“Do you love me even now?” – Maundy Thursday 2026

When Evan was 4, we were visiting my parents here in Albuquerque

It was a challenging week, with Evan breaking into lengthy tantrums again and again

One afternoon as we waited out a long tantrum,

Mom said, it’s like he needs to test you every day

Do you still love me?

Poem – Even Now

We ask the question a million different times

over the course of lives.

Do you love me even now?

As children we ask this question

with eyes the size of saucers

and a quivering bottom lip.

In our teenage years,

we ask the question by pushing people away

and paying attention to who comes back.

As adults we ask the question by

extending the first invitation

and seeing who returns the kindness.

Over and over again we ask the world,

Do you love me even now?

The thing I’ve learned about God

is that, no matter what comes before “even now,”

the answer will always be yes.

Jesus gathered that night for Passover supper with his closest friends,

the disciples who had traveled with him,

the ones who loved him best.

And among them, Peter, who he knew would deny over knowing him.

And Judas, who he knew would betray him –

had, in fact, already betrayed him,

making a deal to hand him over to the religious leaders

who wanted to see him dead.

And yet, as they gathered there, Jesus took a towel,

And stooped down to wash their feet.

The task of a lowly servant, which he performed in love for them.

For all of them.

Then, at the table, he took bread and gave it for them to eat,

Saying, this is my body, given for you. For all of you.

After supper, he took a cup of wine, and shared it with them

Saying, this is my blood, shed for you for the forgiveness of sins.

For all of you.

The ones I love. The ones who will stay with me to the end.

And even the ones who will deny me, betray me,

Run away and hide.

If You Hear Nothing Else, Then Hear This:

You can make a fool of yourself.

You can bet on the wrong thing, lose it all, unravel people’s trust.

You can laugh at a funeral, curse in a church,

say the wrong thing at the wrong time, every time.

You can lose yourself in a bottle, a relationship, a false sense of security.

You can uncover prejudice and wrestle with the shame of it all.

You can withhold an apology, blame it on someone else,

tell yourself it’s not your fault.

You can trade in love for a bag of coins.

And even then, even still, even now,

Jesus will love you enough to wash your feet.

If you hear nothing else in the gospel, hear this.