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The Upper Room
Easter at West Side
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The Upper Room
George Madox Brown, Jesus Washing Peter’s Feet, oil on canvas (1852-56)
It was just before the Passover Festival. Jesus knew that the hour had come for him to leave this world and go to the Father. Having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end. (John 13:1 ESV)
The Upper Room
Come with me to the Upper room. Why was it an “upper” room?
Fine houses, places of prominence had upper rooms, so maybe it had to be an upper room, befitting a king. The Temple of Solomon was so grand it had “upper rooms” (1 Chron 28:11); Jeremiah complained about those who force their neighbors to build their grand palaces complete with “spacious upper rooms” (Jer 22:13-14). After all, Jesus doesn’t just say it was an upper room, but a “large” upper room, and fully furnished (Lk 22:12).
Maybe it was foreshadowing places of Christian gatherings, which often took place in upper rooms in the book of Acts (1:13; 9:37-39; 20:7-8). But I still wonder why. Why did early Christians often break bread and take the Lord’s Supper in upper rooms? Why did Jesus institute the Supper in an upper room?
As long as we are guessing, can I offer another possibility: An upper room is high and lifted up.
High, and lifted up.
It was just before the Passover Festival. Jesus knew that the hour had come for him to leave this world and go to the Father. Having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end.
Did you catch that? “The end.” John says “We’ve come to the end. I’m about to reveal the purpose of this entire story, the climax to which this moving piece has been heading all along.”
What is Jesus wearing in that upper room? Not much. We aren’t told so much what he put on as much as what he took off. “He took off his outer garments” to wrap his waist with a towel (Jn 13:4).
Just as Jesus left heaven, emptying himself of the trappings of glory to take up the role of a servant, Jesus leaves the table, puts aside his robe, and puts on a towel. Oh, he will put his robe back on and return to the table, just as he will be clothed with the glory he once had with the Father as he returns to His right hand in splendor. But that’s the post-script. The Encore. The surprise twist left out of the playbill. For now, we hear the soft sounding wind instruments and the foreboding sounds of the cello and oboe as they portend a sad and treacherous end. The end that comes to the humble servant who takes upon himself the sins of the world.
In 1852, Ford Madox Brown put oil to canvas to paint the scene of Jesus in the upper room, washing the disciples feet. In the original work, Jesus is only partially-clad, and it angered religious leaders and scandalized the public. The work sat for years as churches and private collectors refused to buy it. So he changed the picture with Jesus wearing a robe and only then did it sell at auction.
The text says He strips, high and lifted up.
Then Jesus bends down and washes his disciples’ feet.
This week, I have been reflecting on a wonderful sermon by Sam Wells, Vicar of St. Martin-in-the-Fields in London, who offered some fresh insights on a well-known text. His sermon centers on this line: Jesus bends down and washes his disciples’ feet. I wonder if any of us make the mistake of reading this as a preamble or side-point. After all, we might tell ourselves, the key point is that Jesus died in my place. He did what I couldn’t do. Secured for me a home in heaven. I am no longer seen in my sin, but in my Savior. It’s at the cross, at the cross, where I first saw the light, and the burden of my heart rolled away; it was there by faith I received my sight, and now I am happy all the day!
This bit about washing feet, well—we call that “service.” It’s a good thing to do. When we gather to celebrate the good news of the story, we eat, drink, and are merry. But yes, it’s good to also lend a hand to clean up after the pot luck. When I spend most hours of my day building my career, its good to lend an hour of volunteer service at the local soup kitchen, or to occasionally help walk an elderly person across the street. Service is good. Service is nice. We ought to do a little foot washing every now and again. But the story is about Jesus; not me. It’s about him taking my place and doing what can’t be done. In the cross, Jesus affirms, rather than makes any demands; he gave his life so we don’t have to give ours, right?
John says when Jesus kneels down and washes his disciples’ feet, this is the beginning of the end. This is part of the rising crescendo. This is crucial to the story.
He pours water into a basin; he offers a supper of wine and bread and says this is my body; this is my blood.
Water pours out; there is body and there is blood, offered by the stripped Son of God, high and lifted up.
We begin to see that the Upper Room foreshadows the cross. Jesus is showing in sign and service the implications of the cross. It tells us much about our Lord. But it also tells us something about what it means to follow our Lord.
Jesus doesn’t stay stripped forever. He only takes his outer garments off while he bends his knees to serve. In McGuiggan’s book The God of the Towel, he says on first reading, you think there are 12 servants and 1 Lord. But you are mistaken. There are 12 Lords—all wondering about themselves; all interested in their own affairs; all now with clean feet—because 12 Lords are being served by 1 servant. The suffering Servant. The suffering Servant of Isaiah 53.
Do you recall what happened just one chapter earlier? Jesus was reclining at table, at a dinner given in his honor. He’s sitting next to the resurrected Lazarus. That’s when Mary took half a liter of expensive perfume and poured it out on Jesus’ feet, wiping his feet with her hair. The people at the table are incredulous. The costliness of the perfume; the inappropriate actions of an unmarried woman toward a man in public. But Jesus silences them all, because she seems to be the only one who realizes that Jesus is about to die. “Leave her alone,” says the Lord; “It was intended that she should save this perfume for the day of my burial” (John 12:7). She douses his feet as one preparing a body for burial. When we get to chapter 13, we want to read this as nothing more than a story about servant-leadership, and how to be a 10%-er in your life, adding a few good deeds to round out a contented life.
But what if there is more going on here? There is no doubt that foot-washing is an act of incredible service, and that it serves as a beacon and calling card for selfless service among the disciples in the first-century church. A widow was to be financially cared for by the church if she was known for “washing the feet of the Lord’s people” (1 Tim 5:10). But John places this story between the anointing of Jesus’ feet and the walk to the cross for other reasons as well. There are layers of application here. Washing the feet of his disciples not only serves as a final call to selfless service. Jesus washes his disciples feet as he prepares them to die.
Peter first interprets the scene as an act of humble service. So he objects, “you’ll never wash my feet!” (Jn 13:6). He didn’t understand. We often don’t understand. So Jesus says to Peter, “you don’t realize now what I’m doing, but later you’ll understand” (Jn 13:7). “No, Peter,” says Jesus, “Unless I wash you, you have no part with me.”
Jesus’ pregnant language here can go in two directions. Maybe you hear an echo of baptism. I do. It is not hard to link washing of feet and the washing of baptism. The Apostle Paul will say “as many as were baptized into Christ have put on Christ” (Gal 3:27). It’s why Peter can later use pregnant language himself when he compares the waters of baptism with the waters of the flood; waters that seemed treacherous, but actually destroyed all the sinful temptations in the world. In a similar way, says Peter, “baptism also now saves us”—not that there is power in a bath, but it represents a clean conscience before God (1 Peter 3:21). Yes, I see the echo of baptism here: “unless I wash you, you have no part with me.”
But I also want to point out a different connection. Not a connection really so much as a contrast. Peter says, “if its true that unless you wash me I have no part with you, then baptize me! Wash my hands and head as well.” And so, in verse 10, Jesus draws out a contrast: “Those who have had a bath are clean; their whole body is clean. And you are clean.” You don’t need re-baptism.
Church, hear me: you don’t need re-baptism. If you have left your nets to follow him—if you have united with him in baptism—you are clean. You don’t need re-baptism. Baptism is the beginning of our walk with the Lord. It’s when we pass from death to life. It’s when we lose our grip on the fear of death, as we die to ourselves and give our lives wholly over to Jesus Christ. It’s a once-for-all event. Baptism is where you announced you will not seek to save your life; you will lose it. That pledge remains intact. You don’t need to sign on the dotted line again.
But what you do need is to be reminded. And not just once.
Jesus said to Peter, “Those who have had a bath do still need to wash their feet.” “Do you understand what I have done for you?” Jesus asks the room full of disciples? “Now that I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also should wash one another’s feet. I have set you an example that you should do as I have done for you” (Jn 13:12-15).
Washing feet is not only an act of service in that upper room; it is also a foreshadowing event preparing the disciples to die. Perhaps we should read this story as an invitation to face the full consequences of our baptism. “Come on in,” I heard the preacher say at a baptism, “the water’s fine.” No—it’s not. The water is treacherous. It kills people. Have we forgotten that? If we have, then maybe it’s time to notice what’s happening today.
In this moment, using these words, I am washing your feet. And I ask you to do the same for me. We need to get into the habit of preparing one another for death.
You and I, in our baptism, sought resurrection. We accepted the promise of God that like he raised the body of Jesus our Lord from the dead, as we were lifted from the watery grave of baptism we rejoiced in knowing that one day, God will raise us up from the dead. We want church to be about that. The joy of friendship, spiritual mountain highs, and deeds of service that make me feel better and make your life better. But that’s all resurrection Sunday. There can be no resurrection without death. There can be no Easter Sunday without Good Friday.
Jesus prepares his disciples to die; then, he predicts his own death. Then, he has them all partake of bread and wine that represents his death. Then, for three chapters, he tells them that God will send a Holy Spirit who will give them courage as they face severe persecution and ultimately death. “I am the vine,” says Jesus, “and ye are the branches.” If someone cuts down the vine, the branches die as well.
All this suggests that the “example” Christ set in John 13 is not only that we should serve others, but that we should sacrifice as well. In washing one another’s feet, we signify the cross for ourselves, and for them. From time to time, we gather with other disciples and we help each other prepare to die. And then we see the way of the cross not as a sad possible end for some of us, but as the chosen way of life for all of us.
Easter at West Side
Join us tomorrow as we celebrate the joy of resurrection morning. You can visit West Side or join us online Sunday at 9 AM (CST) on facebook or YouTube. You can always visit my website later to watch the sermon, read the transcript, or listen to it as a podcast. If you are in the middle Arkansas area, we would love to have you join us in person. I’ll save a seat for you.
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My name is Nathan Guy, and I serve as the preaching minister for the West Side Church of Christ in Searcy, Arkansas. I am happily married to Katie and am the proud father of little Grace. You can find more resources on my website over at nathanguy.com. Follow me: Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and YouTube.