Secret Signs

(My sermon for Maundy Thursday)

In 1688, the year of what historians call the Glorious Revolution, our kingdom had two competing kings. James II, ousted and exiled; and William III, William of Orange, invited and installed by the will of parliament, along with his wife Mary II, the only time our nation has had both king and queen regnant. Not everyone was pleased to see James gone and William and Mary installed. And at dinner a man might propose or drink a toast to the king with his glass held over a jug of water; those who supported the Jacobite cause would know he was pledging loyalty not to the king in London but to the exiled James Stuart over the water. It was a secret sign that only those in the know would understand.

There are secret signs in the story of this week too. Jesus was being closely watched after his entry into Jerusalem. Things were always tense at the Passover, the festival which above all others fuelled the people’s longing for freedom, and for a new king in the line of David. They were looking for the Messiah, the one anointed by God and promised by the prophets. And now this Jesus had declared his hand by riding into the city on a donkey, as the prophet Zechariah had said Messiah would do.

Pontius Pilate and his officers would have been anxious men, in a city bursting with people ripe for revolt. And the chief priests and the supporters of the dynasty of Herod were worried too. It was in their interest to make sure things stayed calm. They were wise men who knew the score. A self-proclaimed messiah who stirred the people into revolt would in the end be no match for the might of Rome. The priests and the supporters of Herod’s sons who still ruled parts of his old kingdom all knew they could rely on the support of Rome only so long as they could keep and ensure the peace.

Jesus needed to tread carefully. He had deliberately provoked those in power. Crowds of pilgrims from Galilee had cheered him with cries of Hosanna as he entered the city. As soon as he got there he went to the Temple to reclaim it on behalf of the poor, the ordinary folk, the people for whom God had a special concern. Jesus was stirring a hornet’s nest, but he’d things still to do before his enemies could take him.

Jesus had arranged the donkey on which he rode into the city without involving the Twelve. Nor did they know about the room reserved, where he’d eat with them on the eve of the Passover. He told his disciples to look for a secret sign: a man carrying a water-jar, which was always women’s work. Follow him, he told them, and he’ll lead you to the place that’s been prepared. It was important that his enemies didn’t get him too soon. There was a meal to eat, the one we call the last supper.

So here’s the storyline for this week: a provincial rabbi, elevated to the status of messiah by the naive and gullible people of his province, comes unstuck like so many before him, once he comes face to face those whose might and authority a hick like him could never understand. He didn’t have the men, the ideas or the power to win a fight like that. Poor man, on to a loser from the word go. Sadly out of his depth.

Hick from Galilee perhaps, but the powers that be must have been worried by Jesus. So by the end of this week it would have been a cause of some satisfaction that they’d been able to dispose of him so quickly and slickly. But maybe they should have been a bit surprised too. And maybe the more savvy among them might have wondered whether there was more here than met the eye.

If they did, they were right. Of all the signs he could have chosen to declare himself as Messiah, Jesus chose a humble way. He chose to ride a donkey. And now as he eats supper with his disciples he deliberately takes on the role reserved for the most lowly servant. He washes their feet. In this he reveals the true nature of the kingship he claims. There were no servants in attendance, we can assume, since this was a secret meal, eaten as the opposing forces drew ever closer. Maybe the disciples had wondered which of them would have to undertake the menial task of washing the grime of the streets from the feet of their fellows. That Jesus did it will have shamed them; disciples were supposed to see to their teacher’s needs, not the other way round.

But Jesus didn’t do it to shame them, he did it to teach them. We’re all better taught by actions than by words. “Let the greatest among you become as the servant of all,” says Jesus. He shows us the royalty of suffering, he presents himself as the servant king. Riding a donkey into the city was no stunt; this is who he is: “I am among you as one who serves.”

So bread is blessed and broken, and wine is blessed and poured. Tonight we join those who shared that last supper, repeating as we do so the song of Palm Sunday: “Blest is he who comes in the name of the Lord. Hosanna in the highest!” This is my body, he says, this is my blood. At this table we’re linked in to his sacrifice, and joined in him to one another. Here we approach the cross on which our king is enthroned, proclaimed, revealed, to know him in the bread he shares. For the world the cross may speak of shame and death, but it is the greatest of all secret signs. As we open our hearts to his love, the place of death is raised up to be the shining symbol of victory and life.