Maundy Thursday Sermon 2025
Companionship, a Bath, and a Meal.
In the earliest decades of the Christian church, a small but powerful group of teachers insisted that anyone who wanted to become a Christian must show that they are truly Christian through some outward sign. A very specific outward sign, in fact: circumcision.
St. Paul disagreed. After dismantling this argument throughout his letter to the Galatians, St. Paul closes by proposing a different solution; a better outward sign of the Christian faith. In what has since been dubbed the “Fruit of the Spirit,” he lists several outward signs (fruit) of a life indwelled by the Spirit.
According to this now-famous list, what is the very first thing you should outwardly notice in the life of a Christian?
Love.
Maundy Thursday is a celebration of two sacred moments in the life of Jesus, both of which are wrapped in love. The name itself comes from the Latin word for command (mandatum), since Jesus gives his disciples a new commandment on this sacred Thursday:
A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another: just as I have loved you, you also are to love one another.
This new commandment is then demonstrated in two ways, both of which are celebrated each year on Maundy Thursday.
Tonight is—most primitively—about a Bath and a Meal.
To be cleansed, and to be nourished. To have impurities washed away, and to be filled and sustained.
Not washing impurities away yourself. Not feeding yourself.
But having these things done to you and for you by another.
Are there any more basic human needs?
Companionship. A Bath. And a Meal.
Tonight is about love.
And it is also about Love fulfilling our deepest longings.
It is hard to capture how the disciples in the upper room felt on that first Maundy Thursday. These are men who had grown up with a career path in mind—nothing exciting, but at least something stable: fishing, tax collecting, stonemasonry.
And at some point very early in their careers, they met a traveling prophet named Jesus, who convinced them that he was going to build the kingdom of all kingdoms. And he invited them into this project. And one by one, some more eagerly than others, they followed.
And they were never the same.
They saw things that you and I could hardly imagine. The blind received their sight. The lame walked. A dead man leaped out of his tomb.
And they heard things they had never heard before. That forgiveness is more powerful than revenge. That God is like a father who races down the street to welcome back his estranged son with open arms.
And on Palm Sunday, all of this reached its climax. They were there with Jesus when his own people shouted “Hosanna!” to welcome him into the Capital City of Jerusalem as their Messiah.
Leaving the career. Entering into the unknown. It was all beginning to pay off.
Or was it?
By Monday, they begin to hear rumors that both the religious leaders and the Romans are furious about this young Jewish man claiming to usher in a new kingdom right under their noses.
By Tuesday they have confirmed reports that there are active plots underway to kill Jesus.
By Wednesday they are forced to go into hiding themselves, merely because of their association with Jesus.
And by Thursday night—when they should have been celebrating in the homes of close relatives and friends—they are quietly gathered in a secret location for a sacred meal.
The Last Supper is taken in a borrowed attic.
What a week it has been. They were on top of the world on Sunday, ready to be at Jesus’ right hand as he ushered in his new Kingdom.
And now they are hiding in a dark upper room.
Alone. Dirty. And Hungry.
And there they are met with intimate Companionship.
There they receive a Bath that cleanses more than just their bodies.
And there they are given a meal that will nourish them body and soul.
After tonight’s foot washing, and after tonight’s sacred meal—that is to say after we bring that Maundy Thursday into the present mess of this Maundy Thursday—our service takes a turn.
This day that is marked by the loving acts of companionship, washing, and feeding changes.
It takes an all-too-familiar turn.
And in doing so, it reminds us of a painful human reality:
all good things must come to an end.
The sense of belonging the disciples felt in the presence of Jesus and that Jesus felt in the presence of the disciples is taken from both of them as the disciples fall asleep on Jesus in the garden, and as Jesus is betrayed and arrested.
The gestures of love and tears of joy experienced in the washing of the disciples’ feet give way to the deepest of betrayals.
A kiss—the universal symbol of love and peace—becomes an instrument of war.
You will hear echoes of this pending betrayal in our own celebration of the sacred meal itself tonight. We will be reminded that these things happened “on the night he was betrayed.”
Companionship. A Bath. A Meal. And a betrayal.
Tonight you will see, taste, touch, hear, and smell these things.
We will not pass the peace. The sacrament will be carried out of this room; The altar will be stripped of all its ornaments. The clergy will leave, and you will be left alone.
And through this you will know some of what it was like to experience that first Maundy Thursday.
And at that point of the service, you will be given the gift of silence. How you use that moment is up to you.
Perhaps this moment of silence is given to you tonight so that you can find in Jesus someone else who has felt the sting of betrayal.
Perhaps in the silence you can see clearly what your life is really all about; where it needs redemption; where it needs freedom; where it needs hope.
Or, if you are like my family, your moment of silence may be spent trying to convince your children to be quiet.
But perhaps later tonight, as your head hits the pillow after getting everyone else down to sleep, your moment will come then.
Whenever it comes, don’t shy away from it.
Stay awake; remain watchful.
Do not let the urgency of your life get in the way of attending to what matters most.
This service is not just the beginning of the Three Holy Days: it is the beginning of the turning point of human history, and it can be the beginning of a turning point in your story, too.
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I said earlier that tonight seems like a reminder that all good things must come to an end.
That is not the whole story.
In fact, in these three Holy Days, the entire notion that all good things must come to an end is defeated.
There is no way around the suffering and sorrow to come.
But there is a way through.
As we walk these three days, with our Lord, through the valley of the shadow of death, I want to leave you with a closing thought.
You cannot out sin the mercy of Jesus. Your faults are not even a drop in the ocean of his forgiveness. There is no line you can cross that Jesus did not already cross with you in order to bring you back.
There is no version of yourself that you can become that will take you beyond his loving embrace.
Jesus is more patient than you are persistent.
He can endure your very worst betrayal. He already has.
Amen.