This week I was
reminded a hundred times, if not more, that I am not Jesus.
I’ll get to that in a moment.
One of the many reasons why I love the Gospel of John is that it takes
only twelve chapters to get to the Passover that is Jesus’ crucifixion, and we
still have nine chapters left! The Gospel of Mark, by comparison, spends a
scant three chapters on the happenings between the Passover, the Crucifixion,
and the Resurrection. The Gospel of John includes so much detail, so many
stories, and so many beautiful themes that thread through the Gospel that it
can be savored for weeks on end, as we will do throughout the rest of Lent.
The scene begins inauspiciously—just
Jesus, washing the disciples’ feet. It’s a strange thing for Jesus to be doing
if we think about it. Jesus is their Rabbi—their Lord and Teacher. He is in
charge. The person who is in charge gets their feet washed by others; he does
not do the washing. That’s the point,
apparently, because when Peter complains that he would never allow Jesus to
become so undignified as to wash his feet Jesus hits him with the ice cold
reality: To be a follower requires that you be served, then it requires that
you do the serving. It is both/and.
I’ve been humbled this past week. I
have served a lot this week in getting a coffee shop going—it’s in service of
my wife’s vision, sure, but it certainly was service. Kate served too… a lot.
Too much, really. Still, more than that we have been served—by this community,
by specific people who have given their time, their money, their resources—to
help us out. I could detail it all for the next hour but just one small example:
Kate broke down in tears last night at the end of the day from pure exhaustion,
breaking into the chocolate that Harold and Jeanne Anderson brought us. There
are so many examples of this kind of thing I can’t even begin to share them
all. And it’s not like we don’t get anything out of it, and it’s not like the
people who have helped us out don’t get anything out of it; it’s simply that we
need one another.
We also need the reminder that all
of us are not Jesus.
I think of Peter looking at Jesus
washing feet and I imagine how many of us would say, “Get up, Jesus! You
shouldn’t have to do that!” How many of us have that culture of service so
built into us that we don’t even allow another person the indignity? We take it
on ourselves! And it might not be Jesus, perhaps it is an elderly lady, perhaps
it is a child, perhaps it is a person with a disability. We see them doing work
and we want to help—we want to serve! That’s awesome, but Jesus reminds us that
unless we are willing also to be served we have no place with him. This is
maddening. It’s tough. Above all, it’s a reminder that WE. ARE. NOT. JESUS.
I was again reminded of that last
night when we got home (and I started writing this sermon) after three straight
twelve hour days for me; three straight fourteen to fifteen hour days for Kate.
On the back of days upon days, long and hard, of work upon work. I hesitated to
even mention this, because I don’t want this to be about pity or even sympathy.
The reality of life is that the best things are often just hard. Three years
ago I sat down for the first meeting with our Synod’s Communications Director
at the time for the planning phase that led to the Hunger Ride, and I remarked,
“Man, this is going to be a lot of work.” And I vividly remember him saying: “Everything
worthwhile is.” That’s why children are so hard to bring into the world—in every
way.
No, the reason I mention my week at
all is because this week, like a mission trip, was worth it. We couldn’t have
opened at all on Friday without tons of volunteer labor, let alone all the paid
work. It’s good work, unsustainable work, but good work, but it’s also been a
constant reminder that I am not Jesus. Jesus can serve and serve and serve—up
to death. I can’t. I could barely make it through the past few days. I didn’t
want to come in this morning.
Jesus died on a cross.
I wasn’t sure how to
end this sermon, except perhaps to say that I am not Jesus one more time. It
was getting late, and the only reason I was writing anything down at all is
because I felt bad about the nursing home residents not getting a copy of the
sermon two weeks in a row. Then Kate asked me to rub her feet and I realized
that sometimes we do get the honor of being like
Jesus—only like, only EVER like—but that is an awesome thing.
Everything worthwhile is hard. Opening a coffee shop… the same
kinds of personal life events we all have… and all of it pales to what God has
done for us. We can only just touch it from time to time, and I think that’s
why service is so engrained in us. I think that’s why we are searching to help
one another out. We know we are not Jesus, but occasionally we can be like him. And that’s what we’re all
searching for, whether we realize it or not.
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