Follow Your Feet
Maundy THursday | April 1, 2021
John 12:1-8
John 13:1-17, 31b-35
It always takes a little time to convey to our first communion students exactly what would be happening today. We’re going to wash your feet. There are always a few raised eyebrows. You need to wear shoes and socks that can be removed easily. I mean, really. Can you think of any other situation—except for getting a pedicure—where your feet are washed? In public? And why is that, do you think?
It’s not a hard question. It’s embarrassing. People are ashamed of their feet. We don’t want someone to touch them, to see them. What if they shrink back in horror? I’ve seen a few disgusting feet in my day. It’s not an illogical fear. We want to put our best foot forward. And for many of us, that best foot is definitely not the feet.
Imagine what feet must have looked like in first century Israel. Everyone walking around in sandals. Through the dirt and dust. No pedicures or nail salons nearby. No wonder the washing of feet at a home’s entrance was relegated to the lowest of slaves. The nobodies. Who cares about them, anyway?
Which explains part of the hesitation when Jesus removes his outer cloak and brandishes a towel, telling his disciples he was going to wash their feet. Holy smoke, Jesus, what are you doing? I’ve got fungus on that one toe—I don’t want you touching it. My feet are deformed—you shouldn’t be near them. My heels are cracked and bloody—you don’t want that. And I don’t want you seeing that part of me. I’m ashamed.
And that’s exactly why Jesus does it. Peter says, “You will never wash my feet.” And Jesus responds, “unless the most unsightly part of you is exposed to the redemption of Christ, you stand apart from the grace I willingly and graciously offer.” You can’t take the glory of God without the humility of God—the love of God.
Jesus offers us a daring kind of love—the kind that stoops close to the ugliest part of our lives and kisses it, like a mother kissing a child’s scratch after falling down—again. But Jesus doesn’t just offer the love—he invites us into it. He commands us to do the same—to get down into the dust at the feet of the most ugly scoundrel we can imagine and wash their feet clean, and kiss them with a holy kiss, and pray for their wholeness.
So, now not only are we embarrassed by our own exposure, but we’re disgusted by the exposure of others—those we fear, those we hate, those we love, those we don’t understand. Why would our God do such a thing—call us into such a humiliating situation? We find ourselves embarrassed and afraid of this God who stoops down to be a servant. It’s one thing to be theological about it, but really. Is God so weak that God must stoop to such a level?
No. But we are. God doesn’t stoop because of God’s weakness. God stoops because of ours. God chooses to come to our level because God knows we have no hope of getting to God’s. So, God comes to us. God shows us the kind of love that embraces our vulnerability and our sensitivity—that takes us just as we are, complete with fungus, cracks, and bunions.
Because where the feet go…we go. I think we dismiss the power of feet. Did you know that when you pay attention to body language, feet can tell a story? Watch someone’s feet as you talk to them. If they point away from you, they likely are looking for an opportunity to leave. Maybe they’re late for an appointment or uncomfortable with the conversation. But the heart goes where the feet go.
I’ve recently had a difficult time sleeping. Someone suggested that I rub lavender oil on the bottoms of my feet. I don’t know why, but it helps. When my son get congested, I put Vicks rub on the bottoms of his feet to help him breathe. When you are unbalanced in your feet, in impacts everything above them—your whole body is imbalanced.
Jesus knew that we follow our feet. When Peter realized what Jesus was saying and doing, he insisted on having his head and hands washed, as well. But Jesus told him only his feet needed to be washed. Because when our feet are set straight, our bodies follow.
It's truly too bad that we don’t practice foot washing more regularly. Imagine having your feet washed every time you come for communion. Walking barefoot to the altar. Wiggling your toes in anticipation. Knowing that, though you struggled to follow Christ during the week, he can again set you straight—not just fill you with his body and forgive you with his words, but straighten your path. Re-right your feet. Because it’s truly a sacramental experience—complete with stuff and promise and command.
But today we settle for washing our students’ feet. Perhaps they’re not as easily embarrassed as we are. They’ve not walked long in their shoes. And, to be honest, their parents and their pastor told them this is what they have to do. So there. But Jesus told us, too. That once our feet are set toward the cross, we are to wash the feet of others—others who need us to stoop into their world and offer the comfort only an act of humility can provide. And in the washing, our feet learn a new path—a new way to walk. They learn to walk in humility. They learn to walk in justice. They learn to walk with Christ and neighbor, healing brokenness together.
Pastor Tobi White
Our Saviour’s Lutheran Church
Lincoln, NE
