To the Congregation of First Baptist,
Thank you for allowing us to use your facility this week. You so graciously welcomed approximately 75 middle school students from all over Western North Carolina into your church for a friendly book competition that can be a very serious matter in the heat of the competition. Thank you for opening your doors and hearts. Your kindness is greatly appreciated and a role model for us all.
Sincerely,
Linda Potter and Jackie Methven
A Hard Thing
“So Jesus got up from the meal, took off his outer clothing, and wrapped a towel around his waist. After that, he poured water into a basin and began to wash his disciples’ feet, drying them with the towel that was wrapped around him.” John 13:4-5
The mere mention of this text raises our anxiety.
We are humbled and in awe at Jesus’s expression of servanthood. The story is unambiguous in meaning. Jesus takes on the role of a servant and offers a physical expression of his love, affection and commitment to his closest followers. He washes their feet.
And every fiber of our being screams out in unison, “Oh dear Lord. Don’t make us do this.”
No, I am not going to make you wash one another’s feet during our Maundy Thursday service. I’m not that daft—no one would show up. I am however, going to invite you to consider washing one another’s feet. There will be no mandate. But you will have the chance if the Spirit moves you.
Now. You can breathe again.
I understand. Truly, I do. Foot washing feels alien to us. It feels deeply personal. There is an intimacy that accompanies this ordinance that many of us find terrifying. We are all well-aware that our bare feet are mangled, gnarly, knobby and crusty. They smell. They are misshapen and hairy. For most of us, they represent the least appealing parts of our bodies. We don’t want others to see them, let alone touch them. And certainly, not wash them.
So, let’s just wash one another’s hands, right? Some churches choose to have their cake and eat it too. These churches’ pastors acknowledge the power of this passage and desperately want to be faithful to Christ’s command that we wash one another’s feet. But they clearly have no intention of actually doing so. Washing feet seems distasteful and not appropriate for worship. Hands, therefore, become a suitable alternative. It feels like a gentle and far less invasive experience of anointing.
Although I respect this move and understand the motives behind it (we pastors actually want people to attend our church’s services), I feel like it misses the mark. It’s supposed to be hard. That’s why Jesus commands us to do it.
We have good company in our adamant refusal to participate: Peter said to Jesus, “You will never wash my feet.” (John 13:8)
Jesus answered, “Unless I wash you, you have no share with me.” (John 13:8)
So there. Unless Jesus models for his disciples what service to others looks like, they cannot be one with him. Solidarity with Christ hinges on our willingness to do the hard thing.
And washing feet is a hard thing, because it’s far more than just washing feet, of course.
It’s hard because we don’t want to make ourselves that vulnerable. We desire Christian fellowship with others, but we’re not keen on the accountability that fellowship demands. We want to be church, but we want it on our terms. We want to have a robust offering of services to our church and our community, but we’re not willing to actually do the work of service. We are, in truth, one collective mass of contradictions.
“Can’t we just wash one another’s hands?”
Jesus: “No.”
“So if I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet. For I have set you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you.” (John 13:14-15)
Maundy Thursday, during Holy Week, is a time set aside for us to remember Christ as he prepares to give his life for us at Calvary on Good Friday. The word Maundy comes from the Latin word Maundantum, which means commandment. It refers to Jesus’s instructions to his followers the night before he died.
Just on the heels (pun intended) of his foot washing, 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.” (John 13:34-35)
Jesus demonstrates firsthand what love looks like. God’s love for us in Jesus is about sacrifice and service, vulnerability and humility. And this love is no easy thing.
On Thursday night, March 29, we will remember in worship at 6:30 PM that Jesus asks us to do a hard thing—love. We will recall that final night he had with his disciples. We will remember that Jesus calls them his friends. We will share the Lord’s Supper together, and you will have the chance to observe and, or, participate in a foot washing experience. It’s a hard thing. I know. But I think you’re up to the challenge, First Baptist.
Besides, if we’re not willing to wash the feet of our brothers and sisters in Christ, then how in the world do we expect to do the other hard things that Jesus requires of us? If we can’t wash one another’s feet, how can we ever begin to love our enemies and pray for those who persecute us?
It’s hard, this life of faith. But it’s the way of the cross. It’s the way of Jesus.
And he thinks we’re up to the challenge.
Easter Lilies
If you are interested in buying an Easter Lily in memory or honor of someone please let the church office know. The Lilies are $15.00 and will need to be paid for at time of order. The lilies will be available for you to take home on Easter Sunday. The deadline to purchase lilies is Sunday, March 25th!
Thank You from Circles of Hope
A thank you note in response to our Christmas offering gift:
Dear Christian Friends,
Your most generous donation to Jackson County Circles of Hope is greatly appreciated. Due to people like you and your blessed donations and receiving special grants, Circles of Hope are able to have started in January 2018 to hire a part-time Case Worker for our organization.
Circles is about celebrating the significance of the individual and the importance of moving forward in a positive direction.
Through the classes offered and being matched with mentors of our community has helped our endeavor to address underlying causes of poverty and helping people attain economic stability.
Our last class graduated on January 30, 2018, at your blessed church. Now they're on to new and exciting accomplishments in their lives.
As the following Circle Leader will attest:
"I really didn't know what Circles was all about. I did join in because I felt welcomed in the group of Circle Leaders. I received help about what I wanted to do as a career and how to get started. Going to Circles was the best decision of my life. I am now working in the field I wanted to be in and it's looking like I can even surpass what I thought I could do. Now I am also an Ambassador speaking about Circles of Hope to groups." - John
Truly, you are demonstrating your love and compassion for others. We thank you and encourage you to stay involved with us. Enthusiastic and caring people are always needed in our lifetimes.
Sincerely,
Laura Wallace
Have a blessed day!
A Letter from Ed Beddingfield
Dear Friends,
Shannon, Meghan and I are so very grateful to all of you for the most generous gift. You have expressed your compassion for us with cards, phone calls, visits, and now in a tangible and practical way. Paul wrote to the Galatians, "Bear one another's burdens and so fulfill the law of Christ." In so many ways you have helped us to bear this burden. We are grateful.
Meghan is working through her semester at S.M.U. long distance. Shannon's lungs are well and her burns (hands and face) are healing exceptionally well. We cherish our friendship with you and will always consider Sylva "home," and all of you our "family." God bless.
In love and gratitude,
Ed Beddingfield
Take a Hike
Join us for a hike on Sunday afternoon, March 25th! Enjoy God’s creation and the gift of fellowship as we hike in our beautiful mountains. Everyone is invited to join us on the path.
The hike will last no more than 90 minutes and will have gentle terrain and little elevation gain. A water bottle, snack, hiking stick and weather-appropriate clothing are all that you might need. We will meet in the church parking lot at 3:00 PM and will return no later than 6:30 PM.
In keeping with our theme of Path: Walking Humbly With Our God, we will be taking a monthly hike together throughout the year. If you have questions, contact Jeff.
Kickoff to Kindergarten
Dementia Education Series - Rescheduled
Reflections from 35,000 Feet
I am in row 26, seat C. It’s an aisle seat and I cannot see outside the window. I wish that I could. I travel better when I can see where I’m going.
At present, we are somewhere over the North Atlantic. I think.
A week ago, on our connection from London Heathrow to Dublin, I got more than a bit queasy as we took off. Flying typically doesn’t turn my stomach, but this flight certainly did. I’m not entirely sure what triggered the telltale signs of motion sickness. Maybe it was the sleep deprivation. Perhaps it was the fact that I didn’t have anything on my stomach. Who knows? But I know this: I had an aisle seat and didn’t have access to a window. If I could have seen the world down below, my head could have become better acclimated to the movement—the shimmying, the bumping, the rattling—that my body was experiencing.
But as it was, I couldn’t see where we were going. And I didn’t like that feeling one bit.
Life becomes most difficult when we can’t see the path before us. The uncertainty is disorienting. The over-abundance of possibilities, endless. The potential for disaster feels omnipresent.
“If I could just see where I’m going, my head and my heart could get in sync and the journey wouldn’t feel so hard,” we muse.
And yet, sight may be overrated.
An old saying suggests that there is a blessing in having a limited horizon. If we were sailing, we might not be willing to leave port if we could see what lay ahead. We may just be paralyzed by fear if we knew the dangers that were on the other side of the horizon.
Some of us are at our best when we can’t see what lies ahead. Many of our fellow pilgrims thrive when the way forward does not seem clear. I am not one of them.
Faithful monks in Ireland once placed themselves on a journey where they could not see. These zealous Christians would get into a boat and push off toward the open water with no idea where the currents might take them. They proceeded on this journey with the firm belief that God would lead them to where God wanted them. These pilgrims were proud that they were trusting God with their destination, and God most always directed them to distant lands with people who did not know the saving power of Jesus Christ. Without these fearless travelers, much of England and Western Europe would not have known about the Gospel.
So, I for one am thankful for these Irish Christians who trusted God with their journeys, even—and especially when—it would have made me more than a bit queasy.
There’s a lesson to be learned here.
Faith means trusting God with the journey. Faith means not panicking when we cannot see the way. Faith means being grounded in God’s presence when the undulating waves poison our souls with nausea.
I wish that I could see more clearly. I wish that I had a clear view from the window seat on my life’s path. I wish that I could have the assurance that comes from the radiant light that comes when you emerge from a cloud deck.
And yet, this is not always the case. I know that I must trust the fact that God knows the way forward even when I don’t. I know this. It’s just hard, at times, and the unease that I feel has the power to affect my whole being.
So, when the plane began to bank, and my stomach began to churn, I asked for help. I looked behind me to the flight attendants who were braving the gravity-questionable-reality without the security of a seat belt.
“I’m not feeling well,” I told them.
They responded with alacrity (for good reason) and without annoyance (apparently, they knew how this felt). They knelt beside me. They got me medicine from my carry-on bag. They provided me cashews, ginger ale and a hospitality that I was most-assuredly grateful for. It was comforting to know that when the journey became too much, there were those around me who could care for me and help me.
This, I thought in an instant, is what church looks like at its best.
No, the trip itself didn’t miraculously get better. There were no false assurances of what might, or might not, happen next. But the people around me were gracious and kind. They provided nourishment and consolation when the motion got too much. And when I left the plane and told the two flight attendants thank you, they grinned and said, “We’ve all been there.”
Indeed, we have, which is why we are all the better for it when we choose to be present with one another along the way. Our collective experience, perspective, and insight—even when we ourselves cannot see well—are invaluable gifts to those with whom we journey.
God knows where we are going, and it is frightening that we do not know the way ourselves. But we can rejoice and be glad that Christ has promised to always be with us!
And if we’re lucky, he’ll be bringing us a can of ginger ale.
Maundy Thursday Service
Maundy Thursday Service on March 29 at 6:30 PM
Join us for a solemn service of reflection and remembrance as we recall Jesus's last hours before his Passion by observing the Lord's Supper.