Ritual Behavior

April 1, 2010 – Maundy Thursday

Exodus 12:1-14 and John 13:1-17

Both readings we just heard are set at the point of maximum danger – lives at stake, future unsettled, political arrangements in turmoil.

In one, Hebrew slaves get ready to break out of Egypt while God rains down sorrow on the firstborn of all the Egyptians. A desert lies ahead; chariots and armored soldiers behind. Risks are high, chances slim. Not a moment to spare.

But first … a supper. Before scrambling out of bloodstained doorways, and before the mad dash to the sea they must cross … a supper – one last supper in the world they are leaving behind. Bread baked before it has time to rise, served with bitter herbs. Lamb or goat hastily half-butchered, then roasted on a spit.

Fifteen hundred years later, in the second account, another hasty exit. Someone is about to depart – “depart from this world and go to the Father.”

Death looms. Judas lurks. Soldiers prowl. Caiaphas, Herod, and Pontius Pilate conspire. Blood once painted on doorframes will soon be on their hands.

The moment has arrived – the decisive moment of all of human history, some would say.

But first … a supper. Before hastening out into the gathering darkness, before the anguished prayer in the garden … one last supper with those he loved until the end.

* *

Go figure.

In dire circumstances, God’s people sit down to eat. Before doing what needs to be done, they pause … and share a meal.

The stage is set for them to do too much too fast. But they do less … and let God.

No headlong rush – though it had to be tempting. No flurry of activity, in Exodus or the Gospel. The urge to panic gives way to routine. The action comes to them, they don’t go to it.

Before diving in to what will be, they refocus … re-center … and share … a ritual.

They follow the age-old advice: “Don’t just do something; sit there.”

* *

For most of us, “ritual” is less than inspiring. A toothache in a candy shop is preferable. “Ritual” conjures up images of unending sameness. Dull and dry routines. Meaninglessness. Boredom. The last thing we want.

But our God is a God of symbols. And God uses symbols as a way of declaring that the same power that saved us in the past will save us again.

Bread and lamb and bitter herbs were signs to the Hebrews that God will not stand for people to be enslaved. God will not abide people having less than they need to survive. And God does not intend one person to be master over many.

Jesus was born and raised in a culture that ate the bread and lamb and herbs. He knew what those things represented. The meal overflowed with meaning for him.

He also found other symbols to reveal God’s work to the world. Symbols – like the robe he wore. Pay attention to the way he takes it off and puts it on. It’s a sign of his being “stripped” of his life, then re-clothed in living flesh.

It’s a promise of resurrection. Not just a recapitulation of what God did in the past, but a pre-capitulation of what God will do. It’s a clue to what is about to unfold.

Jesus serves his people not only by washing their feet, but by giving up his life … then putting it back on. Just like the robe.

Simple ritual becomes a sign of God’s power to do a new thing and work in new ways. It’s a warning (in a good way) that our salvation is near.

* *

That’s not all. Jesus also works with the symbols contained in words.

In Exodus (12:14), the Passover meal instructions say that, “This day shall be a day of remembrance for you.”

And, in Matthew, Mark and Luke, Jesus echoes that when he gives bread and wine to his disciples, saying, “Do this in remembrance of me.”

Ancient words about remembering are borrowed, transformed and made new. It’s no accident that Jesus does this. He’s linking past ritual to the very real present.

Even the word “remembrance” takes on meaning. The Greek says, Do this in an-amnesis of me. “Un-amnesia” of me! Do this so that you don’t get amnesia. So you do not forget.

Ritual is reworked and extended so our memories don’t go soft.

“Remembrance of me.” What once was a day of remembrance becomes our remembrance of Christ. He becomes the new Passover for the world, the one who leads people out of slavery, oppression, and trouble … into life.

The Gospel of John plays along, with a little pun to help make the point. Our translation says, “Before the festival of the Passover, Jesus knew that his hour had come to depart …”

But that verse literally says, “Before the festival of the Passover, Jesus knew that his hour had come to pass over from this world, and go to the Father.”

In John, Jesus becomes the new “exodus” – the new path for God’s people.

But neither John, nor Jesus, nor any of us would see that without a familiar point of reference. Ritual, centered around the table, brings the past to life in discernable ways. It gives us confidence to act, not in the haste of our own decisions, but trusting in the flesh-powered presence of God.

* *

There are limits, of course, to what rituals can do. Evidently, they don’t ward off danger very well. Not for Israel. After eating the Passover and fleeing their Egyptian homes, they weren’t Scot free. They had to endure forty years in the desert … days without food … or water … the lure of golden calves … and who knows what else.

Breaking bread according to the ancient ritual and custom didn’t help Jesus either. Or the disciples. The last shroud he wore was not made of bulletproof Kevlar or slippery Teflon for protection, but rough burlap … again, stained with blood.

Ritual alone does not save.

* *

But it does do one thing. The meal … and the robe … and the other symbols of this night enable us to “love one another.”

They help us remember that Israel was passed over by God’s judgment in Egypt, and Jesus “passed over” from this world to God so that we would “love one another.”

That’s what he instructed his followers to do after filling their stomachs and washing their feet. “Love one another.” It’s what this night is all about. It’s the mandate in Maundy Thursday … and what all the “passing over” by Jesus and God leads to. “I have set you an example,” Jesus says,

… that you should do as I have done to you …

If you know these things, you are blessed if you do them.”

I give you a new commandment, that you love one another.

As I have loved you, you also should love one another.

Love one another – not by going through the motions in a dry “ritual” fashion. But love one another as a sign and a symbol so you do not forget that God in Christ first loved us.

“Love one another.” If we don’t, how can we bear the sorrow of all the Good Fridays we face? And how can we show the new life of Easter?

“Love one another.”

May this love be found among us tonight, and on the coming day of resurrection. Amen.