Love begins at home

DRIVING THOUGHT Today, Maundy Thursday, we remember the image that represents this day: Jesus gathered with His disciples, took a towel and basin, and knelt to wash their feet. It was a gesture of humility and also of deep and selfless love. And then came His new commandment: “Love one another.

As I have loved you, so you must love one another” (John 13:34). It is a beautiful command, easy to admire, but harder to live. Often when we hear “love your neighbor,” we imagine a distant someone — the poor, the marginalized, or even a stranger in need.



That love for a distant someone is necessary and good, and it has inspired many to donate to organizations that work to help the poor. But Jesus’ commandment begins in a room with His closest companions—those who shared bread with Him, including the one who would betray Him. Love, it seems, must begin close to home.

It does not begin with faceless strangers. Showing love at home is not easy. What if the home is where the wounds are? That’s when the “love one another” commandment becomes more difficult to practice.

There are many reasons why this is difficult. There are families where siblings have not spoken in years, some due to inheritance issues, others to misguided comments. There are homes where a parent and child have grown distant, not out of geography but because of old arguments or misunderstood silences.

There’s the holiday meal where unspoken tension tempers behavior and comments. And there are couples who have drifted apart and are now living separate lives. It's sad that in some cases, the people we avoid most carefully are those we once shared a room with as children.

How often do we hear friends say they have not spoken to a sibling for many years? For some, it seems easier to give to charity or volunteer at church than to call a brother they’ve not spoken to in a decade. It is easier to love the idea of humanity than to love a mother who disappointed us, a father who failed us, or a cousin who betrayed our trust. Maundy Thursday stands with a quiet and powerful invitation: to stoop, to serve, and to love even those who are hardest to love — especially when they are in our own family.

The commandment Jesus gave wasn’t abstract. It was rooted in His actions. He washed the feet of His disciples — including Peter, who would deny Him, and Judas, who would betray Him.

He loved them anyway. He fed them. He spoke peace to them.

Outside the home but nearer to us, where else can we live this commandment? In the workplace, where grudges simmer just beneath polite exchanges. In our neighborhoods, where we may have stopped talking to someone over a long-forgotten offense. In churches, where theological differences sometimes cut deeper than they should.

In marriages grown distant. In friendships grown cold. But especially — in families fractured by time, ego, or hurt.

This Maundy Thursday, we are not merely invited to remember a ritual. We are called to a way of life. To a love that reaches first not to the farthest, but to the nearest.

A love that may cost us our pride, that requires us to kneel and wash feet — even if the feet belong to someone we don’t particularly want to touch. Perhaps the most sacred thing we can do this Holy Week is to send a message. Make a call.

Offer an apology. Begin again. I know these are difficult things to do.

I’ve been there. The table Jesus sets is always wide enough for reconciliation. Before we serve the world, perhaps we are called to bend low and serve those in our own homes — those we’ve perhaps stopped seeing, or worse, stopped forgiving.

Today is a good day to let love begin not just at the altar or the soup kitchen, but at our own dinner table..