O Servant King, Lord of the basin and the towel, On this sacred night, You knelt at the feet of those who would soon scatter, washed the dust from doubting hearts, and offered a love that stunned the room into silence. “He poured water into a basin and began to wash His disciples’ feet, drying them with the towel that was wrapped around Him.” (John 13:5)
You, who spoke stars into being, stooped to serve. You knew the betrayal was coming. Still, You bent low. Still, You loved. He who washes others’ feet is not less than a king, but more like Christ. Lord, we confess We often desire the seat at the table more than the towel in hand. We chase applause, not sacrifice. We want to be great without being lowly. But You turned greatness upside down. You said that to rule is to serve, to lead is to kneel. “Whoever wants to become great among you must be your servant.” (Matthew 20:26)
“Surely I have calmed and quieted my soul; like a weaned child with its mother is my soul within me.” (Psalm 131:2) Lord, still our striving hearts. Replace our pride with humility, our entitlement with gratitude. Only when we come to the cross do we see the depth of our sin and the height of God’s love.
Tonight, You didn’t just wash feet. You offered a meal bread broken, wine poured a foreshadowing of Your body given for us. “Take and eat; this is My body. This is My blood of the covenant, poured out for many.” (Matthew 26:26, 28)
The table wasn’t filled with saints.
It was filled with men who would run.
A traitor.
A denier.
Doubters.
And You still broke the bread. You still poured the cup. You still loved them to the end. “Having loved His own who were in the world, He loved them to the end.” (John 13:1) Jesus did not skip Judas' feet. He knelt before betrayal and loved anyway. God, give us that kind of love. Love that doesn’t wait for perfection, but enters the mess and serves anyway.
Love that remembers the cost and gives, still. We confess, Lord We often forget the weight of this night. We take communion casually, forgetting it was bought with blood. We forget that this table was meant to change us. To remind us that love is not convenience it is covenant. “Do this in remembrance of Me.” (Luke 22:19) Help us to remember, Lord. Not with ritual, but with reverence. Not just with words, but with wonder. Not merely with bread and cup, but with lives poured out. The glory of Christ is not just that He saves sinners, but how He saves them by laying down His life in love.
On this Maundy Thursday, Jesus, we ask Teach us to love like You. To kneel when we want to climb. To serve when we long to be served. To wash feet, not just hands. To welcome those who might wound us. You have given us a new command “Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another.” (John 13:34) And You didn’t just command it You lived it. You loved with sandals off, sleeves rolled up, blood poured out, arms open wide.
The love of Jesus is the source of all Christian love; it is the model, the motive, and the measure. So tonight, we ask for love that echoes Heaven. Love that stretches farther than offense. Love that risks. Love that lays down ego, time, and comfort. Love that reflects the Gospel not just in our speech, but in our sacrifice. Let us love the difficult. Let us forgive the betrayer. Let us serve the silent. Let us feed the ungrateful. Let us pour out, because You first poured out for us.
“You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies… my cup overflows.” (Psalm 23:5) Tonight, that table becomes the cross. And that cup Your cup is our salvation. We remember. We repent. We rejoice. Let this Maundy Thursday not pass as mere memory, but awaken our call to love with our whole lives. We offer our hearts to You, O Jesus cleanse them, fill them, and pour them out.
In Your glorious, humble, ever-loving Name, Jesus, our Redeemer Amen.