Not My Feet: The Scandalous Intimacy of Foot Washing
Not long ago, I was in a meeting at one of our churches, a small group of four or five people that included two women. And as the meeting concluded, we started talking about upcoming events on the church calendar. And one of the women said, with a twinkle in her eye, “Well, I just got my toes done. I want my feet to look pretty for foot washing.”
“Uh-uh, nobody’s going to touch my feet,” the woman sitting next to her said.
The first woman turned and looked. “You’re not going to go up if there’s foot washing?”
“Oh no, nobody touches my feet. Well, maybe my husband.”
And then we switched subjects. Thankfully.
A Profoundly Intimate Act
It is odd, isn’t it, this practice in which we touch each other’s feet? And as we’re doing so, we pray for the person whose feet we are washing. It is a profoundly intimate act.
But it doesn’t have the grit of what happened as the gospel writers describe it. Because as many of you know, in that day, feet were filthy. People wore sandals in the dusty streets of Israel. The only people who washed feet were slaves. And in the hierarchical system, a slave was property, not entirely human, someone to whom one could do anything with impunity.
So of course, it was the slave who washed feet. And this act was considered beneath the dignity, beneath the humanity, of anyone else.
Not My Feet
No wonder Peter is horrified. He is scandalized. Every taboo has been broken. He tells Jesus, “You will never wash my feet” (John 13:8). He’s uncomfortable. He’s angered. This incredible breach thrusts him into a situation for which he is entirely unprepared.
And Peter, who has no filters whatsoever, bursts out in horror with his exact thoughts. “You will never wash my filthy, filthy feet.”
I have a lot of sympathy for Peter because quite honestly, if I could get away with God not washing my feet, I might be pretty happy. Because you see, for Jesus to wash the feet of his disciples was both a demonstration and an impartation of, as the scripture says, “Having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end” (John 13:1).
But to feel fingers between my toes, to allow another to touch those places on my feet where I’m still a little ticklish, puts me in an extraordinarily uncomfortable position. To have my feet washed by Jesus is actually giving him permission to touch any area of my life.
Any area.
No more is there the outward self that looks good and the inward self that I hope nobody notices. Jesus, in this act of foot washing, chooses in essence to come behind that false self I wear on the outside and touch those places I would rather keep secret, thank you very much.
No Secrets
Of course, I’ve been set up. It reminds me of Cranmer’s Collect for Purity, “Almighty God, to whom all hearts are open, all desires known, and no secrets are hid.”
And so this simple act of foot washing makes visible Cranmer’s prayer by coming in and intentionally touching us in those private places. It gets at my fear that if the hidden things are exposed, I will be exposed. Anyone will see everything, and then, God, what will I do?
My worst fears are realized. Condemnation now rears its ugly head and laughs at me in my shame, cackling with delight because the very thing I did not want shown has now been revealed: by everyone, to everyone, and worst of all, to the pure, spotless, Lamb of God.
Where shall I go?
And to my utter surprise, his perfect love comes into those places where there is fear and shame that does not want to see the light of day. And with such extraordinary gentleness, like quietly cracking open the door of a dark room, he shines a little bit of light on a small child in the bed, afraid.
And the way the Lord approaches that terrified child, the child within me, is so tender, so kind that I can’t help but take the covers and pull them off my head to see who it is who speaks to me with such extraordinary gentleness.
Having loved me who was in the world, he loved me to the end. Without reservation, without condemnation. Only light, only love.
And the cackling, horrific voice of condemnation is killed, slain, like the dragon in the book of Revelation, as love and light steal into that room and envelop that child with a warmth that, up until that time, he has never known.
That’s what Jesus does. Something no human could ever, ever do.
A New Creature
That’s actually what happens when we come to ingest the bread of life and the cup of salvation. It’s similar to the invitation of asking Jesus himself, by his Spirit, to come into the depths of our being and touch places inside of us that no one has ever touched except in fear, anger, shame, and condemnation; to build up within us a stability and security in his love that will not let us go. And out of that to create within us, as Paul says, “a new creature” (2 Cor. 5:17b KJV).
A new creature that is learning not to be afraid. A new creature that is finding a level of poise and dignity rather than terror in the night, monsters under the bed, the next person coming into the room and slamming the door open with rage. No. All of those dragons have been killed in the warmth of his light.
Don’t let the repetitious rhythm of what we do every week in church rob you of the radical nature of the invitation: the invitation for Jesus to come and to touch deep places in you, not for condemnation but for joy, for light, for freedom. Because that is what he offers those whom he loves, and that’s us.
We’ve been invited. And I hope that’s why you come (or will come) to church, to somehow steal away from what’s happening out there, to just come for a little while and be in the presence of God.
Out of the Limelight
I saw the following quote on Twitter: “In our day, politicians act like rock stars, rock stars act like politicians, and yet where is Jesus? Out of the limelight, washing feet.”
That’s where we are. For now, we’re out of the limelight. We’re in a quiet place. We’ve been invited to be in his presence. Will you ask him in?
How have you responded to Christ’s invitation? Has he touched those deep places in your life? Share this blog on Twitter and include my username, @revgregbrewer. Let’s talk.
(This post is an adaption of Bishop Brewer’s sermon on Maundy Thursday, March 24, 2016, at The Cathedral Church of St. Luke, Orlando, Florida).
Unless otherwise noted, scripture quotations are from the New Revised Standard Version Bible, copyright © 1989 the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.