Writing about tonight, the gospel writer John says that when they were gathered together for supper, Jesus took off his outer robe, put on a towel and began to wash the disciples feet.
John doesn’t say that Jesus asked anyone if they wanted their feet washed. Jesus doesn’t say, “Andrew, I’d be glad to wash your feet for you if you’ll just kick off your Nikes.”
Jesus doesn’t ask them if they want their feet washed. He just knows that their feet need to be washed. He knows this because for one thing, he can see that their feet are dirty. There were no closed-toe boots or sneakers or Uggs back in those days. At best you had a pair of sandals and the dirt on your feet told the story of where you’d been that day.
There’s an ancient saying that goes, “If you want to know where you are, look at your feet.” So we can imagine what Jesus saw, and what he could have said, in washing the disciples feet tonight.
“Wow, Peter. I can see that you’ve got a lot of dirt here from your bedroom floor. You’ve been in your bedroom a lot today, have you? Behind closed doors, doing some praying, some thinking, trying to figure out your next move. Peter, let me wash those feet of yours.”
Then there’s James and John. The dirt on their feet is the same. Two brothers, they’ve been out on the soccer field all day kicking the ball at each other’s head, trying to prove who can kick the ball harder. In a few minutes an argument is going to break out around the table about who is the greatest disciple. Make no mistake about it, James’ and John’s voices will be the loudest. “Here guys,” says Jesus, “let me wash your feet for you.”
There’s also John the Beloved Disciple. He’s at the table, too. He’s caked with dirt from his feet all the way up his shins. It’s the dirt from the field at the edge of town, the one covered with flowers. John’s been out there all day shuffling back and forth. We’ve heard that John is the disciple who just needs some extra reassuring. He needs to be told that he’s loved the most. So he’s been out in the field all day pulling the petals from the dandelions. He loves me, he loves me not. He loves me, he loves me not. “John,” says Jesus, “give me your feet.”
And of course there’s Judas. His feet are covered with the dirt of the temple and the dirt from the local sheriff’s office. He’s been hanging out there a lot lately, scheming and plotting with the authorities on how best to capture Jesus.
They’re all at the table with Jesus tonight, but soon none of them will be at the table with Jesus. They’re all going to run, to say they never knew him. And they know this about themselves, and Jesus knows this about them. That it’s not just their feet that are dirty. It’s their hearts and souls as well. So Peter says, “Lord, wash not just my feet, but my hands, my head, and every inch of me.” And Jesus does, because to Jesus those gathered around the table are his friends. That’s what he calls those who are so dirty, so insecure. He calls them friends, and he reaches out to touch the dirtiest parts of them.
I don’t know where you’ve been lately. If we looked at our feet, what would they tell us about who we’ve stood beside, and who we’ve walked away from, what good we’ve said and what good we’ve not said? I don’t know but Jesus invites us still to come to his table with our dirty, messy lives, to eat bread—his presence with us, his body broken for us; to drink a cup—his blood poured out for us, his life given to us. For in these gifts and in this moment Jesus himself draws near enough to touch us, to wash and heal us, for us to hear him call us friend, that we might call each other the same.
PleaseGrace 