Readings: Exodus 12: 1 – 4, 11 – 14; Psalm 116: 1 – 2; 11 – 16; 1 Corinthians 11: 23 – 26; John 13: 1 – 17, 31b – 35
We’ve just heard the account of Jesus washing his disciples’ feet. I’ve been looking back on my life and thinking about some of my own experiences of footwashing.
Washing the sand off my own feet under the cold tap on the sea front after a day on the beach as a child.
Babies’ feet splashing in the bath, before they have discovered that feet are for walking on – tiny and round with impossibly small toes. Wriggly children who won’t sit still on my lap while I try to dry between their toes. ‘This little pig went to market’. I wonder if anyone still knows that rhyme? And then, much later, a more problematic experience; washing my mother’s feet when she was an old lady, about six months before she died. I remember it clearly. We were visiting from two hundred miles away. I had to kneel in front of her on the bathroom floor. The rest of the family had gone out to see relatives, and here I was, left with the task of washing her old, hard feet. Those few moments seemed to bring into sharp focus all my complicated feelings about her old age and frailty. My love for her. My guilt at living so far away. My frustration at being put into the role of carer – even for such a short time – and missing out on being with the rest of the family. I never had the opportunity again to show my love for her in this particular way.
“I give you a new commandment”, says Jesus, “that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another” (John 13: 34). And then He shows His disciples how they are to love one another by washing their feet, the most menial of everyday tasks, normally carried out by a slave.
Peter, predictably, misunderstands and resists, horrified that one whom he has recognised as Lord and Messiah should serve him in this way. To which Jesus replies “Unless I wash you, you have no part in me.”
What does it mean, then, to be washed by Jesus? It is to be symbolically taken into the events of the Passion, to die and rise with him as we do in baptism. We do this by faith, as we trust that Jesus is indeed the Son of God who shared our humanity, suffered and died for us. Through Christ we receive forgiveness, we’re made clean and renewed. We become part of Christ’s body, the church. And then we’re invited to follow Jesus’ example, to serve one another.
Many of us, like Peter, find it easier to give than to receive. We don’t generally have a very long list of people volunteering to have their feet washed on Maundy Thursday. Why is this? Partly perhaps because the act itself isn’t something which features in our everyday adult life. Also because I suspect it might be emotionally a little challenging. Because to be willing to receive at all involves admitting our own need and vulnerability. And then again, we often don’t like being the centre of attention.
The footwashing itself is symbolic. Despite the examples from my life we’re not usually called to literally do this. But what kind of service does it suggest? In a hot dusty country where people wore sandals, washing of feet was a necessary service for guests on entering a home. It isn’t especially clever or beautiful; it doesn’t take a great deal of learning or skill. It can be back breaking getting down on the floor to do it. It’s humble, menial service. I know for myself it’s easy to dedicate the gifts we enjoy to the service of others – singing or reading an especially poetic passage from the Bible are examples of things I love to do. It’s much harder to do the dull, hidden things, things that anyone can do.
Footwashing is menial. It’s also rather intimate. I’ve been trying to think about whether there are any equivalents at all in our time and culture when touch of any kind can be so hedged about with anxiety. It’s relatively easy to love and serve people at a distance by perhaps supporting a charity. Rather harder with those we know – and may dislike! All my real examples took place in the context of family. And one of them made me realise just how complex my feelings were. But whether we like it or not, by virtue of our relationship with Christ, we are a family as church, brothers and sisters in Christ. We might then expect to know one another well enough that we can admit our needs and expect a loving, sensitive response. Well enough to say no without giving offence too. You can’t wash someone’s feet unless they’re prepared to take their socks off.
Footwashing was also a deliberate choice for Jesus. He chose this symbolic action because He knew that it would be remembered and that it would reverberate down the centuries. Loudly and clearly it proclaims what is expected of Christian leaders and their communities. We all have countless opportunities to make deliberate choices to love and serve others. They may go almost unnoticed, but they are real.
It isn’t easy to grow into a truly loving community, especially in a big church. When we do try to we may tread on peoples’ toes and make mistakes. We may misunderstand and hurt one another. Most families spend a certain amount of time saying sorry to one another. But it’s better to say sorry and move on together than to draw back and be distant. And it’s all part of growing up together.
And when, like Peter, we do misunderstand and get it wrong – or worse, Jesus still stands waiting for us with a basin and a towel, ready to serve us with love. To give us his full attention. To wash us clean and give us hope so that we can start again. Amen.