Author Annie Dillard once observed, "We wake, if we ever wake at all, to mystery." (Footnote 1: Annie Dillard, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, (New York: HarperPerennial, 1998), 4.)

Today is Maundy Thursday. For those who experienced it first, Maundy Thursday, which is Latin for "command," was quite an eventful day. It was the day the disciples received the command to love and had their feet washed by Jesus. It was the day they first saw the connection between the Passover sacrifice, their beloved teacher, and the bread of life. It was the day their eyes were roused by the uniqueness of the man before them, their minds stirred with history, prophecy, and tradition—and they began to wake to the grand mystery of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.

In fact, Jesus is a mystery that has unarguably shaped all of history. As a Life magazine article once noted, "His birthday is kept across the world. His death-day has set a gallows across every city skyline." (Footnote 2: As quoted in Charles Swindoll's, Improving Your Serve, (Nashville: W Publishing Group, 1981), 161.) Truly, the uniqueness of Christ and his awesome influence is unmatched. Even Napoleon acknowledged: "I know men and I tell you that Jesus Christ was no mere man: Between him and whoever else in the world there is no possible term of comparison." (Footnote 3: Ibid., 161.)

But who is the man behind those concentrated words? I can think of no better question to ask on Maundy Thursday. And yet, as Ravi Zacharias states, the precursor to the objective answer is the subjective intent of the questioner. Do we really want to know the truth of who Jesus was, who He is, beyond the philosophical exercise?

Perhaps that first Maundy Thursday, just before the Passover Feast, just a day before Jesus was betrayed, is a revealing scene for the honest seeker of Christ's identity. The story is recounted in the Gospel of John. (Footnote 4: John 13:1-17.) Jesus looks at his disciples, his friends, those who would soon deny even knowing him, those who even so, He would love to the end. And standing with those men, knowing the weight of the eternal task before him, knowing from where He came from and where He was going—knowing that before the light of Sunday would come the blackness of Friday and the emptiness of Saturday—Jesus took a towel and a basin and began to wash their feet.

Indeed, who is this man? It was Oswald Chambers who once observed that drudgery is the truest test of genuine character. Foot washing was a lowly job, an oft-recurring job due to sandals and dusty streets—a job for a servant. But here, the menial task was instead performed by the master, their teacher—the Son of God.

And the influential truth of Christ's identity is that He still does what is analogous to washing soiled feet: our deepest sorrows He feels, our sorriest actions He accepts, our smallest prayers He hears—our every transgression He forgives, our dusty, tired hearts He washes.

On this eventful Thursday, may we wake again and again to the enormity of who Christ is, and in so doing heed his command to love as He has loved us.