Take off Your Shoes

Jesus knew that the Father had put all things under his power, and that he had come from God and was returning to God; so he 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.

He came to Simon Peter, who said to him, "Lord, are you going to wash my feet?"

Jesus replied, "You do not realize now what I am doing, but later you will understand."

"No," said Peter, "you shall never wash my feet."

Jesus answered, "Unless I wash you, you have no part with me."

"Then, Lord," Simon Peter replied, "not just my feet but my hands and my head as well!"

 Jesus answered, "Those who have had a bath need only to wash their feet; their whole body is clean. And you are clean, though not every one of you."  For he knew who was going to betray him, and that was why he said not every one was clean.  When he had finished washing their feet, he put on his clothes and returned to his place. "Do you understand what I have done for you?" he asked them. "You call me 'Teacher' and 'Lord,' and rightly so, for that is what I am. Now that I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also should wash one another's feet.  I have set you an example that you should do as I have done for you.  Very truly I tell you, servants are not greater than their master, nor are messengers greater than the one who sent them. Now that you know these things, you will be blessed if you do them.

-John 13:2-17- 

A few days ago I was at a rocky stretch of seaside, and I couldn't resist the urge to take my shoes off and let my feet grip the sun-warmed stones.  There is a sensate exhilaration to barefootedness for some of us-- wiggling toes, grounded and balanced upon the earth-- and I think there are interlocked layers of meaning when we slip off our shoes and sandals.  There is the classic scene of Moses barefooted beholding the burning bush-- dusty feet a recognition and closeness with the ground that is holy.  There is some of that fear and wonder prompting my reverence at the seaside, but let's be honest, I also like to have my toes in the sand.  I like the water and waves to reach up and touch me.  (It always leaps up higher than my rolled pant cuffs.  Without fail.)

 

It's the sense of being touched that's so important in barefooted scriptures.  Moses needs to remove whatever stands between him and contact with the holy ground.  When Jesus washes the disciples' feet, he is TOUCHING their grungy, weary parts.  Feet are ticklish, funny-shaped, strong, stinky parts of the body.  Jesus wants to touch that?

 

This Maundy Thursday, I finally had the opportunity to wash someone's feet.  After years of wanting to practice it, it was simple, powerful, and beautiful.  Granted, the feet of my friend were pretty nice.  When I took her feet into the basin, no sludge came off and no blisters oozed.  But I held her feet in my hands and, looking up at her, realized I was literally under her feet.  She could have kicked me aside or splashed me with water or just walked away, but she sat and let me rinse and dry her heels and toes into cleanliness.

 

We can shield our feet from contact and our hearts from loving service and not realize what we're doing.  But sometimes, some days, we might hope to understand, we might take our shoes off, and we might end up washing one another's feet.