The Towel, the Table, and the Torn World
There’s a preacher who once said, “I’ve never had a harder time convincing people to come forward than on Maundy Thursday.” Why? Because nobody wants someone else looking at their feet—especially after a long day in old sandals walking the dusty streets of Jerusalem. Just imagine what Peter’s feet looked like!
Let’s be honest: foot washing is uncomfortable. It’s vulnerable. And that’s exactly the point. Tonight is no ordinary Thursday. It’s a sacred collision of towel, table, and a torn world. Here, Jesus doesn’t just talk about love—He enacts it. And then He commands: “Go and do likewise.”
In Jesus’ time, foot washing wasn’t a nicety—it was a necessity. People walked for miles in sandals, among animals, through dirt and filth. Washing feet wasn’t a luxury; it was humiliating work—the job of the lowest slave. So when Jesus—their Lord, their Rabbi, their Messiah—gets up from the table, removes His outer robe, kneels with towel and basin, it’s earth-shattering.
“He loved them to the end.” (John 13:1) Peter’s reaction says it all: “You will never wash my feet!” But Jesus responds, “Unless I wash you, you have no part with me.” He’s not just removing dirt. He’s redefining greatness. In a world obsessed with power and position, Jesus lifts a towel. Foot washing wasn’t a ritual. It was a revolution.
Before the basin and towel, there was the table. Exodus 12 tells the story of the first Passover—a God who rescues in the dead of night. Sandals on. Staffs in hand. The blood of the lamb on the doorposts. That blood-marked door became a doorway to freedom. The Passover was the original freedom meal. It proclaimed: “God sees your suffering. God hears your cry. God delivers.” And that cry still echoes today.
In 1 Corinthians 11, Paul doesn’t just relay the words of institution. He warns a divided church: “You’re eating without recognising the body.” Some feasted while others went hungry. Some came to church to be seen, not to serve. Sound familiar? Paul reminds us: The Lord’s Supper is not a private snack. It’s a public proclamation: “For whenever you eat this bread and drink this cup, you proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes.” To eat without love, to worship without humility— is to miss the point.
Psalm 116 sings our gratitude: “I love the Lord, for he heard my voice.” It’s the song of the rescued soul, the one who asks: “What shall I return to the Lord for all his goodness to me?” The answer? Not more rules. Not louder worship. A towel. A table. A cross. You return love with servant-hearted surrender.
Let’s bring this home. The world is fractured. Political chaos in the USA affects trade, diplomacy, and even global morale. Polarisation spreads faster than kindness. We are strangers on the same street. In the era of social media, people unfollow instead of forgive. We define ourselves by who we’re against, not who we’re for.
We sometimes forget the towel. We argue about music, doctrine, and who gets to lead. We pray for revival, but resist reconciliation. In families, there are wounds too deep for words. Siblings who haven’t spoken in years. Parents and children in need of healing. What if we washed each other’s feet?
Jesus asks, “Do you know what I have done to you?” He doesn’t say, “Wasn’t that nice?” He says: “I have set you an example… now go and do likewise.” Not just remember me. Represent Me. Not just receive grace. Become a vessel of it.
May this Maundy Thursday move us beyond comfort and into compassion, beyond ritual and into revolutionary love. Amen