Love That Stoops

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A Love That Stoops

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Tonight marks the beginning of the Paschal Triduum, the three days we walk through the crucifixion, death, burial, and resurrection of Christ. As our Collect and reading from Paul remind us, today marks the night when Jesus instituted the sacrament of the Eucharist.

But our reading for this evening in John’s gospel doesn’t include the bread and cup. While the story is still centered around the table, the meal itself is absent, and instead, we hear the story of Jesus taking a towel and washing the disciples’ feet.

Have you ever wondered why the story of the foot washing does not appear in the other gospels and why the meal is absent from John? That question kept coming back to me this week as I was reading all four gospel accounts of this night.

I read a take on that question this week that I had not considered before. Some scholars believe that John's giving us footwashing and not the institution of communion is not an omission but a theological lens on communion itself. They say this is not a replacement for the Eucharist, but a reinterpretation of it, that John 13 embodies the meaning of the Eucharist rather than narrating the ritual.

We believe that in the Eucharist, Christ is really present—not only in the bread and wine, but in us. We are made participants in his self-offering, becoming his Body in the world.

In John’s account of this night, Peter is uncomfortable when Christ takes up the towel. It’s too much. Too intimate. “You will never wash my feet,” he says.

And honestly, I get it. There’s something unsettling about Jesus stooping down to such a low place. It’s supposed to be the work of a servant. And yet here is the Lord, bending over dirty, calloused feet and pouring water.

Jesus responds to Peter: “Unless I wash you, you have no share with me.”

That word share—meros in Greek—isn’t just about proximity or being part of a group. It’s the same word used for inheritance. It means participation. Communion. Jesus isn’t just cleansing dust from toes—he’s drawing his disciples into his very life. Into his love and his mission.

What’s happening in this moment is not merely a gesture of hospitality. It is sacramental. It’s Eucharist in action. The self-giving of Christ is not just symbolized—it is enacted. This is love made visible and embodied.

Jesus—“knowing that the Father had given all things into his hands, and that he had come from God and was going to God”—gets up from the table and he kneels.

This is what he chooses to do with power. Self-emptying love is not a detour from divinity—it is the very revelation of it.

John doesn’t give us the words of institution—he doesn’t say, “This is my body… this is my blood…” Instead, he gives us this moment. Jesus stooping. Washing. Offering himself. Because in John’s gospel, this is the body broken. This is the blood poured out.

This is who God is. This is who is present with us at the table.

And the language Paul uses in 1 Corinthians when describing that same night makes this even clearer. He tells us that Jesus instituted the Eucharist “On the night he was handed over…” Not simply betrayed—though that’s how it’s often translated. And it’s the same words Paul uses again in Romans when he says, “He who did not withhold his own Son, but handed him over for us all…”

Jesus didn’t just give himself in service, washing feet. He gave himself—allowed himself to be handed over to death. Jesus is not a passive victim in what is to come. He is the willing gift of divine love. He is handed over—by Judas, yes. But also by God. And by his own obedience.

This handing over—at the table and on the cross—is not defeat. It is victory. Not in the sense the world defines it. Not domination and spectacle. But in humility and service. This is Christ’s victory—not by the sword, but by the towel.

And what’s remarkable is that Jesus does this knowing full well what is coming. He washes the feet of Peter, who will deny him. Judas, who will betray him. The others, who will run away in fear. And still—he kneels. Still—he pours. Still—he loves.

This is not just love in general. It’s not theoretical or sentimental. It is particular. It’s embodied.

It is a love that stoops.

And that’s the new commandment Jesus gives his disciples that very same night. Today is called Maundy Thursday. This comes from the Latin  mandatum novum - which means new commandment.

After he returns to the table Jesus says: “I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.”

“Do this,” Jesus says—not just in bread and wine, but in basin and towel.

The Eucharist and the footwashing are not two separate ideas but one expression of divine self-giving. And both are invitations into a new way of being. The command is not only to remember him, but to resemble him.

Because to be part of this Body—to share in Christ—is to take on his posture. To allow him to wash us, but then to become washers of feet ourselves. To enter the world not as those grasping for power but as those pouring ourselves out in love.

And that’s what makes this night so staggering.

The power of God is revealed not in domination, but in surrender. Not in spectacle, but in service. The glory of God is not a shining throne but a basin of water and the bruised knees of the one who kneels.

This is who God is. And this is who we are called to be.

To share in Christ’s life is to share in this downward movement. A life of stooping. Of bending low for the sake of others. A love that is not transactional or performative, but freely given.

It’s a love that gets up from the table, ties on a towel, and dares to kneel in front of another. Tonight, we will come forward not just to remember but to participate. In the bread, in the cup, in the water. In this stooping, self-giving love.

And in doing so, we hear again the call: “Do this. Do this in remembrance of me.”

So may we remember—not just with our minds but with our bodies. May we be washed. May we be changed.And may we go out from this place ready to love—ready to stoop—In his name.

Amen.