April 15, 2024
“Jesus got up from the meal, took off his outer clothing, and wrapped a towel around his waist. After that, he poured water into a basin and began to wash his disciples’ feet, drying them with the towel that was wrapped around him.” John 13:4-5 NIV
Visiting my in-laws after Easter reminded me of all the times my mother-in-law visited with a pan of homemade frozen enchiladas, a pecan pie (Rod’s favorite), a wedge of cheese from a coop, small toys for the boys, Playtex kitchen gloves and a servant’s heart. She came prepared to feed and clean, including the refrigerator and stove.
Her visits were a joy, and although I insisted that she didn’t need to feed or clean, she persisted. Acts of service were her love language.
The one thing I do not remember her cleaning was our toilet (there was only one back then). Cleaning toilets is about as unpleasant a chore as prepping for a colonoscopy.
Jesus chose to do just such an unpleasant chore when he took off his outer robe, draped a towel around his waist and washed his disciples’ feet as a part of the last supper in the upper room.
Washing feet was a necessary chose in the ancient Near East. Feet go dirty due to wearing sandals, just like my feet used to get in the summer when I shed sneakers and wore sandals or went bare feet. Do you remember washing your dirty, grass-stained feet sitting on the edge of the tub?
In Jesus’ time, a servant (a euphemism for slave), usually male but sometimes female, washed feet. It was beneath the status of regular people to wash the feet of others.
It was this chore that Jesus did during that last meal with his friends, outrageous for the Messiah to perform. The modern equivalent would be a Joe Biden or Donald Trump stooping so low as to clean your toilet.
The Bible tells us that Jesus came to serve, not to be served. We are to do the same.
Imagine interrupting a perfectly fine meal by taking the time and extending the loving intimacy of washing another person’s feet, allowing someone else to wash your feet. Either way, it’s a vulnerable, humbling moment
Our ten-year-old granddaughter got just such an experience Maundy Thursday. A picture of it is below.
I hope you will have a chance to do so as well.
Anne
Wayfinding 