SERMON FOR MAUNDY THURSDAY, APRIL 14, 2022    TEXT: LUKE 22:14-27
     We began Lent on Ash Wednesday with a solemn confession of sin and a commitment to spend the next 40 days pursuing the ways of repentance. It is common to mark the season by giving something up, to prompt mindfulness with an act of deprivation, for example, no longer reaching for a smoke or a drink, some chocolate or red meat to satisfy a longing and bring comfort. Turning off the apps, shutting down the screen, putting your phone away and giving your undivided attention to people in a conversation —whatever the nudge may be, the price of discomfort gets sharper as the days roll on. Some have observed Lent by adding a new practice rather than giving up an old one— a discipline of daily meditation, regular service in the community or charitable giving, for example. However these shifts from the familiar are made, they create small openings for change to begin. The newness of life for which Christ dies can penetrate and take hold. It’s like a child getting corrective lenses for the first time and seeing the individual leaves on a tree — you don’t even know what you were missing until the empty place is filled. It all begins with God’s mercy for the ones who acknowledge their need for it.
     This year Lent has coincided with the Russian invasion of Ukraine, which began on February 24, six days before Ash Wednesday. We have prayed for the people of Ukraine and their leaders; we have prayed also for the people of Russia and their leaders, hoping that their president in particular might experience a change of heart and turn away from bloodshed and brutality. Granted that all things are possible with God, this still seems as unlikely as it is desirable. Consider this conclusion from an article by David Remnick, editor of The New Yorker, in the April 4th issue: “The devastation of Mariupol and other Ukrainian cities suggests that there is little mercy or modesty in Putin’s faith. Early in his reign, according to the journalist Catherine Belton, he went with his confidant, banker, and eventual antagonist Sergei Pugachev to an Orthodox service on Forgiveness Sunday, which is celebrated just before Lent. Pugachev, a believer, told Putin that he should prostrate himself before the priest, as an act of contrition. ‘Why should I?’ Putin is said to have replied. ‘I am the President of the Russian Federation. Why should I ask for forgiveness?’” Why indeed.
     In this evening’s familiar story of the Last Supper Luke includes a striking scene. The Lord has shared the meal with his disciples and spoken poignantly of his impending betrayal. First they seek to identify the lowest of the low; “. ,. . they began to ask one another, which one of them it could be who would do this” (v. 23). But they move readily to determine the other end of the spectrum: “A dispute arose among the disciples as to which one of them was to be regarded as the greatest” (v. 24). Given the circumstances, their vanity is appalling. Not a one of them will stand by Jesus in his hour of trial — hard to discern gradations of greatness among this lot. Jesus responds to their concern by turning their assumptions upside down. “But he said to them, ‘The kings of the Gentiles lord it over them; and those in authority over them are called benefactors. But not so with you; rather the greatest among you must become like the youngest, and the leader like one who serves.’” 
     Luke’s gospel does not have an account of the foot washing, which, according to the Gospel of John, is the central event of this gathering of Jesus and his disciples on the last night of his life. Luke, like Matthew and Mark, focuses on the meal they share and Jesus’ command to his followers that they continue to do this after his death in remembrance of him. But in his description of the dispute about greatness that follows, Luke echoes what Jesus embodies in the foot washing as described in the fourth gospel. John writes: “After he had washed their feet, had put on his robe, and had returned to the table, he said to them, “Do you know what I have done to you? You call me Teacher and Lord—and you are right, for that is what I am. So if I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet. For I have set you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you. Very truly, I tell you, servants[a] are not greater than their master, nor are messengers greater than the one who sent them. If you know these things, you are blessed if you do them” (John 13:12-17). 
     Luke also shows Jesus setting an example of service for his followers in this final night of his life. He does this freely, because of their need, regardless of their deserving. He prepares a table for them and offers his life to sustain theirs. “For who is greater,” he asks them, “the one who is at the table or the one who serves? ” Jesus addresses all who would be his disciples down through the centuries; he speaks these words to us tonight. We are not powerful people on the world scene; NATO will never have to respond to our acts of aggression or condemn our war crimes. But we too have circles of influence — think of your family, your community and its politics, this congregation. These circles may be small, but they are not insignificant. Within them in various ways we possess both power and privilege.
     The meal is over, the conversation ended. Jesus leaves to go to the Mount of Olives, where he will be betrayed and arrested. His disciples follow him there. We too will share the meal this night. We will do this in remembrance of our Lord. And then we will go out into the darkness to follow Jesus, who comes among his sisters and brothers as one who serves. Do this also in remembrance of him. Amen.