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Sermon for St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Clay Center, Kansas
Maundy Thursday
April 2, 2015
May I speak in the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Memories of foot-washing brings up a wide range of images and emotions for me. I
remember the sweet moments of bathing the tiny, pearl-like toes of my daughter when she was
newborn. The memory of those baths – of me bending over her and softly wiping her little toes – is
precious. Now she’s all grown up with four kids of her own – all past the stage of tiny baby toes.
I recall when my father was hospitalized, recovering from a fall twenty-some feet from the
top of a building where he was installing a heating and air-conditioning unit. One hip, one shoulder,
and several ribs were broken. I would stand at the foot of his bed and massage lotion into the dry
skin of his feet – not washing, really, but soothing in a different way.
My much-loved aunt, who lived to be 101 years of age, enjoyed the care of another woman
in her small Missouri town – a woman who was probably eighty herself and who would bathe my
auntie’s feet in an old enamel wash basin, and then trim her thick, rough nails, gently tending the
needs of a friend who could no longer do it for herself.
Those are tender moments. They are times of exposure, times of vulnerability. Our bare feet
can show a lot about us – our age, the state of our health, our ability or desire to care for our
physical selves, and certainly our economic status. Maybe our feet tell more about us than we are
willing to acknowledge. It certainly takes trust to strip off our shoes and socks and let someone else
dip our feet in a basin of water, and then bathe and dry them. Unless you regularly have a pedicure,
you probably are not accustomed to having anyone “mess with your feet.” Bathing the feet of
another person is a very intimate experience – one of devotion and love.
It wasn’t so unusual in the time of Jesus, though. In those days, people were wearing sandals
and walking on dusty roads. Their feet got very dirty – and I can imagine that most people’s feet
were in about the same condition as their neighbor’s. It was customary, when visitors arrived, to
have one’s servants wash their feet to make them more comfortable. It was a sign of welcome and
hospitality.
But note that it was the servants who performed the washing.
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That is what makes Jesus’s gesture toward his disciples in that upper room – on the night of
the Last Supper – so extraordinary. During supper, Jesus – the rabbi, the one whom his followers
call “Teacher” and “Master” – ties a towel around his waist, calls for a basin of water, kneels down,
and bathes the feet of his friends – in the role of a servant. I can imagine it to be a gentle act, can
you? Can you feel his tender touch as he cradles your tired foot in his strong hand? Can you feel the
roughness of the cloth as your Lord dries your toes? It is an act of love and humility.
[PAUSE]
In many Episcopal churches tonight, foot-washing ceremonies are part of the Maundy
Thursday worship service — opportunities for members of the church community to experience
washing the feet of a neighbor or, in turn, to bathe the feet of a friend (or the priest).
It has not been the custom here at St. Paul’s to enact that long-ago scene, however. At least,
I’ve been told, it hasn’t been part of our tradition for quite a long time, if it ever was. I wonder why.
Are we just too squeamish? Do we simply not wish to show our feet to the world? After all,
it means baring one of the most calloused, least attractive, possibly misshapen parts of our bodies –
and we might not even get to decide for ourselves just who might be “the one.” What are we hiding?
What do we want to keep covered up? What are we protecting about ourselves? Are we just not
willing to humble ourselves – or to get a little messy?
Liturgical scholar Melinda Quivik shares her insight: “In a strong sense, foot-washing is a
metaphor for Confession of Sin and on this day establishes in personal and unequivocal action the
astonishing welcome Jesus offers to we who are, in our failings and deceits, not at all pleasant
creatures. … [O]n this day – when Jesus’ example shows us God’s care for one of the least
attractive, most avoided, often misshapen parts of the body – [we are] called upon to lift up the
great generosity of God’s compassion, for what is repentance if not the uncovering, the exposure, of
our unattractive parts? To be blunt, it is as uncomfortable for most of us to bare our feet and let a
stranger wash them as it is to speak the truth about our captivity to sin.”
[PAUSE]
But… the Gospel reading for this evening is about more than foot-washing. It begins – and
ends – with love. Listen again: “Jesus … having loved his own who were in the world, he loved
them to the end.”
And loving them… loving them so very much, he serves them in that most intimate gesture
of self-giving. Then he issues the commandment – the mandate, from the Latin “mandatum,” where
we get the name “Maundy Thursday” – calling on them to love one another. To love each other in
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the same way he has loved them – serving, giving, healing, cherishing. He gives us the same
commandment. And please allow me to suggest that we see it, not as something onerous or the
“thing we gotta do,” but rather as the freedom to love as generously and unconditionally as Jesus
loves. Is Jesus giving us permission to toss away our vanities, our concerns about what others may
think or expect of us, to discard all our labels and worries? Is Jesus calling us this night to bare our
feet – and our souls – to humble ourselves… and simply to love as God loves?
AMEN.