“Jesus knew that the Father had put
everything into His hands, and that
He had come from God and was
returning to God…” --John 13:3
Just before the last supper, the night before He was to die, according to John’s Gospel, Jesus seems to have a deeper or more profound knowledge, special insight, into His mission, His role, His person. He knew that God had delivered everything into His hands—implying a kind of completeness—and John seems to recognize that Jesus understood in a new or special way where He had come from, and where He was going. Some theologians have interpreted this as depicting or expressing a moment when the human consciousness of Jesus is receding into (or reuniting with) the wholeness of the Divine; as if to say that whatever limits may have been upon His human understanding are fading as He prepares to re-unite completely with the Father.
Okay, but my first reaction is: I guess. But, if He’s God, didn’t He really know this all along[1]?
My second reaction, is to ponder. And this morning, reading this chapter of John’s Gospel on the front porch with the blue jays pecking at the peanuts and a flock of thrushes peppering the sky, darting in and out of neighboring trees, hopping about in the grass, I found myself pondering this idea: Jesus suddenly knew these things and knowing them, what does He do? He overturns all religious and cultural conventions: He acts like a servant and begins washing His disciples’ feet. (cf13:5).
And when Peter complains about Him doing this, Jesus doesn’t explain. He just says: You’ll understand this later. And to make sure, He sits the disciples down and tells them point blank: Pay attention! This was more than just a hygiene lesson. If you want to follow me, I just showed you the way. (cf 13:15)
It is easy to be sentimental and say to ourselves, I want to be like Jesus. But, living it is something else. For instance: last night I came home from work tired, neck tight from slouching over a computer. All I wanted was to change clothes, go for a walk and read a little Agatha Christie. But I could see that Lynne was working very hard, and there were still chores that needed doing, litter boxes that needed cleaning, etc. So, I changed clothes and started to help.
At some point I realized there were no dinner plans. So, I got out tortillas, eggs, salsa and cheese and started making tacos. And seeing that my wife was just as tired as I was, I brought her a couple of tacos on a plate and gave her a kiss. I told Sophie and Lucy there were taco fixings and warmed up some more tortillas and sat down to eat. A Hallmark movie was on the TV, and I felt like I finally had a moment to myself, so I opened up the I-pad and started looking at the NY Times. But, sometimes Paul Krugman isn’t as fun as Facebook, so I started flipping through pictures and silly videos. Just as I was beginning to wonder why I was watching another TCM commercial, Lynne asked me if I would be willing to rub her neck. For an instant I felt like Peter. Resentment welled up inside me. I had just done everything, cooked, served, even protected the leftovers from a cat. Inside me a voice cried out: What about me? Don’t I deserve to be massaged, or comforted, or even just left alone?
But living like Jesus isn’t just about sentiment, and humility, and it certainly isn’t about fairness. It’s about divinity. Knowing who He is and what He was made for, Jesus empties Himself and becomes a servant—a slave.
Pondering these verses, I realize that every moment, every choice, it is all in my hands. I can choose to follow the example of Jesus, or I act like Peter and complain. I can choose to pursue my own desires and ego. Or I can lay down my life (or my I-pad) in service to my wife, and to God: the one who made me and to whom I will return.
And, like Jesus, I can know: This is what I was made for.
Lord,
Open my eyes, that I read Your word more clearly,
Open my ears, that I hear Your message more fully,
And open my heart, and let me be filled
with the love that is found there.
[1] My instinct, too often, is to look for a loophole or point of debate. Which may just be part of growing up as the middle child in a largish family. Always watching for a way to score points, make an impression, make myself stand apart from the crowd… But it probably also comes from studying theology and philosophy at the University of St. Thomas with those delightfully odd Basilians and their Thomistic Center. We were taught to ask questions, to be curious, to explore ideas and push against the envelope—but always with humility and always in service of the truth.
