There are some clothes that speak before a person says a word.
A police uniform. A judge’s robe. A doctor’s white coat. A firefighter’s gear. Even before anyone says anything, we already expect something from them. Clothing sends a signal. It tells us who a person is, what role they carry, and how we are supposed to respond.
We may think that does not affect us very much, but it does. We notice appearances. We form impressions quickly. We assume things about people by what they wear, what they drive, how they carry themselves. Sometimes we are right. Sometimes we are completely wrong. But we do it anyway.
That is part of what makes tonight so powerful.
On Holy Thursday, Jesus gives his disciples a sign they will never forget. Not only with words, but with actions. Not only with teaching, but with a gesture.
He rises from the table and removes his outer garment. He wraps a towel around himself and takes a basin of water. And then he begins to wash feet.
That may sound gentle and familiar to us because we have heard it so many times. But in that room, on that night, it would have been startling.
This was not the work of a master, a teacher, or a rabbi. This was the work of the lowest servant in the house.
Jesus takes off the visible sign of authority and puts on the clothing of a slave. He does not simply talk about humility. He kneels down and shows them what humility looks like. He does not only speak about love. He gives love a form they can see.
And that matters because the disciples still do not fully understand.
Even after all they had seen, all they had heard, and all the time they had spent with him, they were still struggling with ambition, comparison, and pride. Saint Luke tells us that even at the Last Supper they were arguing about which of them was the greatest.
And Jesus answers that argument not with a lecture, but with a towel and a basin.
This is how God addresses human pride: not by crushing it from above, but by humbling himself. Instead of shouting, he kneels. Instead of demanding service, he serves.
And Peter, of course, resists.
Peter cannot bear to see Jesus like this. He knows enough to know that something is upside down. In Peter’s mind, this is not how it should be. The Master should not be at the feet of the disciple. The Lord should not be kneeling before his followers. The Holy One should not be doing the work of a servant.
So Peter says no. And honestly, we understand him.
Because we often stick to what is familiar. We are comfortable with a strong, glorious, victorious God. But a God who kneels before us, washes feet, and serves in humility is harder for us to accept. It humbles us because once we accept that kind of God, we can no longer cling so easily to our own pride.
Jesus says to Peter, “Unless I wash you, you will have no inheritance with me.”
In other words: Peter, you cannot belong to me unless you allow me to love you this way. You cannot share my life unless you let me serve you. You cannot enter my kingdom unless you let go of your own ideas of power and greatness.
That is the first lesson of tonight.
Before we can imitate Christ, we must first allow Christ to care for us. Before we can wash the feet of others, we must let him touch the dusty, tired, proud, wounded places in us. Before we can love as disciples, we must first allow ourselves to be loved by the Master.
Holy Thursday is not just about what we are expected to do. It is first about what Jesus does for us. He washes, feeds, gives, and pours himself out. Tonight, at the Last Supper, Jesus gives us the Eucharist, saying, “This is my Body” and “This is my Blood.” And in the washing of the feet, he shows us exactly what that Eucharist means.
The Eucharist is not separate from life. It is the self-giving love of Christ. It is the Lord who becomes food for his people. It is the Lord who kneels down. It is the Lord who gives everything.
So tonight the altar and the basin belong together.
At the altar, Jesus says:
 Take and eat.
At the basin, Jesus says:
 See how I love.
At the altar, he gives his Body. At the basin, he reveals the meaning of that gift.
Holy Thursday marks the final movement of love leading to Calvary. Everything now moves toward the Cross. The towel points forward to Good Friday. The humility shown in the upper room points toward the surrender of the Cross. The One who kneels to wash feet is the same One who tomorrow will stretch out his hands to save the world.
And then Jesus says something that makes this Gospel very personal: “I have given you a model to follow, so that as I have done for you, you should also do.”
That means this night cannot remain only beautiful, symbolic, or moving. It has to become concrete.
It means faith cannot remain only in prayers, devotions, and words. It must take the form of service.
It means that after receiving the Eucharist, we cannot go back to a life of pride, resentment, harshness, or self-importance as if nothing has happened.
It means that in every parish, every family, every rectory, every workplace, and every friendship, the question is no longer, “Who is the greatest?” The question becomes, “Who is willing to kneel?”
Who is willing to be patient first?
 Who is willing to forgive first?
 Who is willing to help without being noticed?
 Who is willing to do the hidden work?
 Who is willing to love when love is inconvenient?
That is Holy Thursday discipleship. Not grand speeches, religious appearances, status, or recognition. Just the towel and the basin. Just love made visible in humble service.
And that is not weakness. It is one of the most difficult things in the world.
Anyone can dominate, insist on being right, or protect an image. But it takes the heart of Christ to kneel, to serve, and to give oneself away in love.
Tonight, Jesus shows us who God is.
God is the One who loves to the end. God is the One who serves. God is the One who does not turn away from our weakness, our dirt, or our brokenness. God is the One who comes close.
Tonight, let him wash you, feed you, and love you. And remember that the Eucharist we receive is meant to become the life we live. The Church reflects Christ not through power, but through love. We resemble Christ not when we are admired, but when we serve others.
Tonight, Jesus takes a towel and a basin and tells us: This is love. Now go and do likewise.