Maundy Thursday: Foot Washing

I have never had my feet washed. Not outside of a shower, that is. And while I had a dim memory about a story involving Jesus and foot washing, I had never given it serious thought before last night.

Last night was Maundy Thursday, the traditional observance of the night before Christ was crucified. In one of his final acts before his arrest, Jesus poured water into a basin and washed his disciples' feet, drying them with the towel wrapped around his waist.

Simon Peter initially resists. "No, you shall never wash my feet," he says in John 13:8. Washing feet was the work of servants. The feet were — and in my case, are — the smelliest, dirtiest part of the body. To wash someone's feet was to acknowledge that they were inferior. But Jesus, as he always does, turns conventional wisdom on its head.

"Now that I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also should wash one another’s feet," Jesus says to his astonished disciples. "I have set you an example that you should do as I have done for you. Very truly I tell you, no servant is greater than his master, nor is a messenger greater than the one who sent him. Now that you know these things, you will be blessed if you do them."

No servant is greater than his master, nor is a messenger greater than the one who sent him. It must have been powerful, being in that room and hearing these words from the man you had given up your livelihood to follow. Once again, Jesus redefines what it is to be a child of God. Like the disciples, we are called to wash one another's feet — to be humble.


A hush fell over the sanctuary as warm water was poured from a pitcher into a large bowl last night. After a moment of hesitation, we all started to remove our shoes. I slipped off my sneakers and socks and rolled my blue jeans up above my calves. Ambient music filled the space like some ethereal orchestra. One by one, people went up to have their feet washed and then to wash the next person's feet.


I remember that I winced for a moment when the water first hit my feet. It was uncomfortable at first, having someone touching my feet and lightly rubbing away the dirt my soul had tracked in. But then, the meaning hit me. I had to submit and be cleansed. I had to be truly clean before my fellow travelers and before my God. 

When I stepped up, smiled at Kristi (who had kindly washed my feet) and took the towel from her, I felt clean. Not without blemish, but certainly more spiritually presentable than I've been in a long time. I knelt and waited for the next person to come, so that I could wash their feet.


As someone who is often prideful to the point of arrogance, kneeling there before the bowl of water — washing Jess' feet in near silence — I saw a glimpse of the man I am called to be. I felt humbled and privileged to be able to offer such a simple, yet profound gesture of humility. The Spirit was in that space with us, surrounding us and penetrating us, inhabiting the living water we were washing in.


In the coming days, as I wait for the good news of the Resurrection, I'm going to reflect on this experience and what it means for me and my path. In his liturgy for Maundy Thursday, Shane Claiborne offers this closing prayer:


Lord Jesus Christ, you knelt to wash from our feet the dirt out of which you made us. Teach us to humbly serve one another so that the world may know we are your disciples. Amen.