was it the tattoos?

Thursday of the

Fourth Week of Easter

May 7th

READING: John 13: 16-20

Very truly, I tell you, servants are not greater than their master, nor are messengers greater than the one who sent them. If you know these things, you are blessed if you do them. I am not speaking of all of you; I know whom I have chosen. But it is to fulfil the scripture, “The one who ate my bread has lifted his heel against me.” I tell you this now, before it occurs, so that when it does occur, you may believe that I am he. Very truly, I tell you, whoever receives one whom I send receives me; and whoever receives me receives him who sent me.’

~~~

New Revised Standard Version Bible: Anglicised Catholic Edition, copyright © 1989, 1993, 1995 the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

 REFLECTION

During what was to become the Last Supper Jesus launches into a peculiar demonstration of foot-washing. Then he moves on to some sort of a discourse explaining, some scholars say, what the foot-washing was all about. I don’t believe the foot-washing needs much explanation. Interestingly, Judas was still there: God’s humble love stretches quite a long way, yeah?

Then Peter starts, yet again prematurely, to glorify his friend Jesus. But Jesus cuts him short. “Mate, there are some who claim they’re on my case, but basically, bro, they just don’t get it, yet.” Shortly afterwards Judas will slink off into the night to betray Jesus. A little later Peter will do a runner. But they both have clean feet. Grace is a pretty good deal, I reckon.

In this context Jesus launches into a brief exposition of community. “Whoever receives one whom I send receives me.” Manaakitanga is a good start: radical welcome. Come, be our guest at the table of Jesus. No: be Jesus’ guest at the table of Jesus. Some of you will know the story of a former faith community in which I worked, where a sidesperson eyed a newcomer up and down, before politely telling her that she had come to the wrong place. 

Was it the tattoos, or the skin that was darker than his? (As it happens that visitor was stubborn: two years later I had the privilege of baptising her at one of the most God-breathed liturgies I have ever experienced).

As a rule of thumb, I suggest that inclusion, or its stronger word-cousin inclusivity, should be the yardstick of church policy. Peter kinda sugar-coats Jesus, but he hasn’t yet seen the degraded depths to which Jesus-love will reach. The Cross is a rather nasty place to find God, but the psalmist saw it long before “though I descend to the depths of hell, you are there also,” he tells God. That’s quite a long reach. As long, the psalmist would say, as the East is from the West. Our job (even before lockdown de-regulations let us do it face to face) is to imitate the radical inclusivity of Jesus, to be wherever we are, a place of grace and gladness. .