I don’t know what your default imagination of God and Jesus is, but often, when my mind is uninformed by God’s word, I can think of Him as a stern site inspector looking down on me and the mess of my current workspace, and filling out His clipboard in judgmental silence.
What I don’t imagine is Him looking up at me as He washes my fungal-infected toes.
This, for me, is the marvel of Maundy Thursday: that God in human flesh did not enter the world to be served by it but rather to serve it—to serve us—and give His life as a ransom for many (Mark 10:45). To put it bluntly, He came to remove the dung that we got ourselves into.
When I mess up—and I have a lot this week—I bow my head, but this is exactly where the Christ of John 13 stations Himself to meet our gaze.
“As the eyes of slaves look to the hand of their master, as the eyes of a female slave look to the hand of her mistress, so our eyes look to the LORD our God,” goes Psalm 123.
But in Christ, in this moment, we find the reverse. Not us looking up to the Lord but the Lord stooping down and looking up to find us.
It’s been 2 months since ARC.
I’m pleased I went. Saving civilization is a fine way to spend one's Monday morning—much better than doing the recycling or removing 2-year-old Fruit Pastilles from the carpeted floor of our car. But what is the civilization we are trying to save?
Britain must “mine its inheritance,” as Philippa Stroud stated in her opening speech. It must, in my opinion, carve out a new multicultural identity if it is to be happy. But first it needs to work out what is at the centre.
The royal family, the Church, Islam, or the National Trust. What core values, institutions, religions, or individuals do we wish to wrap this project around?
Well, given a choice between the regalia and relational strain of King Charles III’s home life, the violence of Islam, or the woke rot of the National Trust, really we have only one choice left.
I’ve been blessed to frequent a number of Anglican churches recently. There are some truly beautiful ones down in Eyesford near us (including a stained-glass window of the late Queen Elizabeth opposite King Charles I, both also kneeling).
Much as I disagree with Anglicanism (see Where’s Welby for more detail), more and more I am appreciating its value. For what other institution spans culture, faith, and daily function as the 17,000 cold, spiky, and hopefully pewed buildings around our country?
The only rival to the UK church is the British pub. Tragically, you can find more God-fearing words on the lips of a 9 a.m. pint sinker at your local Spoons than some Anglican ministers, but really, the pub can never rival the Church in its scope or centerpiece.
The pulling arm is missing a crossbeam.
At the centre of the Church is Christ and His cross. His historic example, both in washing His disciples’ feet and then going to His sacrificial death on the cross, outstrips the actions of every religious leader from Buddha to Baháʼu'lláh, Moses to Mohammed, and everyone in between. . This is to be expected of God Himself. But the marvel should not be lost: that God Himself did this. I am pleased we still remember this for now.
A country built around God does well. A country built around Christ does better!
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