Surrendering to Footwashing

Maundy Thursday

Year C

John 13:1-17; 31b-35

               

        The disciples have had supper with Jesus, they are probably reclining as was the standard way to eat a meal.  If this was a movie we were watching, this would be when the music slows down, the camera slows down and we watch with both anticipation and anxiety every movement knowing something is coming.  John is very deliberate, very methodical, and very precise in how he sets this scene.  Watching this on the screen, we would probably see the disciples looking back and forth at one another, squirming, looking down, and awkward silence.

        The disciples have seen Jesus defy societal norms before; they’ve seen him live a life modeling full inclusion and equality, a life lived modeling living within the spirit and not just the letter of the law.  They’ve seen him eat with prostitutes and tax collectors, break Sabbath rules by healing and feeding on the Sabbath.  In spite of all that, this moment is particularly awkward-they’ve never been on the receiving end of such a direct challenge to societal rules, hierarchical roles—this is huge.

        The washing of guests’ feet falls to the lowest of the low.  It’s not just whatever servant is available.  This is a servant with whom even the other servants avoid contact if possible.  These people wash the dirtiest of the dirty feet.  Remember the roads upon which Jesus and the disciples walked on either bare feet or sandals not covering much more than today’s flip flops would, are not paved; they are dirt.  They are often muddy, dusty and these are the same roads that animals walk on without those cute signs asking people to pick up after their pets.  Sometimes people go days if not weeks before they bathe—they’re dirty, smelly, perhaps blistered, and rough—cover with callouses. 

        Can you see the disciples’ discomfort?  Can you feel the tension?  Jesus, their Lord and master is going to touch their feet, and they are uncomfortable, anxious.  Perhaps some tuck their feet up under themselves, perhaps as they are waiting their turn they try to subtly wipe off the excess dirt.  All the while, they are wondering what all this means.  Jesus hasn’t really explained himself—let’s face it, they typically don’t get it anyway.  This night, Jesus feeds them; he washes them clean; he tries to prepare them for what is to come.

        What we know watching is that these disciples will take their clean feet and their full bodies, and they will betray him.  True they don’t betray him as Judas did (whose feet by the way he also washed), but they betray him as they fall asleep in the garden when he’s asked them to stay awake with him; they betray him when they deny him, and they betray him when on their clean feet, with their full bodies they flee.  They failed Jesus—they failed in extending love to him as he extended it to them.

        If that was as far as we knew, that that was the end of our story, then what would be the point?  How painful it would be to watch this story.  If this was the end of the story then, how could we possibly expose ourselves, our vulnerability to anyone?  How could we accept unconditional love from anyone?  But that’s not the end of the story; we know that because of the cross and resurrection, life conquers death, love conquers hate, inclusion conquers desertion, and knowing that helps us to accept and extend grace, knowing that helps us to accept Jesus’ love and to extend that love others.

        Tonight I invite you to yield, to give yourself over, to submit yourself to the vulnerability of having your feet washed—to live through the discomfort, expose yourself to the awkwardness.  And as your feet are washed by one of your brothers or sisters in Christ or if you choose not to have your feet washed this evening, as you sit quietly in your pews picture Jesus’ hands washing you, scrubbing away your insecurities, washing away your weariness, buffing away your bitterness, soothing your sorrows so that you are cleansed and refreshed—strengthened and renewed that you may continue to follow Jesus—to walk with Jesus to the cross and beyond and bringing others along with you.

Amen.