If I call God “God” I speak truthfully. If I call God “Lord” I speak submissively. If I call God “King” I speak servilely. But if I dare to call God “my Father,” I speak with a brassy audacity, chutzpah, that is shockingly familiar and intimate. So it seems anyway. You dare to call the Master of the Universe “Father”? You dare to call the One who controls heaven and hell “Father”? You call the Omnipotent one “Father”? Who do you think you are? It is difficult to imagine a more audacious act than to stand before the Creator of the world and to name him “Father.” And mean it. And not only to mean it, but to act and speak as a child acts and speaks before a loving and doting Dad. It’s shocking. It’s exhilarating. And it’s beautiful beyond words. But here’s a secret: it’s not really chutzpah. It’s not some brassy boldness that we work ourselves into, nor it is gained by swallowing a bottle of liquid spiritual courage, as it were. To call God “Father” is simply to live in the space which Jesus created. To move from residing far from God as his enemy; or on the other side of town from him as a stranger; or down the street as an acquaintance; or in an adjoining house as a servant; and to move into our own bedroom as a child in his family. To wake up in the morning and see our Father sipping a cup of coffee and saying, “Good morning, my child,” as we respond, “Good morning, Father.” You see, when we live in this house, when we move into the room built by Jesus, we inhabit the home not merely of a Master or Lord or King, but the one who’s given us his name and made us his own, now and forever. “Our Father”: two of the most amazing words ever uttered.

Today we remember that God washes our feet. The fingers that crafted the universe scrub scum from between toes. The hands that painted the cosmos wash feet painted with dirt and sweat. The One before whom all angels bow gets on his knees to labor as a slave. We become clean, he becomes filthy. In doing this, Jesus our God gives us a humble epiphany, a revelation of who he is. He is the God who makes his glory visible in lowliness and servitude. He is the God who gives -his cheek to the betraying lips of Judas -his face to the slapping hand of the high priest -his countenance to the spit of the Sanhedrin. He is the God who gives -his head to the thorns -his feet to the spikes -his side to the spear. He is the God who embraces rejection, shame, torture, and death, to give himself to you. And here is why: because that’s who God is. He is the God who is love. Therefore he loves you by giving to you. For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son. What he gives you is nothing less than himself. God gives, you receive. This is everything. He not only washes your feet; he washes you clean, body and soul, through the holy bath in his name. He fills the baptismal font with water from his spear-pierced side and kneels there to wash off the dirt and sweat and grime of your evil. He feeds you himself, his body, his blood. Every natural food we take into our bodies is transformed into our bodies. We don't become corn on the cob or hamburgers. But the supper of our Lord is different. This food transforms you into that which it is. You, the church, are the body of Christ. You are what you eat. So, come and eat. Come and drink. Come to the lowly God who has joined you in your lowliness that he might exalt you in himself. On Maundy Thursday, let us recall, with thanksgiving, how fitting it all is: How fitting that humanity, which plunged into death by eating forbidden fruit, should receive life and immortality by a meal provided by our Savior, the Last Adam. How fitting that sinners, their unity rent asunder by hatred and violence, should be gathered into one communion by partaking of the one loaf, baked from many scattered grains. How fitting that we, who are hard pressed and beaten down by evil, should be comforted and uplifted by drinking from the Lord’s cup, filled with the blood of grapes that have been trampled and pressed underfoot. How divinely and beautifully fitting, on this holy Thursday, that we have our feet lovingly washed by the very God from whom we once ran in terror and shame. Here is our God, Jesus Christ, who comes not to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.