But some doubted...

by Bart Denny

Most of us know what it feels like to live under evaluation.

We get measured at work. Compared at school. Judged online. And yes, sometimes even in church. Over time, that constant scrutiny does something to us. It quietly trains us to build our identity on performance: Am I succeeding? Am I respected? Am I keeping up? Am I right?

And when our identity feels fragile, we get defensive. We push back. We justify ourselves. We posture. We react. Because when identity isn’t secure, disagreement feels dangerous.

But Jesus offers something better than a better performance. He offers a deeper anchor.

That’s why we launched a series called The Upper Room Way—because on the night before the cross, Jesus didn’t simply give His disciples information. He formed them. In a room heavy with tension and sorrow, Jesus shaped a people who could live faithfully in a hostile world—not through outrage, not through dominance, but through love, cleansing, and a secure identity in Him.

When titles don’t answer the real question

I’ve spent a good portion of my life in environments where identity felt visible. In the military, you wore it. Rank on your collar. Insignia on your chest. Ribbons that told your story before you ever spoke. In that world, you didn’t have to ask who was in charge. You could see it.

And I’ll be honest: there’s something reassuring about that. Clear lines. Clear authority. Clear recognition.

But here’s what I learned: even when your rank is clear, identity can still feel fragile.

You can be respected and still wonder if you’re enough. You can be accomplished and still fear being exposed as a fraud. You can hold authority and still feel insecure when the room gets quiet.

Between the Navy, pastoral ministry, and teaching, I’ve carried a few titles. But titles don’t impress me much—especially when they’re attached to me—because titles don’t answer the deeper question:

Am I truly known?

Not “Do people know the version of me they see on Sunday?” I mean: Do they know the real me? Do they know my motives? My doubts? My fears?

And then comes the harder question:

If I were fully known… would I still be loved?

If everything got exposed—pride, insecurity, selfish ambition—would anyone stay?

Many of us quietly assume love depends on partial knowing. As long as people don’t see everything, we feel safe. So we perform. We polish. We project strength. Christians aren’t immune to that. We can define ourselves by being right, being strong, being influential.

But underneath it all is the same ache:

If I were fully known… would I still belong?

And that question doesn’t disappear when you go home from work. It can get louder in marriage, parenting, ministry, and yes—even in church.

That’s exactly the question the Upper Room answers.

Jesus kneels, and everything shifts

John 13:1–11 takes place “just before the Passover Festival” (John 13:1, NIV). The air is heavy. Betrayal is already stirring (John 13:2, NIV). The cross is near.

And then Jesus rises from the table.

If we rush past the moment, we’ll miss what John is doing. This isn’t random kindness. This isn’t simply an illustration about humility. Before Jesus ever touches the basin, John tells us what Jesus knows: His hour has come, He’s returning to the Father, and the Father has placed everything under His authority (John 13:1–3, NIV).

And knowing all of that…

He kneels.

The One who kneels isn’t insecure. He knows exactly who He is. And from His secure identity, He begins to shape theirs.

Identity is being formed—not through performance, but through receiving the love of the Servant King.

Three movements that shape our identity

1) Receive the love of a Savior who knows you completely (John 13:1–3)

John emphasizes what Jesus knew. He knew His hour. He knew His authority. He knew His betrayer. And still John says, “Having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end” (John 13:1, NIV).

That phrase “to the end” points to the cross. Jesus’ love isn’t sentimental; it’s covenantal. It sees clearly and moves anyway.

This matters because most of us assume we’re lovable as long as we’re not fully known.

But Jesus doesn’t love us with incomplete information. John already told us Jesus “knew what was in each person” (John 2:25, NIV). He knew Judas would betray Him. He knew Peter would deny Him. He knew the cross stood just ahead. And still He loved.

Paul describes that love like this: “While we were still sinners, Christ died for us” (Romans 5:8, NIV). Love doesn’t wait for improvement. Love acts.

So here’s the first question this passage presses into us:

Are we actually receiving that love?

Not the idea of it. The reality of it. The kind of love that knows and loves anyway.

2) Receive the cleansing that makes you His (John 13:4–8)

Then love becomes visible.

Jesus takes off His outer garment, wraps a towel around His waist, pours water into a basin, and begins washing feet (John 13:4–5, NIV). In the first century, that was the job of the lowest servant. Yet the One who holds all authority kneels before fishermen.

And then Peter speaks for most of us: “Lord, are you going to wash my feet?” (John 13:6, NIV). Peter doesn’t know what to do with a Savior who stoops.

Jesus replies, “You do not realize now what I am doing, but later you will understand” (John 13:7, NIV). Peter protests: “You shall never wash my feet” (John 13:8, NIV).

It sounds humble. It’s actually resistance.

And Jesus responds with words that pull this moment out of mere custom and into salvation: “Unless I wash you, you have no part with me” (John 13:8, NIV).

That isn’t about dirt. That’s about belonging.

Peter wants dignity without dependence. He wants to honor Jesus, but he doesn’t want Jesus to serve him. And that instinct lives in us. We often feel more comfortable serving Christ than being served by Christ—because serving feels strong. Receiving feels vulnerable.

But Jesus insists: Let Me wash you.

Because identity in Christ doesn’t come from effort. It comes from grace.

Titus 3 says it plainly: God “saved us, not because of righteous things we had done, but because of his mercy,” through “the washing of rebirth and renewal by the Holy Spirit” (Titus 3:5, NIV).

So yes—one day, Jesus will call His disciples to wash one another’s feet (John 13:14, NIV). But He doesn’t start with the example. He starts with cleansing.

The cleansing comes first.

3) Rest in Jesus’ words: “You are clean” (John 13:9–11)

After Jesus says, “Unless I wash you…,” Peter swings to the other extreme: “not just my feet but my hands and my head as well!” (John 13:9, NIV). Peter overcorrects. I relate to that.

But Jesus clarifies: “Those who have had a bath need only to wash their feet; their whole body is clean” (John 13:10, NIV). Then He says the words at the heart of this message: “And you are clean, though not every one of you” (John 13:10, NIV). John explains: Jesus said this because He knew who would betray Him (John 13:11, NIV).

So much is happening here. Jesus distinguishes between the bath and the foot washing—between what has already been accomplished and what still needs daily attention.

And here’s the key: Jesus says they are clean not because they are flawless, courageous, or fully understanding. They’re clean because they belong to Him.

Their identity doesn’t hang in the balance. Jesus settles it.

That doesn’t mean perfection. It means position. It means belonging.

Paul later writes: “There is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus” (Romans 8:1, NIV). In other words, your belonging doesn’t rise and fall with how well you did this week.

John 5:24 says those who believe “has crossed over from death to life” (John 5:24, NIV). Not “might.” Not “someday.” Has.

But John also keeps Judas in frame. Proximity isn’t belonging. You can be near Jesus and not belong to Jesus.

So how do you belong? John 1:12 gives the answer: “To all who did receive him… he gave the right to become children of God” (John 1:12, NIV). That right is given, not earned.

So here’s what Jesus offers: not anxiety-driven religion, but identity spoken over you:

“You are clean” (John 13:10, NIV).

What does this produce in a community?

If Jesus has loved us “to the end” (John 13:1, NIV)… if He has washed us and given us a “part” with Him (John 13:8, NIV)… if He has declared, “You are clean” (John 13:10, NIV)…

Then what kind of people should we become?

A church shaped by the Servant King doesn’t have to win to feel secure. We don’t need cultural approval to validate our worth. We don’t need constant applause to know who we are.

When belonging feels secure, we can listen without fear. Disagree without hostility. Serve without resentment. Love without keeping score.

In other words: secure identity produces quiet strength. It produces kneeling instead of posturing.

That’s the Upper Room way.

Three Monday-morning responses

1. Stop hiding what Jesus already knows.
   If Jesus loves with full knowledge, you don’t need to polish yourself before you come. You can pray honest prayers. Confession becomes safe when love feels secure.
2. Stop resisting grace.
   Where do you still try to prove you’re good enough, strong enough, faithful enough? Jesus doesn’t ask you to cleanse yourself. He asks you to let Him wash you.
3. Live from belonging, not for it.
   If Jesus can declare, “You are clean” (John 13:10, NIV), then your belonging doesn’t rise and fall with performance. You don’t serve to earn a place. You serve because you already have one.

A picture that brings it home

Think about adoption.

A judge steps in and declares a child legally and permanently part of a family. The child’s story doesn’t instantly change. The child may still struggle, doubt, test boundaries, carry scars. But the judge has done something decisive: the judge has spoken a declaration—You belong.

Belonging comes first. Over time, identity grows into that reality. Security reshapes how that child lives.

That’s what Jesus does in the Upper Room. He kneels. He washes. And He says, “You are clean” (John 13:10, NIV).

That’s not advice. That’s a declaration.

And when identity feels secure, obedience becomes gratitude instead of anxiety. Service becomes overflow instead of proof.

The invitation

So hear this clearly:

Before you ever pick up the towel to serve others… let Jesus wash you first.

Before you imitate the Servant King… rest in the love of the Servant King.

You are fully known.
You are fully loved.
Your identity is shaped by the Servant King.

Stop living like your belonging is still up for debate.

The Servant King has already loved you “to the end” (John 13:1, NIV). And to those who belong to Him, He declares, “You are clean” (John 13:10, NIV).

That’s not probation. That’s identity.

And when you know you’re loved like that, you don’t have to stand on guard in this world.

You can kneel.

Not to earn your place, but because your place at the table is already secure.

That’s where The Upper Room Way begins.

About the Author

Dr. Bart Denny is the lead pastor of Pathway Church (a Wesleyan congregation in western Michigan) and an adjunct instructor who teaches leadership and ministry-related courses. A retired U.S. Navy officer, he brings a servant-leadership lens to Scripture and a steady, Christ-centered focus to preaching and discipleship. His writing encourages believers—especially in small and rural churches—to anchor their identity in Jesus and live faithfully in a rapidly changing culture.

This blog post is based on a sermon Pastor Bart preached at Pathway on Sunday, February 22, 2026. You can find the entire service, including this sermon, at: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_DkHFDLTgME