Maundy Thursday

The Passover story is filled with competing ideas.

The psalmist’s declaration of love is also a declaration of voice.

It’s hard to take it strictly on its own terms.

Overcoming the reluctance to be served requires something that looks and feels a lot like faith.

As I pressed my sermon’s pages across the book’s valley, I couldn’t keep them from sliding into the groove.

Turns out there are a lot of them.

Jesus’ new commandment isn’t about who we should love. It’s about how.

Being a part of a community requires allowing others to care for us, even the parts we hope to keep hidden.

We need to find a way to wash each other’s feet, even when waging war feels better.

If our faith cannot help us escape tribulations, then what should we do when we face them?

How might the church’s history have been different if foot washing had caught on more widely?

The lamb’s blood isn’t insurance against the wrath of God. It is a proclamation of fealty.

Why Howard Thurman dedicated his autobiography to a stranger

Jesus seems to encourage a kind of musical chairs, no one staying put for very long.

Would Peter resist having his feet washed by another disciple?