Maundy Thursday
1 Corinthians 11:23-26
John 13:1-17, 31b-35
All Saints’ Episcopal Church, Austin, Tex.

“How human is your Jesus?”
That’s the question I ask myself from time to time
Just to see if I remember.
“How human is the Son of God?”
Just to make sure I haven’t lost the plot of the outlandish claim
That whatever it was that set off the creation of the universe
And set the planets in their courses
And reminds our atoms to keep holding on to one another
Became a man who walked around in Galilee
And reminded us to keep holding on to one another too.
Divinely human.
Humanly divine.

How human is your Jesus?
Who walked and talked and taught and healed
And slept and ate and sweat and wept
And laughed and raged
and feared.
Feared for his life, like anybody would.
“Father, let this cup pass from me,”
We will pray with him tonight.
“Let them not take my life, let there be another way.”
How human.
How divine.

How human to put your affairs in order,
How human not to know
What happens after, what’s coming next.
Is it really time to go?
How human to want to be together
At table, with friends,
Letting love carry them to the end.
How human to find everyone you ever loved
And make sure nothing’s left unsaid.
How human to reflect,
To count the days and nights
To look at what you’ve stood for,
and make sure it’s all set right.
A farewell meal.
A farewell lesson.

He looks to us: to Peter and Mary and Judas and John
And across the span of time to all his faithful friends.
How shall we repay the Lord for all the good things he has done for us?
The master who no longer calls you servants
now calls you friend and bids you come, just as you are
yes, you
just as you are
and not as someone you cannot, will not be.
Love bids us welcome and our soul draws back
And Love bids us stay.
Set aside your armor,
Set aside your shame.
No rushing on to glory,
No hurrying ahead.
“Stay here, stay now, stay with me.”
He takes your frail and body into his steady hands
And gently holds and gently washes and gently, gently shows:
“If you want to follow me, this is how to be;”
Both servant and served,
Both loving and beloved.
He entrusts his broken Body to your waiting hands,
and pours his Blood across your parched lips.
“I love you. Remember me.”

“How human is your Jesus?”
Is the question I ask myself from time to time,
Just to make sure I haven’t lost the plot
Of a God-man who wanted to be sure we understood
And filled us with a love that could save the world.
A love worth dying for,
A love uncontained by death,
Unlimited by flimsy things like physics.

This central act, this last command
To remember him until he comes
Spills outward and upward and on and on,
Through peasants and kings and sinners and saints,
In his land and our land and anywhere in between,
To show us how to hold onto one another,
To show us that where bodies are broken
And the broken-hearted held close
God is with us.

God is with us.

God is with us
World without end.