Servant Strength
A Sermon on Luke 22:14-30 for Maundy Thursday 2025
Power, prestige, influence—is that what defines greatness?
For a moment, I invite you to imagine the scene in our Gospel reading with me: the disciples gathered around the table with Jesus, bread and wine set out before them. It’s been a few days since they entered Jerusalem for what felt like a coronation. Crowds lining the streets, hailing Jesus as their long-awaited king, shouting for him to save the nation from its enemies. Can you feel their excitement, the butterflies in their chest? These young men from the outskirts of Galilee—among them fishermen, a tax collector, even a thief —now the most trusted companions of a soon-to-be king. They haven’t even tasted the wine yet, but they are already intoxicated with their sudden rise in status.
The disciples have completed this campaign from Galilee to Jerusalem, and they can sense in this moment an opportunity. Reclining at the table, they are envisioning themselves seated on thrones of political power. Because in the midst of this meal that changed history forever, they are preoccupied with competing for spots on Jesus’s leadership team. Who’s his number 2? Who’s over foreign affairs? Who’s over defense?
Tonight, as we draw our hearts and minds to the Last Supper, we see a picture of true greatness, true strength, found in Jesus’s humble service and self-sacrifice. But we also see a picture of worldly power, of vain posturing and comparison, a false sense of greatness. Our Gospel reading from Luke 22:14-30 contrasts the glorious splendor our King’s servant strength with the self-promotion of his disciples, who completely miss the point of their Lord’s example.1
We might be tempted to laugh at the vanity of the disciples in this passage at verse 24. How could they possibly be arguing over this? Jesus, their Master, has stooped to wash their feet. Jesus, their King, has prepared this meal to foreshadow his sacrificial death. Often we think when reading the Gospels, if only I could have been there, it would have been so much easier to have faith—and yet… here are the disciples who followed him for 3 years and still they don’t get it.
The disciples are so enamored with the trappings of worldly power and influence that they are blind to the true greatness kneeling before them on this night.
On Maundy Thursday, we join the disciples as Jesus institutes a new Passover meal around his sacrificial death to free us from bondage, and then we see his humility on display when Jesus washes his disciples’ feet. Our celebration of this moment is formed around two Gospel passages: the institution of the Eucharist in Luke 22, and the foot-washing in John 13.
On this holy night, Jesus reveals through his words and actions the secret of servant strength: that true greatness is found in the willingness to be made small for the sake of others.
How Does Jesus Model True Greatness?
The fact that the disciples are still arguing over who is the greatest is almost beyond belief. In fact, scholars have often suggested that Luke is inserting an earlier debate into this scene for dramatic effect. After all, Matthew and Mark recount similar arguments in their Gospel accounts, but theirs take place before Palm Sunday. So is that what’s happening? No. In fact, each Gospel is clear that this was not a one-time argument. They argued over their status repeatedly.
Look how many times Jesus has to overturn their expectations of greatness. Is the kingdom for the rich and powerful? No—the Rich Young Ruler walks away heavyhearted. Is it just for the religious leaders who follow all the rules? No—Jesus says many who seek to be first will be last. Instead, Jesus calls them to become like little children, to enter in the narrow gate with transformed hearts and not on the basis of social class or rule-following.
On this night, Jesus redefines greatness at the table and with a towel.
The disciples’ naive understanding of power reminds me of Ralph Waldo Emerson, who wrote these words nearly 200 years ago: “The farmer imagines power and place are fine things. But the President has paid dearly for his White House. It has commonly cost him all his peace, and the best of his manly attributes.”2 That’s a timeless truth regardless of who holds the office. Striving for worldly power is costly because it’s fleeting. Even if you gain it, you must cling to it—because deep down, you know it isn’t really yours.
Jesus, on the other hand, has no such anxiety about power. Because he already let go of his heavenly status. He had it all, and he left it behind for us. We learn from Paul’s letter to the Philippians 2:5-11 that Jesus gave up the riches of heaven, the greatest possible status. I love how the King James translates this passage: that Christ Jesus, “Who, being in the form of God, thought it not robbery to be equal with God: But made himself of no reputation, and took upon him the form of a servant, and was made in the likeness of men.”
Jesus did not think it “robbery to be equal with God.” Why? Because that equality belonged to him, it was his identity as God’s Son. We, however, strive for power and place because it doesn’t belong to us. The reason why the disciples argued over status so often is because it is the pattern of human sin—the pride to take God’s throne for ourselves. Yet Jesus had absolute power and nothing to prove, but he demonstrated his absolute strength in his willingness to become a servant and love us to the end of his earthly strength.
In verses 25-30, Jesus contrasts the character of worldly leadership compared to his subversive kingdom leadership. The kings of other nations flaunt their authority, they dominate their citizens, and then tell them they ought to be grateful for what they have. But Jesus, the true King not just for Israel but the whole world, he is the one serving the meal, washing their feet, and laying down his life for them. He doesn’t flaunt his authority; he stoops down so we can be lifted up. He doesn’t dominate; he shows compassion, he teaches, and he lays down his life for us.
Jesus stooped to death, even death on a cross, to free us from our endless striving for a throne that we will never achieve on our own. And in his abounding grace, Jesus raises us up to share in his kingdom as royal priests.
An early Christian letter, called the Epistle to Diognetus, offers a defense of Christianity in the ancient Roman Empire. When the author describes how God the Father sent the Son into the world for our salvation, he puts it this way: “But perhaps he sent him, as one might suppose, to rule by tyranny, fear, and terror? Certainly not! On the contrary, he sent him in gentleness and meekness, as a king might send his son who is a king; he sent him as God; he sent him as a human to humans. When he sent him, he did so as one who saves by persuasion, not compulsion, for compulsion is no attribute of God.”3
Did you hear that? Compulsion is contrary to the character of God. Jesus saves not by force but self-giving love. That’s servant strength.
Do we want to imitate God’s greatness seen in Jesus’s servant strength? When faith is aligned with worldly power and coercion, it cannot imitate God. Christians follow King Jesus by defying the expectations of society and defining a new concept of greatness—gentle and sacrificial love.
How Do We Follow the Example of Jesus?
Sacrifice, humility, service. This is true greatness. And the servant strength of Jesus on display tonight is not just something we remember—it is something we receive. By his Spirit, that strength is also made possible in us.
Maundy Thursday gets its name from the Latin word for commandment, mandatum. Think “mandate.” And what commandment does he give? In John 13, Jesus washes the disciples’ feet and says: “Just as I have loved you, you also are to love one another.” Just as I have loved you? Hear again what Jesus, truly the greatest among them, says in Luke 22, “I am among you as the one who serves.” He washes their feet and serves at the table. Follow him in loving service.
This servant strength, this sacrificial love, is not an abstract concept. It’s a concrete call to action. And tonight, we get down on our knees and put our hands on some dirty, crusty feet. Take a moment to pause… and reflect. Do you need to reconcile with someone in this room? Maybe you made a careless comment to someone when you walked through the doors. Or you came into tonight and made sure to sit so far away from someone so you wouldn’t cross paths with them. Seek forgiveness—serve them, love them, wash their feet. Maybe you side-eyed someone on the way in, thinking, “why is that person here?” Go wash their feet. Or consider tonight how you can serve someone by offering a word of encouragement. Tonight, restore peace, heal wounds, and serve those in need.
We receive a commandment to love as he did, but how do we follow it? Not just with our hands but with our hearts? Not by trying harder. It’s only possible by receiving Jesus. What does he say about this Passover meal, this institution of the Lord’s Supper? “Do this in remembrance of me.” But Jesus isn’t just instituting a meal; he’s forming a people marked by sacrificial love and humility.
In this bread and cup, we share in the new covenant (v. 20). What is that? The Old Testament book of Ezekiel describes it like this: God gives us a new heart and a new spirit that enables us to walk in his commandments.* To give us the inner strength to love others as he has loved us.
In a moment as we receive this meal, when we come to the Lord’s Table, receive the One among us who serves. Receive the real presence of Jesus who gives himself to us and then shapes us into his image. In this meal, we become one body with him, united to the King who knows what true power is and yet knelt down in humble service and laid down his life for us. In this new covenant, we are a new people who possess through our belonging to Jesus the strength that stoops and serves and loves to the very end. Because we receive him in this meal, we can be sent out in his servant strength. True greatness.
*BONUS: Thanks to the beauty of the Scripture hymnal, this song (and verse) came to my mind and I started singing it as I was writing.
Diane G. Chen, “The Gospel of Luke,” in The New Testament in Color, edited by Esau McCaulley et. al., 167. I benefited greatly from Chen’s succinct treatment of this passage and how the disciples were riding a wave of euphoria from Palm Sunday.
Ralph Waldo Emerson, “Compensation”
The Epistle to Diognetus chapter 7, in The Apostolic Fathers, edited and translated by Michael W. Holmes, 707