Maundy Thursday
April 14, 2022
Now before the festival of the Passover, Jesus knew that his hour had come to depart from this world and go to the Father. Having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end. The devil had already put it into the heart of Judas son of Simon Iscariot to betray him. And during supper Jesus, knowing that the Father had given all things into his hands, and that he had come from God and was going to God, got up from the table, took off his outer robe, and tied a towel around himself. Then he poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples’ feet and to wipe them with the towel that was tied around him. He came to Simon Peter, who said to him, “Lord, are you going to wash my feet?” Jesus answered, “You do not know now what I am doing, but later you will understand.” Peter said to him, “You will never wash my feet.” Jesus answered, “Unless I wash you, you have no share with me.” Simon Peter said to him, “Lord, not my feet only but also my hands and my head!” Jesus said to him, “One who has bathed does not need to wash, except for the feet, but is entirely clean. And you are clean, though not all of you.” For he knew who was to betray him; for this reason he said, “Not all of you are clean.”
At a summer church conference some time back, a few of us on the worship team decided to have a foot washing. A few hundred Presbyterians had gathered on the campus of Wilson College, three hours down I-81. For one evening worship service, how about if we have a foot washing?
It's something Jesus told his followers to do, but none of us had ever done it. Most of us had never seen it. Anybody ever participate in a foot washing? So we needed to think through how it would happen.
There were other logistical issues. Worship was held in a large lecture hall with a concrete floor. Were we going to wash everybody's feet? There were three hundred Presbyterians and six hundred feet, give or take a few. the team said, "Let's set up six stations around the bottom, carefully spaced a safe distance apart, each with a single folding chair, pitcher, basin, and towel." Volunteers were secured and trained.
Early in the week, we ran over to Walmart to pick up the plastic pitchers and basins. We also purchased some fluffy cotton towels, not those polyester towels that don't dry anything. One helpful volunteer suggested picking up some perfume, saying, "Wouldn't that smell nice?" We nixed the idea and said, "Thanks, but wrong Bible story." Instead, there was a small bottle of soft scrub soap, just enough to make some bubbles, because, you know we had to have bubbles. So, plans were made, props were secured.
Then we needed to spread the word. Let the Presbyterians know what we were doing. Couldn't spring it on them, as Jesus did to his disciples. Presbyterians don't like surprises, especially if they are wearing panty hose. So we put out a front page notice on the daily conference newsletter.
When the evening came, my friend Bill offered a brief sermon, speaking of service in the company of the basin and towel. That framed the event nicely. Then he made the invitation: if you would like to take part in the foot washing, please stand, and one of the six team members will lead you to a chair and wash your feet. And when that concludes, in the spirit of Jesus, you are welcome to invite someone else to sit in the chair, and you wash their feet, and so on.
He insisted, "This is an invitation, not an obligation, and something we'd like to provide."
So you know what happened? Nothing. Silence. Nobody stood. Nobody moved. After an interminable silence, one person stood over here, so a team member went to lead her to a chair while 299 pairs of eyes followed. Another one stood, tentatively. My friend whispered, "Maybe you and I should show them how it's done." "OK," I said, "I'll follow you over and wash your feet." "Oh no," he replied, "I asked you first. Then we will both go out and invite a couple of others to come down."
It was the first time, only time, I've ever let someone do that to me. What a weird feeling! Suds between the toes, feeling a little claustrophobic, squirming on the cold, metal chair. Maybe this is just too personal, too close, too intimate, too much. All kinds of emotions swirled through my soul. It was a blessed relief when he reached for the towel and padded them dry. "Don't forget between the toes," I said quietly, and he smiled. Then we stood to seek out two more volunteers.
He approached a lady with long slacks. She shook her head, "No!" He looked at her quizzically, and she pulled up one pant leg to reveal panty hose. "Didn't you read the memo?" he asked. "Of course I did," she replied; "That's why I put them on."
Meanwhile, I approached a young woman with long red hair, a social worker as I was to find out. I reached out my hand in silent invitation. She took it, paused, pulled back, and then took my hand and followed me to an open chair. She slipped off her sandals. I cupped the water in my hands and dropped it on her feet. She flinched, settled back. And then she started to weep. Her shoulders started to shake and she started to sob.
I paused; "are you OK?" She nodded and kept crying. I don't know what was going on with her. Later, she told me that she was always the one caring for others, looking out for others, taking care of others - and here, in a simple act, she had to let someone care for her. "I have a hard time being that vulnerable," she confessed. "I'm an expert at tending to others and pushing my own caregivers away."
I don't remember much about the rest of that foot washing night. We didn't get to all the other 590 feet. Got to some, some of them washed others. Many folks sat frozen like Presbyterian icicles, afraid to be washed, afraid to be touched, afraid to anyone to get too close - Jesus or otherwise.
What would you have done?
What I remember are the tears, and what she said: "I have a hard time being that vulnerable." I think that reveals a lot - about her, about me, perhaps about you. It certainly tells us a great deal about Simon Peter.
What are you doing, Jesus? He pushes back, he resists, he says, "You're never going to do this for me." We would like to be competent, in charge, capable, empowered, fully responsible for our own welfare. Yet we heard how Jesus responds: "Unless I wash you, you have no share with me."
"No share in me." It is the Gospel of John’s habit to use simple words, everyday words, and infuse them with mystery: bread, water, light…and “share.”
What's a "share"? Something magical? No. Like slicing up a pie: here's your share, your piece. Like going to the counter of the auto store: "I'm looking for a part." Part, piece, share - all the same word for John. Essentially Jesus tells him - and us - you cannot completely be a part of me, a part of my life, a part of my holiness - unless I wash you.
To which Peter blurts out, "Scrub me, head to toe. Hose me down!" No, no, no. The issue is holiness, not hygiene. And it comes by invitation from Jesus. He offers the cleansing grace, the wash and rinse of forgiveness, the fullness of love.
"But I have a hard time being that vulnerable," she said. If I've never said it out loud, I've certainly felt it.
Yet this is the continuing invitation of our Lord. To allow him to draw close. To welcome his restoring power. To accept his forgiveness of us. To take him in by faith as we eat the bread and drink the cup. This is how he becomes part of us, and how we have a share in his life - his holy, loving life. It has so little to do with our competence - and everything to do with our willingness to say yes to his grace.
(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.
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