The People Who Taught Us to Love

Good morning, and welcome. Today, November 1, 2026, we formally announce the founding of St John Grace Church as an online church. We begin with a simple commitment: to worship God, listen carefully to Scripture, and follow Jesus Christ in everyday life. Thank you for joining us at the beginning.

There are people whose names may never appear on a building, a book cover, or a church plaque, yet the shape of our lives would be different without them. Someone taught us to pray when words were hard to find. Someone noticed when we had stopped coming around. Someone did the unglamorous work of bringing a meal, making a call, or sitting quietly through an afternoon that seemed to have no end. We may remember their voices more clearly than their advice. Their lives told us something about God's love before we knew how to explain it.

On this first Sunday of November, many churches remember the faithful who have gone before us. Some call it All Saints' Day. In other churches it passes without a special name. But every Christian community has reason to remember. We did not begin the story of faith, and we do not have to carry it alone.

Hebrews 12 describes believers as surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses. The image comes after a long chapter telling stories of faith: people who obeyed, waited, struggled, endured, and sometimes made serious mistakes. These were not flawless heroes preserved behind glass. Abraham had to leave a familiar place. Moses faced fear and resistance. Others suffered without seeing in their lifetime everything they had hoped for. Their lives point beyond themselves to the God who remained faithful.

The writer of Hebrews does not tell us to spend our days looking backward. The instruction is to run the race set before us, laying aside what weighs us down and fixing our eyes on Jesus. Memory is meant to give us courage for the road ahead. We honor faithful people best when we allow their example to move our own feet.

That brings us to a room in Jerusalem, where Jesus and his disciples were sharing a meal. John tells us that Jesus knew the hour of his departure was approaching. He knew where he had come from and where he was going. He also knew what was happening among the people at the table. One would betray him. Another would deny him. They had argued about importance and status. There was more confusion in that room than anyone wanted to admit.

What did Jesus do with that knowledge? He got up, took a towel, poured water into a basin, and began to wash their feet.

Foot washing was a practical act in a world of dusty roads and open sandals. It was also the sort of task people of high standing preferred someone else to do. Yet John does not present Jesus as losing his dignity by kneeling. Jesus serves precisely because he knows who he is. His authority is not threatened by the towel. His love is not waiting for the disciples to deserve it.

Peter objects. He cannot bear the thought of his teacher taking the servant's place. We might recognize something of ourselves in that response. Many of us like the idea of a generous Savior, but receiving help can make us uncomfortable. We would rather be the capable one. We would rather wash our own feet and prove we have everything under control.

Jesus insists that Peter must receive what he is giving. Before the disciples are told to serve one another, they are shown how to be loved. The Christian life does not begin with an order to become useful. It begins with Christ's gracious action toward people who need him.

Only after Jesus has washed their feet does he say they should follow his example. He is not merely recommending good manners. He is redefining greatness within his community. If the Lord and Teacher can kneel, none of his followers can claim to be too important for ordinary acts of care.

This is where the memory of faithful people becomes more than nostalgia. Think of the people who showed up when no applause was available. Perhaps someone visited an aging neighbor week after week. Perhaps a parent apologized after speaking harshly, showing a child that strength can include humility. Perhaps a church member kept a promise when doing so became inconvenient. They may never have used the phrase 'servant leadership.' They simply noticed a need and acted.

Of course, we should not pretend that everyone we remember was perfect. Families contain complicated stories. Churches do too. Some people gave us wonderful examples in one part of life and painful disappointments in another. Scripture is honest about its people, and we can be honest about ours. Gratitude does not require rewriting the past. We can thank God for the good we received while naming harm truthfully and seeking healing where it is needed.

Nor does service mean allowing others to use us without limit. Jesus' act of love was deliberate, not aimless. The one who washed feet also spoke truth, confronted hypocrisy, and withdrew to pray. There are times when care requires a firm boundary, a difficult conversation, or help from someone with the ability to protect the vulnerable. Humility is not the abandonment of wisdom.

Still, there is something wonderfully clear about a towel and a basin. Jesus chose an action that no one in that room could misunderstand. He did not give the disciples a complicated theory of affection and send them home to discuss it. He washed the dirt from their feet. The gospel reaches human beings as they actually live, with tired bodies, strained relationships, and needs too ordinary to appear on a prayer list.

Our world often rewards visibility. We know the names of people who make speeches, win contests, and gather attention. We know much less about the person who unlocks a building early, checks the medication schedule of a relative, or patiently helps a child read the same page again. Yet a great deal of human goodness is carried by people who will never become famous. Jesus' teaching helps us see that hidden faithfulness is not small in the kingdom of God.

There is also a word here for those who feel forgotten. Perhaps your days are full of tasks that disappear as soon as they are finished. The dishes are washed and more dishes arrive. You answer one request and another follows. You spend your strength helping someone who cannot thank you. It can be discouraging to do necessary work that rarely receives recognition. The Lord who knelt before his disciples understands the dignity of such work. Its worth is not measured by public notice.

At the same time, Christian love cannot remain merely an admiration for hardworking people. It asks something of those of us who benefit from their labor. If another person always carries the burden, our praise may be cheap. We can share the work, give someone rest, speak gratitude aloud, and change arrangements that leave one person exhausted. Jesus did not only compliment the servant's place. He stepped into it.

The letter to the Hebrews returns us to the image of a race. Each life has its particular course. Some seasons require speed; others demand patient endurance. A person recovering from illness may be running a different kind of race from a young adult facing a new responsibility. A grieving person who gets through the day without giving up may be showing remarkable faith. We should be cautious about judging another runner by the pace of our own life.

What helps us continue is not the demand to become as impressive as those we admire. Hebrews says to look to Jesus, who endured the cross and now sits at God's right hand. The center of Christian faith is not the goodness of earlier generations, or our ability to match them. It is Christ himself. The witnesses help us remember where to look.

So let us remember the people who helped us believe, and let that memory become an invitation rather than a museum. If someone once encouraged you when you were afraid, perhaps you can encourage a person facing a hard decision. If someone welcomed you when you were new, look for the one standing at the edge of the room. If someone told you the truth with kindness, practice that same kind of courage. The next generation will learn what love looks like from what we do, not only from what we say.

And where we have failed, we need not hide. The disciples whose feet Jesus washed would soon discover how weak they were. Yet the story of the church did not end with their failure. Christ met them again with mercy and called them forward. His grace gives us room to repent, to repair what can be repaired, and to begin serving again.

One of the surprises in the Gospel of John is that the foot washing takes place with the cross approaching. Jesus is not serving because his life is comfortable or because everyone has treated him fairly. He is facing suffering and betrayal. This does not mean we should demand that hurting people give endlessly; the wounded need care too. But it does show that love is deeper than good circumstances. Jesus' commitment to his disciples is not cancelled by the pain of the coming hours. Even in a troubled room, he makes space to show them what belongs to God's kingdom.

That matters for the church in November, as the year moves toward its close. The calendar may encourage us to review what we have accomplished: meetings completed, bills paid, goals met, unfinished plans carried into another month. Those are real concerns. But there is another way to ask how the year has gone. Who has been less lonely because we were present? Did we become quicker to listen? Did we make it easier for a struggling person to ask for help? Were we truthful when a comfortable silence would have protected us? No one can answer every question with an easy yes. They are questions worth carrying into prayer, not to earn God's love, but because we have received it.

Some of us did not have a good example of Christian love growing up. When people speak warmly about faithful parents or generous churches, we may feel the ache of what was missing. The good news of this passage is that our future does not depend entirely on having inherited a perfect past. Jesus himself becomes our teacher. And sometimes God places new witnesses in our lives: a patient friend, a trustworthy pastor, a neighbor whose kindness opens a door we thought was closed. It is never too late to learn a better way of loving, and never too late to become that kind of person for someone else.

Before this day ends, remember one person whose faithfulness made a difference to you. If that person is living, consider telling them. If they have died, give thanks to God for the good that remains in your life because of them. Then look around for one ordinary act of love that is yours to do. A conversation, a visit, a needed apology, an hour of practical help: any of these can become a way of following the Lord who took up a towel.

The names of many faithful people will fade from public memory. Their love has not been wasted. And our own small acts, offered to Christ, need not be wasted either. We are part of a story larger than a single lifetime. Let us run with endurance, keep our eyes on Jesus, and be willing, when love calls for it, to kneel.

May God guide this new church in truth, humility, and love. Amen.