What Do We Remember? — April 2, 2026, Maundy Thursday

What Do We Remember?

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John 13:1-17, 31b-35

Now before the festival of the Passover, Jesus knew that his hour had come to depart from this world and go to the Father. Having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end. The devil had already put it into the heart of Judas son of Simon Iscariot to betray him.

And during supper Jesus, knowing that the Father had given all things into his hands, and that he had come from God and was going to God, got up from the table, took off his outer robe, and tied a towel around himself. Then he poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples’ feet and to wipe them with the towel that was tied around him.

He came to Simon Peter, who said to him, “Lord, are you going to wash my feet?” Jesus answered, “You do not know now what I am doing, but later you will understand.” Peter said to him, “You will never wash my feet.” Jesus answered, “Unless I wash you, you are not in fellowship with me.” Simon Peter said to him, “Lord, not my feet only but also my hands and my head!” Jesus said to him, “One who has bathed does not need to wash, except for the feet, but is entirely clean. And you are clean, though not all of you.” Jesus knew who was to betray him; for this reason he said, “Not all of you are clean.”

After he had washed their feet, had put on his robe, and had returned to the table, he said to the disciples, “Do you know what I have done to you? You call me Teacher and Lord and you are right, for that is what I am. 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. Very truly, I tell you, servants are not greater than their master, nor are messengers greater than the one who sent them. If you know these things, you are blessed if you do them.

“Now the Child of Humanity has been glorified, and God has been glorified in him. If God has been glorified in him, God will also glorify him in himself and will glorify him now. Little children, I am with you only a little longer. You will look for me; and as I said to the Judeans so now I say to you, ‘Where I am going, you cannot come.’

“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.”

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In Emily of New Moon, L.M. Montgomery tells of a young girl sitting with her father, talking about her mother who died suddenly when she was only four. Because she has so few memories, Emily wishes she could remember from the very moment she was born. Her father replies, “I daresay we’d have a lot of uncomfortable memories. It can’t be very pleasant getting used to living—no pleasanter than getting used to stopping it.”

Even if we don’t remember everything from the moment we were born, we still carry plenty of uncomfortable memories. It takes a lifetime to get used to living— or at least to learn how to live well. The hurts and betrayals stay with us. The awkward words we wish we could take back linger in our minds. The losses we have endured—of people, of places—leave grief that never fully fades.

What we remember shapes us, both individually and collectively. The stories we tell and keep alive reveal what we value and guide how we interpret the present. And the stories we neglect or try to forget matter just as much.

When we tell the stories of our lives, we often skip over the stories of unfulfilled dreams and heartache, the stories of difficulties that cannot be overcome. These are not the stories we like to share, yet even if we don’t tell the stories, they still shape us. They are a part of our history.

We live in a time when history itself is contested—when parts that do not reflect well are sometimes dismissed or erased, and those who tell them are labelled un-American. But how can we understand where we are if we do not remember where we have been? How can we move faithfully into the future if we lose hold of the past? When we erase the past, we erase the possibility of repentance or justice.

The Israelites knew this truth deeply. Once enslaved in a foreign land, they were liberated by God. This would shape who they became as the people of God. No longer simply blessed to be a blessing, they became a people who knew suffering, who understood oppression. And it was only through remembrance that the past could shape their future. It was only through remembrance that they could be called to care for those on the margins, to seek justice and to live as those who had been set free. It was only through remembrance that they would honor the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, the God who led them out of slavery and to the Promised Land.

So God commands them:

“This shall be a day of remembrance for you.”

Year after year, they remember. They tell the story. And in the telling, they are formed again as God’s people.

Then, on the night when Jesus gathered with his friends to celebrate that very remembrance—the Passover meal—he gave them something new. As they recalled how God had delivered their ancestors from slavery, Jesus gave them a new story, not just recalling liberation but becoming liberation, not just rehearsing the past, but creating a new future. Jesus spoke words that would reshape their understanding of remembrance itself:

“Do this in remembrance of me.”

Now, week after week, that meal is shared. That story is told. And once again, God’s people are formed.

Tonight, we gather in that same act of remembrance, but not just remembrance. 

We come to this table—to bread and cup—not just to recall something long ago, but to enter the story. We come trusting that this story is still true for us today. In a morsel of bread and a sip of wine, we trust that God is present—in, with, and under these simple elements—and present among us.

We remember so that we may care for those on the margins.

We remember so that we may seek justice.

We remember so that we may live as people shaped by grace.

We remember so that we may proclaim what God has done.

And here is the deepest truth of all:

Even when we have the best of intentions but cannot follow through…

Even when our memories fail…

Even when we forget…

God remembers us.

God remembers us in love.

God remembers us in mercy.

God remembers us—and calls us again to the table, to the story, to one another.

So come.

Tonight, we are gathered to remember and to enter into the story. To gather around bread and cup, to know God’s presence in, with and under the elements – and us.