On this Holy Friday at our noonday service we will read the passion narrative from the nineteenth chapter of the Gospel of John.

It wasn’t the first time that the disciples had seen feet washed that night of their last meal with Jesus.  Certainly, it was the custom for a servant to wash one’s feet, made dirty through walking on dusty roads, before one ate a meal. Certainly, it was most unusual for feet to be washed during a meal, and to be washed by the host or leader.

I wonder if Jesus’ actions during the last meal with his disciples, after which he would be betrayed and arrested, were inspired by an event that the gospel writer said took place a week or so before.

According to John’s gospel, eight days before the Passover, Jesus was in Bethany eating with his disciples in the home of his dear friends Lazarus, Martha, and Mary.  It is during that meal that Mary takes costly perfume and anoints Jesus’ feet, then dries his feet with her hair.  The perfume of the oil fills the room. I wonder if as Jesus pondered this humble action, this generous gift, that he was struck with the deep devotion and servanthood of Mary.

I wonder that at the meal a week or so later, that last meal with his disciples, that Jesus spied the basin and pitcher and towel set out in the corner of the room where they were eating, ready for foot washing, basic good manners in a Jewish home. Maybe their feet had already been washed by a servant.  Whatever the case, I wonder if Jesus, seeing the props for washing feet, remembered Mary washing his feet just days before.  I wonder if he remembered the devotion and love in that humble yet generous act.  I wonder if remembering the act of pure love and kindness Mary had bestowed on him that he was then moved to share that same kind of love and devotion with his own beloved disciples.

I wonder.

There is a church in North Carolina that has an extraordinary fresco behind the altar.  The fresco takes up the whole back wall, and the altar appears to be an extension of the fresco.  In it we see Jesus with the twelve.  We see a basin and bowl with a towel draped as if it had been used.  Eleven of the twelve are seated at the table with Jesus; we only see the back of another disciple as he goes out of the door (Judas?).  We also see a woman serving at the table, another woman to the side with two children, and one more man at the edge of the fresco who appears to be walking away.

Which made me wonder about another back story of that last meal.  Who set up for the meal?  Who baked the bread?  Who made the wine and who brought it?  Who cleaned up afterwards?  Would there have been a last meal without their service?

Wondering about Mary and all of the other nameless, faceless folks that made that last meal with Jesus possible, I wonder about all of the other backstories of the Gospel–all of those many actions in Jesus’ life that we honor and celebrate that might not have happened without ordinary folk saying yes to serve, going all of the way back to the yeses of his mother and father.

It seems that on this Holy Thursday we have the opportunity to ponder the mostly anonymous back stories that made Jesus’ birth, life, death, and resurrection possible.  We also have the opportunity to ponder who we are still in Jesus’ back story today, in the way that we serve with love, particularly in response to the love and service we have received.

How are we Jesus’ back story?  How are we to be Jesus’ back story?

One of things that was always getting Jesus into trouble was the way he kept–and didn’t keep–the Sabbath. The Biblical literalists had so many applications for how they understood the Torah that God’s original intent had been too often lost. When Jesus came to be one of us, time and again he lived to show us the Truth of God’s love. He healed on the Sabbath and picked grain on the Sabbath and showed us what the law of Love was truly like.

Truth is, keeping Sabbath today gets us into trouble, too. We are respected for all that we do and accomplish, and we don’t get promotions or awards this side of heaven for ceasing to work once a week.  But doing so is what God says is holy, and when we choose to give one day each week back to God’s care and to cease to be in charge, we are actually being honoring God.

This is the eve of the Triduum–those three days of worship that are the grand conclusion of Lent and Holy Week, and I have chosen to keep a Sabbath.  For twenty four hours, I will intrust my work to God.  Granted, I worked at the church until nearly ten last night in order to be able to have a Sabbath today; there were things that were left undone, and I will take them back first thing tomorrow.

Today I slept late.  I read the paper.  I had some lovely prayer and reading time in my prayer chair.  I’ll cook a good dinner.  I’ll work in the yard.  I won’t check my work email.

Tomorrow is Maundy Thursday and I’m back to work–hearing the Reconciliation of a Penitent, finishing the Maundy Thursday sermon, hiring a new staff person, tending to some pastoral needs, doing some final last minute Good Friday and Easter planning.

But not today.  It’s my day to walk with God in the garden.

I pray that all who read this will find a place of Sabbath this Holy Week.  It’s good to be rested before we go on that difficult journey with Christ to the cross.