you hear it? Jesus in the room with his disciples, washing their feet, launching into what we call his farewell  discourses as he prepares what only he knows to be a violent and bloody ending.  He says to them,

"A New commandment I give you, that you love one another." A new commandment, a mandatum, a mandate, ergo, the abbreviation, "Maundy", signifying the evening when our Lord urges a new mandate, a mandatum novum - "that you love one another."

But Jesus doesn't leave us with some cold, demanding imperative. This command to love one another is not the   order of a General George A. Patton type. It's not  a decree from some authoritarian source, demanding in effect: "OK now, roll up your sleeves, brace your wills, beef up your resolution - go to now and love one another." No! No sharp, directives to duty. No brisk injunctions to moral obligation. Because the commandment comes with a qualifier - "Love one another as I have loved you. . . as I have loved you!"

And how is that? What model do we follow? How do you love us? Well, let me show you three illustrations of how he loves us and how we are to love one another and the world.

First, see this vestment here in my hand. As we've said before, it's a stole. It represents the towel Jesus used when he washed his disciples feet. In the Gospel of John, on the last night of Jesus life there is no story of bread and wine, no classic last supper narrative. We don't know why. Perhaps the supper had become rowdy. Perhaps it was  torn asunder by cliques - in any case, the story John tell us is of footwashing - of servanthood, of humility. A disrobed Jesus performs a task for others only the lowliest of the lowly perform for their betters.  "Love one another - as I have loved you . . ."  He loves us this way - and in gratitude we may love one another as freely as servants as well.

Secondly, on this table we see these elements of bread and of wine. They represent his body and his blood. In a moment we will break and we will pour; we will eat and we will drink.  Breaking bread shows how far love goes to search out and restore a broken relationship. Wine poured out demonstrates what it may cost love to hang onto and forgive another. We've been loved like that by God in Jesus Christ. "Love one another as I have loved you."

And lastly, here we see the Cross. What further demonstration do we need when Jesus says, "Love one another as I have loved you." Here at the Cross we see the very core, the essential substance, the radiant model for the love we hold for and offer one another.  Love throws its very life onto the scales, to save, to heal, to forgive, to release, to free, to bind, to reconcile to recreate. "Just as we have been loved like that, so are we  released and can love one another.

And the eating? The drinking? The One who loves us identifies with us. The one who loves us becomes like us and empathizes fully with us. The one who loves us lives in our shoes, shares our burden, stands with us, - not some distant deity, not off there in heaven someplace, not out at the edge of the cosmos, powerless, invulnerable, giving nary a whit - but rather as our dearest friend, or comrade or Mother or Father hanging in there with us to the end.

"Love one another as I have loved you."

Jesus closes by saying, "By this everyone will know you are my disciples if you love one another." That's the only criteria appropriate to measure the quality of our life together.  It's not whether we can say the Creed.  It's not whether we perform this particular rite decently and in order, it's not whether we've got our doctrine straight, our bulletin in order, our choir trained, our ministers educated, our hymns appropriate . . .  It's whether we can love each other  - even,  perhaps, when we don't like each other.  

So a question we ask tonight: Can we, in gratitude because Jesus Christ has metaphorically and undeservedly, washed our feet, wash our neighbor's feet? Can we, in gratitude for  his humble service in our behalf, be servants one of another? Can we, like bread broken,  and wine poured risk ourselves, our life - - like the Cross, risk our death for one another - yea, for those we like the least? That's the benchmark by which we measure the integrity of our common life. As the song says, "They will know we are Christians by our love."

Somewhere tonight our brothers and sisters in Christ in some Eastern rite congregation are not necessarily sharing in the last supper as we do. They are going through an elaborate and powerful exercise in mutual footwashing. As they do this together they are singing a glorious hymn:

"Where charity and love are, there is God.
The love of Christ has gathered us as one.
Let us rejoice and be glad in Christ.
Let us fear and love the living God
And in purity of heart let us love one another.

Where charity and love are, there is God.
When therefore we are gathered together
Let us not be divided in Spirit.
Let bitter strife and discord cease between us;
Let Christ our God be present in our midst. 

Where charity and love are there is God.
ith all the blessed may we see forever
Thy face in glory, Jesus Christ our God.
Joy that is infinite and undefiled
For all the ages of eternity.

So, why call this Thursday, "Maundy?" Why Maundy Thursday?  Tonight, says our Lord, "A new mandatum - a new commandment I give you, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you should love one another. By this everyone will know you are my disciples, if you love one another."  Mandatum Novum.