Sermons

The Holiness of Bodies 

In the name of the triune God: Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer. Amen. 

In the days leading up to her installation last week, the Archbishop of Canterbury, Sarah Mullally, walked the pilgrim path from London down to Canterbury. It was six days and 87 miles, and I appreciated how humble she looked in black clericals (the clothing of a priest) and a red rain jacket. She used her bishop’s staff (a crozier, meant to symbolize the bishop’s role as a shepherd for the people) as an actual walking stick, not just a ceremonial object. I think it would have been really funny if they’d, I don’t know, hired a herd of sheep to follow her on the journey. But she did have many human companions. 

In her installation sermon, she said, “I have been aware that I make this journey both on a personal level … but more significantly, I make this journey with others and in the footsteps of the past.” 

I make this journey with others and in the footsteps of the past. That sounds to me a lot like what we as Christians do on these holiest days as we remember the triumphal entry into Jerusalem, the Last Supper, the crucifixion, and the resurrection of Jesus. And it is important, and it’s even more than important, it is crucial, and a testament to the incarnation, that we do this not just with our minds and our hearts, but with our bodies. Archbishop Sarah didn’t Zoom into her installation. She traversed paths, crossed rivers, and met many other travelers on the road. 

This week, we are traveling our own road. At Palm Sunday, we shouted Hosanna and waved palms in a reenactment of what the crowd did when Jesus entered the holy city. And in Sermon Seminar, a couple of people commented about how that act helps us enter the story in an embodied way. But we don’t just do embodied actions for this week of the year. Every week when we gather, we join this story of Jesus’s last week on earth. Because each week Michele and I stand up at this altar and say “On the night he was betrayed, our Lord Jesus Christ took bread, blessed, broke and gave it to his disciples.” And we come forward and share in this holy meal.

In a meeting to plan this service, we were talking about the logistics of foot washing, which is a unique part of Maundy Thursday. There’s a lot that goes into it: water, basins, pitchers, towels. But I wonder whether the logistics of foot washing are any more complicated than those of communion. It’s just that we do that every week. Both of these holy traditions come out of the story of the Last Supper. So imagine that we could be doing foot washing every week and communion once a year. I wonder how or if our witness would be different if that were the case. 

Rowan Williams, another Archbishop of Canterbury and a leading Anglican theologian, writes in his book Being Human about the different ways our bodies have of knowing. He writes that transhumanist philosophy treats humans like brains in a vat, in a complete disregard of our bodies. But Williams argues that some things we learn to “know” are located outside our minds, in our bodies: how to shift your weight on a bicycle to make a slight turn, how to manipulate your voice to reach a high note. These ways of knowing can’t be contained only in our minds. 

We can imagine what it’s like to eat at the heavenly banquet where all are welcome, and all are fed. But it’s another thing to experience a foretaste of it here on earth, to stand next to someone, someone you do not know, or someone you may or may not be fond of, to feel the bread in your hand, to touch the chalice to your lips, to wait as all in the circle are served. This is an experience we can only have because of our utter humanity. 

And we can talk about servant leadership. We can think about it, imagine it, donate money to it. But it’s another thing to hold another person’s foot in your hand, to gently pour water over it, to dry it carefully, to look in their eyes and know that you’ve shared a sacred moment. Indeed, the stoles worn by clergy are thought to be a symbol of a towel. To be ordained in the church is to commit oneself not just to nourishment of souls, but to caring for the bodies of those whom you serve. 

We are not redeemed in spite of our bodies; we are redeemed through our bodies. In the story of Jesus that we heard in the gospel, we see the example of how to treat one another. We see that our bodies are holy. Even feet, the most earth-bound, humble part of the body, are worthy of care, not just from ourselves but from others. And in setting the example that we should wash one another’s feet, we experience what it is like to both give and receive God’s love and one another’s love. And for some of us, giving is hard. And for some of us, receiving is hard. 

I know for me, it’s the receiving of foot washing that is the harder of the two. I’m a giver. I want to take care of people. But letting people take care of me, scary. And I’ve also got a complicated relationship with my feet! I’ve had two major surgeries on my left foot and ankle, leaving me with scars down both sides. That’s why, after I went to Jerusalem in 2019 and chose to get the Jerusalem cross tattooed on my body, I chose my left foot. I think I needed the reminder that that part of me was holy, too. I get reminded of that annually at this service. 

Okay, I know I’ve given you the hard sell on foot washing. And I’m guessing a few of you came tonight and didn’t know that foot washing would be part of this service. Anybody? And I’m guessing that more than a few of you came tonight and said to yourself, “I’m coming to Maundy Thursday, but I don’t want to do any of that foot washing nonsense.” But I want to encourage you to be open to the Holy Spirit if you find yourself inclined to join in. 

Immediately after my sermon, Jeff will play a hymn. If you wish to participate, please come forward. I’ve seen it happen where you may feel like you need a partner to come up, but anyone is welcome in any configuration: ones or twos or threes. The vergers will make sure you get what you need. I encourage you to participate by both washing and being washed, because they are different experiences. But if you feel like you can only participate in one or the other, please still come forward. 

I’m going to end by quoting lines from the bulletin written by our rector, Michele Morgan, whom I know we are all holding up tonight as she grieves the loss of her brother. She writes, “Let this be a space to reflect on the depth of God’s love, a love that kneels, serves, and meets us right where we are.”

Amen.