I must make two confessions up front as I began reading through the much treasured, but very often misunderstood John 13 footwashing scene of Jesus and his disciples: First, the eighteen plus years as a planner-grant writer, program developer, and instructor in the social action field, working for agencies that help the poor and low-come, has made me more aware of the Bible’s overwhelming connection to the poor. I most definitely read the Bible differently now. I can see more clearly what I have passed over, spiritualized, and, too often, ignored. I now pick up on nuances in biblical texts and stories that were blurred by my suburban, more privileged up-bringing and how my early Christian years were shaped. I confess am no longer a poor rich reader of the Bible.
Second, and with a deep breath, I confess I am burdened and terrified by the call to minister in the Hill community in New Haven, Connecticut. I awake with burdens beyond what I could have imagined as I seek to minister in this broken, yet beautiful community called The Hill. Frankly (and some tell me, don’t let them know how you really feel, don’t show weakness), I am scared to death, sometimes awakening and wondering, “What in the world have I gotten myself and my wife into here?” Scared I’ll mess it up. Frightened that my vulnerabilities will be seen. Afraid my shortcomings, my age, may exhaustion, my weaknesses, and inabilities will be too soon noticed. Yet as Paul heard from God, I too rest in the words, “‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore, I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me . . . For when I am weak, then I am strong.”
So, with humility I approach the text, weak and a common sinner in the hands of an all-too-gracious heavenly Father . . . and you, with so many reasons to listen to others, but with hopes you will hear the text.
Let us pray . . .
Let’s time travel back to the first few hundred years of church history. Most of us are familiar with the Greco-Roman colosseums and the brutality of the gladiatorial entertainment in the days of the Roman empire. In those colosseums there was a theater of real, unashamed, and intentional death that was designed to displayed the vertical nature of society, of social order, who had status and who did not—and who was and wasn’t a person. Why do I start here? The arena of death and violence is, you must understand, still the experience of so many around the globe today and in most urban centers in the US and in The Hill community—designed by default and intention, in our very built environment—continues to affirm social vertical status and, dare I say, what we affirm as human. Yet, Jesus and the gospel itself point to a leveling . . . displayed in and through and by the church . . . John 13 will paint this picture for us.
Religion in the Roman empire was widespread, huge, and multiple. And yet, no one would have imagined that by the early 4th century Christianity would become a major world religion with adherents numbering among the most significance slice of the empire’s population. But the church didn’t start out that way: the first small congregations had no power, no leverage of status, no influence, and certainly no money. So how? As we read through the early church literature and church fathers, one would look in vain for references specifically to “evangelism” as a verbal witness as a matter of the Christian and church life . . . in fact “speaking” would have probably done nothing and no one would have listened (anyway). Literally in the first few hundred years, Christian literature makes no reference to “evangelists” and or even “missionaries.” So, how?
Back to the arena games, say around AD 203: The colosseum-amphitheater was a wonder of Roman engineering. Everything about the architecture and the events were to show off the vertical nature of life and social standing in the Empire . . . vertical . . . higher sections . . . seated by wealth and influence . . . how the stands were filled . . . the upper sections were the visual center . . . magistrates, landowners, benefactors, the elite . . . the entertainment of the populace to bolster status and prestige—all affirming the vertical values of society and civil life. All the while, who were in the death-pits, the forced entertainment of death at the bottom of the arena? Of course the gladiators and lions, but it was the bottom of society that faced death—criminals, the unwanted, slaves, the abandoned—all for sport and entertainment. There we also find small bands of Christians . . . but they faced death (face the beasts and gladiators) differently; their presence in the arena subtly subverted the carefully choreographed vertical event. The masses saw husbands (the paterfamilias, head of households), wives, slaves, doctors, former prostitutes, unwanted children standing together . . . expressing publically right there in the arena Christian horizontality. (Yes, that is a word.) When one would fall, the others would help them up to face death standing. They did not defend themselves in any way. Although the whole of the gospel and NT teaching is behind their behavior, but it is the fact that Jesus left a footwashing community and not a militia or even an academy to invade this world IS THE HOW Christianity grew to overtake an empire.
Here in John 13 we have a portrait, along with Jesus’s words, a powerful image and reminder of what the Christian community is to look like in the private habits of our worship and out in the public, in Caesar’s arena of death. The cliché is an easy one: Jesus had to leave, but he left a community. The harder thing: John leaves a community of footwashers to show his love to a watching public world: Jesus’ presence in the world is displayed by a mutually loving church that demonstrates the leveling of humanity, the horizontality of God’s love.
Our focus is John 13:33–35—and how these verses stand in the midst of the footwashing scene, surrounded by a traitor among them (Judas) and Peter’s brash, impatient display of allegiance.
Little children, yet a little while I am with you. You will seek me, and just as I said to the Jews, so now I also say to you, ‘Where I am going you cannot come.’ 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. By this all people will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another” (John 13:33–35).
Everything seems driven by these words from our Lord, here in chapter 13 and all through John 13-17. So we will center on these verses through the footwashing and the outer bookends texts about Judas and Peter in John’s narrative.
I. Setting the stage with the footwashing example–Jesus prepares his new community for his departure
II. The juxtaposition: The Traitor (Judas) and Brash, Impatient Denier (Peter)
III. The power and habits of our text: The Presence of Jesus is the loving-one-another church–the visible, tangible leveling power of the gospel
For the full sermon text, please click the download file below . . .
Dangerous Sunday Morning Devotions: Loving one another, a remedy for status and celebrity superiority
We know that Jesus left his disciplesus with a “new commandment,” which we read and hear in John 13:
“A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another, even as I have loved you, that you also love one another. By this all men will know that you are My disciples, if you have love for one another” (John 13:34-35).
We are familiar with this “new command,” yet at more so the sentimental level. We, however, need allow the context of the story surrounding this command to “love one another to fill the content of this love--the purpose of this love. There are plenteous commands regarding love and loving one's neighbor; so, why is this one particularly a "new" command?
When Jesus was bidding his disciples farewell, for his time, that is his demise, was approaching—the time when the King of kings would be betrayed by a close friend; the time when the promised Messiah would face a rigged and illegal trail by those threatened by his very presence; the time when the Messiah-Rabbi-Discipler would be abandoned by the very ones he had trained; and, the time when the Prince of life would be hung on a Roman cross as a traitor and criminal--he gave some final instructions. Have you noticed that this new command to love one another is given within the context of betrayal.
Reading through Acts, the Luke's inspired volume of the early days of the apostles, we don’t see a whole lot of foot-washing and, as well, no such instruction is addressed in the Epistles to the churches. So what are we to make of following Jesus’ example? Why, then, is Jesus' final instructions important to the early church and for us now? The example seems instructive for a community with now leverage and no platform for its message. Perhaps the instruction is an ironic means of survival and endurance--a preventative measure and an embedded community habit against alignment with those who would be betrayers of Messiah and the brethren, inside and out.
The following episode, the conversation between Jesus and Peter, is the first “test case.” Typically the focus is on Peter’s misplaced sense of humility, that is, his desire to prohibit Jesus from washing his feet. This foil links Peter to the betrayal framing (noted above), for we read, after Peter’s “wash all of me” over-reach (v. 9), Jesus immediately refocuses on Judas’ betrayal (vv. 10-11). The ensuing exchange between Jesus and Peter solidifies this “betrayal” direction (cf. v. 11). The table fellowship around the final meal where Jesus is the host puts Judas in the place of honor, sitting to Jesus’ side (i.e., his immediate left or right depending on the side of the table Jesus actually sat on and as Jewish tradition informs us). We are, then, in a sense (at least figuratively) sitting in that place of honor (because that's where we seek to be, is it not?). We seek to sit in the place of honor, only to be reseated elsewhere after the host arrives and the meal has begun; the place where Peter and John’s mother wanted them seated next to Jesus, but alas it was reserved for someone else: Judas, the betrayer.
Then, after Jesus reveals the betrayer to John and Peter (vv. 21-29) and prior to the “new command,” we hear Jesus explain:
“Therefore when he had gone out, Jesus said, ‘Now is the Son of Man glorified, and God is glorified in Him; if God is glorified in Him, God will also glorify Him in Himself, and will glorify Him immediately. Little children, I am with you a little while longer. You will seek Me; and as I said to the Jews, now I also say to you, ‘Where I am going, you cannot come’” (vv. 31-33).
Then, Jesus immediately launches into what fulfills the example of the foot washing:
“A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another, even as I have loved you, that you also love one another. By this all men will know that you are My disciples, if you have love for one another” (vv. 34-35).
Pause long here enough to note, Peter does not hear the “new commandment.” What did the brazen, self-righteous future pillar of the church hear? The glory. Jesus mentions “glory” fives times in the space of two verses (vv. 31-32). Peter and the apostles focused on the grand movement of glory associated with Jesus, the promised Messiah and King. And, what? We can’t go with you? This is exactly what Peter hears and responds to:
“Simon Peter said to Him, “‘Lord, where are You going?’” (v. 36).
Peter does not hear, “Love one another.” He hears “glory.” He wants the “glory.” Judas’ place of honor at the table as it were. Jesus reveals that, even, Peter can be aligned with the betrayer. For, in fact this is exactly what Jesus implies when he challenged Peter's rash, bravado.
Chip M. Anderson, advocate for biblical social action; pastor of an urban church plant in the Hill neighborhood of New Haven, CT; husband, father, author, former Greek & NT professor; and, 19 years involved with social action.