Feet

Charlotte Collins Reed

Christ Church Episcopal

April 9, 2020

Maundy Thursday

          In 2014 I was on sabbatical during Lent, Holy Week, and Easter.  For the first time since I was ordained in 1997, I had the opportunity to experience how other churches celebrate this season.  On Maundy Thursday that year, I was invited by a friend to help at Christ Church Cathedral in Cincinnati with their “Soak, Socks, and a Sandwich” ministry to people living on the streets of the city.  This was a Maundy Thursday footwashing, not in the liturgical sense, but in a very physical and most certainly spiritual sense.

          My job was to carry water back and forth, taking the dirty water away and bringing back clean water for those who were washing feet.  In between trips to get water, I was mostly an observer.  I remember being deeply touched by the care with which those washing feet removed the shoes, and socks if the person happened to have them, washed the dirty, smelly feet with warm water and soap, rinsed, dried, and lotioned them.   Once the feet were washed and dried, new clean socks were provided, along with a sandwich and a place to sit and eat.  All the while, the two people were chatting about life, kids, worries, hope and dreams and all the things that we hold in common as members of the human race.   Everything was done with such deep compassion and care, and no wrinkled nose at the smell or arched eyebrows at the dirt.  This footwashing was one human being serving the needs of another, just like Jesus did.  The connection was sacred.

          But then my attention shifted to those on the receiving end of the footwashing.  These folks had come into an unfamiliar place, staffed with people they did not know, and bared their tired, dirty feet to a complete stranger to be touched and washed.  They chatted with those washing their feet like old friends.  I was struck by their vulnerability as they allowed a stranger to hold their feet, trusting that person to care for them and treat them with compassion and dignity.  After having their feet washed, a few of the guests wanted to switch sides and wash the feet of the person who had washed their feet.  The people whose feet were washed that day showed me how to trust and be vulnerable with a transforming yet simple graciousness.  The connection was sacred.

          In John’s gospel, there is no bread and wine at Jesus’ last supper with his disciples.  Instead, we see Jesus take a towel and wash the feet of the disciples and tell the disciples that they should wash each other’s feet just as he has washed their feet.  I imagine this, too, was a dirty smelly business as feet were the main means of transportation, the footwear was sandals, and baths were rare.   Having one’s feet washed by Jesus would be a moment of deep tenderness and great vulnerability.

          That tenderness and vulnerability, along with the absurdity of a teacher washing his disciples’ feet, was just too much for Peter.  Peter says to Jesus “Lord, you will never wash my feet.” Jesus replies, "Unless I wash you, you have no share with me."  

          “You have no share with me.”  What does that mean? 

          To have a share with Jesus is to participate fully in Jesus’ life-to be completely connected with him.  Only by making themselves vulnerable to the love of Jesus will Peter and the disciples be able to serve as Jesus has served, and love as Jesus has loved, which are the two commandments Jesus gives the disciples this night.  Being vulnerable to the love of Jesus is a deeply physical vulnerability as well as an emotional and spiritual one, actually allowing Jesus to hold their feet and wash them.  The connection was sacred.

          In the midst of a pandemic, when we who claim strength in numbers must be alone, when we who like to have a plan for our lives really have no clue what the future holds, and when we who like our routines have no idea what the new normal will be like, on this particular Maundy Thursday, we are called to let ourselves enter that vulnerability and allow Jesus to wash our feet, at least in our hearts.  In the midst of our vulnerability, Jesus wants us to connect with him so completely that we are able to draw strength from him. To be completely connected with Jesus is to share in Jesus’ vulnerability and to trust that just as Jesus’ vulnerability led to new life, so will ours.  Like the disciples, we will be better able to do as Jesus commands, serving others with the tenderness and compassion of Jesus.  We will be better able to love each other as Jesus has loved us-not from a position of power or privilege, but from the strength that comes from knowing the depth of our own vulnerability and the promise of new life.  On this night, as we worship together yet apart, we are called to claim our deep connection with Jesus.  Even and especially in the midst of a pandemic, that connection is sacred.

                                                                   Amen.