Foot washing

I wrote the below about two years ago, when I was going through my divorce. At the time, I had not publicly acknowledged that, so I didn't post this. Then last year, the pandemic distracted me from remembering I had written this. So here it is today.

I hate wearing shoes. After work, when I get to my car, the first thing I do is remove my shoes and socks.  When the weather is warmer than 30 degrees or so, they usually stay on the floor in front of my passenger seat, never seeing the inside of my house. If I could live in my ideal world, the climate would be temperate enough that my feet and shoes would be complete strangers, instead of the reluctant co-workers they are. 

Now, I understand I can't go everywhere barefoot. It's not acceptable in my office, restaurants, the grocery store, public restrooms (I'd always wear shoes in the latter, even if it were acceptable). I compromise the majority of the time by wearing my go-to Birkenstock sandals, but most of the time, I am barefoot. I don't wear shoes in the house, in the backyard, at church. I run barefoot. I hike barefoot. I LIVE barefoot. As such, my feet are kind of gross. They're clean, but they don't look it. They're cracked and calloused. They are stained. They are certainly not pretty enough for me to find work as a foot model. Even so, I'm proud of my feet. I love them, and they've treated me well.

That said, I don't want anybody to have to service my feet in any way. If I'm ever given a gift certificate for a pedicure, it will be regifted. It just wouldn't be fair to the nail tech to redeem it. 

I started thinking about this all in church, when the lectionary passage was being read. In John 13, we read about the Last Supper, where Jesus' disciples arrive and Jesus insists on washing their feet.

13 It was just before the Passover Festival. Jesus knew that the hour had come for him to leave this world and go to the Father. Having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end.
2 The evening meal was in progress, and the devil had already prompted Judas, the son of Simon Iscariot, to betray Jesus. 3 Jesus knew that the Father had put all things under his power, and that he had come from God and was returning to God;4 so he got up from the meal, took off his outer clothing, and wrapped a towel around his waist. 5 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.
6 He came to Simon Peter, who said to him, “Lord, are you going to wash my feet?”
7 Jesus replied, “You do not realize now what I am doing, but later you will understand.”
8 “No,” said Peter, “you shall never wash my feet.”
Jesus answered, “Unless I wash you, you have no part with me.”
9 “Then, Lord,” Simon Peter replied, “not just my feet but my hands and my head as well!”
10 Jesus answered, “Those who have had a bath need only to wash their feet; their whole body is clean. And you are clean...” 

In the past when I've heard this story taught, the focus has been on how we should serve one another, but this time, it struck me differently. I oftentimes try to imagine myself as a character in the story so I can better relate to it, and in this one, I imagine myself being Peter.

If I don't want to trouble someone who professionally works with feet to have to mess with mine, how could I possibly let the holy, perfect, God made flesh do the same? I would say, "You know Jesus, that's a really nice gesture and all, but you don't need to do that with MY feet. Look at those things. They're like hobbit feet. I'm happy to wash my fellow disciples feet though. I can get behind that whole serving one another thing. But mine? You don't need to mess with them. They're too much." But if you look at the text, Jesus isn't just telling the disciples to serve one another; he's telling them to let themselves be served. And I don't think literal footwashing is the key here; I think it's about grace.

This part, I struggle with, especially right now. Without going into all the details, this is a challenging season of my life, as I am going through a divorce. It's a place I never thought I could or would be, but here I am. I've known lots of people who have been divorced, and I've never felt any sort of judgement toward them; only empathy. But when I'm in their same shoes (pun totally intended), I find it difficult to treat myself the same way. I'm hard on myself. I criticize myself for giving up, even though I know I tried everything I could. I feel like I'm letting God down.

The thing is though, Jesus calls me to let him wash my feet, or  to accept his grace. He calls me to be graceful to others, yes, but if I focus on that part alone, I'm missing out. 

Maybe when Jesus says, “Unless I wash you, you have no part with me,” he's suggesting that this is the bigger part of the equation. Maybe to be able to truly serve and give grace to others, we have to first accept it ourselves. This is hard to do. I find it much easier to offer grace than to accept it.

But we have to let Jesus wash us, even though he should be above it. We have to let him forgive us, even though we don't deserve it. We have to let him heal us, even though there are others with deeper wounds.

As we enter Holy Week, ask yourself, "In what ways am I not letting Jesus wash my feet?"