Peter said to him, “You shall never wash my feet.” Jesus answered him, “If I do not wash you, you have no part in me.”
In the thirteen years I’ve been at S. Stephen’s, the foot-washing has never been a problem. Every year we invite twelve parishioners to come forward as representatives of the congregation to have their feet washed by the clergy; and we never seem to have any problem finding volunteers to fulfill that role.
This has not been the case in most of the other parishes that I’ve known. Before I came to S. Stephen’s, in the other parishes I served, just about every year someone who was asked to have their feet washed at the Maundy Thursday liturgy refused point blank: sometimes sheepishly, sometimes defiantly, sometimes apologetically – but always implicitly taking the stand of Peter, “You shall never wash my feet.”
The ceremony of the foot washing, the Mandatum or Maundy, dates from the Middle Ages. In obedience to our Lord’s new commandment to love one another as he has loved us, on Maundy Thursday Popes would wash the feet of servants, abbots the feet of monks, and kings and queens the feet of peasants.
Yet in many places it remains a controversial practice. Some years ago the Episcopal news magazine, The Living Church, printed an opinion piece by a priest arguing that we ought not to do the foot washing at all because it distracts our attention from the primary focus of Maundy Thursday, our Lord’s institution of the Holy Eucharist.
The foot-washing plays out differently in different parishes. When I lived in Texas, an old lady in the church I attended loudly told everyone that if they ever did the foot washing there she’d leave the parish. And since she was one of the principal contributors, her threat deterred the rector from introducing the practice, for several years at least.
On the other hand, this past week I heard of a parish where all the members of the congregation – about a hundred and fifty people – have their feet washed, a process lasting about an hour and a half. And just today, I heard of a parish where the ones who get their feet washed are the twelve members of the vestry, some of whom consciously or unconsciously project the smug attitude that now they’ve got the rector where they really want him.
Many more people are quite happy to have the foot washing take place in their parish so long as they don’t have to participate. The first time I was asked to be one of the foot-washees in a Maundy Thursday service, the rector was very specific that he wanted us to remove the shoe and sock of the right foot. This made me slightly uncomfortable, because several years before, when I was fifteen, I’d had surgery on the big toe of my right foot, leaving only half a toenail there. So, I was a bit reticent about exposing this little deformity to my rector’s up-close and personal inspection. In fact, I even warned him ahead of time so he wouldn’t be too shocked by the discovery.
The only reason I’m sharing this piece of information is to offer an example of why people are sometimes reluctant to participate in the foot washing ceremony. A writer by the name of Jay Rochelle says this: “When we wash feet we quickly recognize the many meanings feet have for us. We consider them sensitive and silly appendages. People don’t want to expose them. Feet get knobby and worn. They are covered with protruding veins, bunions, and calluses. Who wants to let the priest or anyone else touch these barges of human flesh? It’s an unfamiliar intimacy.”
So we can understand why Peter initially refuses to allow Jesus to wash his feet. Peter clearly wants to follow Jesus and to serve him in any way he can. But when it comes to allowing Jesus to minister to him, Peter draws back. “You shall never wash my feet.”
The conventional explanation of Peter’s refusal is that he thinks it beneath our Lord’s dignity to do the menial work of a household servant. But perhaps Peter is expressing a much deeper refusal to let Jesus get close to him and know him, with all his faults and shortcomings. Perhaps it symbolizes his own reluctance to open up, and let his Lord care for him, and love him, just as he is.
In that case, our Lord’s response is telling. “If I do not wash you, you have no part in me.” In other words: no foot washing, no Eucharist. To be in fellowship with Jesus, to share in the Lord’s Supper, Peter must open up and let Jesus into every private corner of his life. That’s what letting Jesus wash his feet symbolizes. Peter quickly gets the point. “Lord, not just my feet but also my hands and my head!”
Having been on both the giving and receiving end of the foot washing, I can testify that it’s a moving and humbling experience. When I kneel down and the feet of my parishioners, I am reminded in a profound way whose servant I’m called to be. But to be willing to get your feet washed requires definite humility as well. We need to realize that before we can minister effectively to others, we need to open up and allow our Lord to minister to us.
Quite apart from Maundy Thursday, the foot washing reminds us that if we want the fellowship and communion with our Lord that he offers us in the Holy Eucharist, we need to begin with this basic attitude of openness and receptivity. If we don’t feel comfortable exposing our feet in church and participating in the foot washing ceremony, fine. The real question, however, is whether we’re willing to invite Jesus into every dark, dusty, grimy corner of our lives, so that he can pour on fresh clear water, and wash us clean. Not just our feet, but our hands and our heads as well. For, in this way, he cleanses us and makes us fit partakers of his heavenly banquet.
No comments:
Post a Comment