Maundy Thursday—Noon
There is nothing like summertime with bare feet and the grass and sand between your toes! Beachgoers the world over, know that after you have spent time on the sands, whether you call it the shore or beach, you need to wash your feet well before you enter the house. Regardless of whether you wore sneakers, sandals, or let the sand between your toes, you must rinse off and scrub your feet. You want the most amount of sand to remain outside as you go inside. I think of this summer practice as I recall foot washing in ancient times.
In biblical Palestine, it was customary hospitality practice for a host to provide their guests with water upon arrival, so that guests could wash their own feet from their dusty travels. It was a practical need for cleanliness, but also, it was a comfort, a relief for the guest to be able to clean off the dust of the journey.
Jesus went above and beyond. Jesus didn’t just provide the water and towel; Jesus knelt to wash the disciples’ feet himself! To wash someone else’s feet was an act considered so lowly that even a Hebrew servant wouldn’t have been asked to do so. So, when Jesus washed the disciple’s feet, they were embarrassed and caught off guard! What was he doing?! He was their teacher, their lord… he washed their dirty feet! It was an extravagant and radical act of service. And after he is done, Jesus explains to the disciples—in case they missed the point—that he did this for an example of how they should treat one another. “One another” calls for radical mutuality.
Often when we read this passage, we remember well that we are supposed to serve others. We are quick to forget that mutuality part. We forget that we are also called to receive foot washing, service, and extravagant love of others and Jesus. Like Peter, we are uncomfortable when it comes to receiving other people’s acts of service. We’d much rather be the one to give, to serve, to wash. We want to be the one in control of the situation. There is something fundamentally uneasy, vulnerable, intimate about being the one to receive. But Jesus, and later Paul, are consistent and persistent in this “one-another” business.
Love one another.
Welcome one another.
Bear with one another.
Serve one another.
So, if we live Jesus’ words, we must learn to both serve with grace and to graciously receive acts of service as well.
For just a moment, I want to focus on the receiving part that many of us struggle with. In ministry, I’ve regularly seen when people who have faithfully served, suddenly find themselves on the other side receiving what they have faithfully shared. A long-time church member who has fed and delivered hundreds of dinners is brought to tears when others fed them after a severe illness. A long time Sunday School teacher and volunteer for Habitat has surgery, and now someone from the church is cleaning out his gutters. A parent who has been caring for children – young and adult – for years, now has those same grown kids making their meals, their bed, and helping with the checkbook.
We’re not very good at receiving those acts of service that we’d never think twice of giving. Yet, the care of Christ, through the words and hearts of others, is for us too. Jesus’ care is for us too. Maybe we just think others need Jesus’ care or attention more. Or maybe deep down we think we don’t deserve it. This is the very definition of grace – receiving that which we do not deserve. And Jesus’ extravagant love is offered to each and every one of us. We only have to say yes.
Ritual of Lotion
Sometimes during Holy Week services, we use a ritual of handwashing to be a substitution for foot washing. Often, it about practicality. There are no shoes to remove, nylons or socks to navigate. You can do it standing up, and in general, people are less squeamish about handwashing than someone touching their feet.
But we are in a different season. I doubt we have thought as much about handwashing as we are right now. I also imagine that we have all washed out hands more now, more than ever. This in and of itself is an act of essential service. We are loving our neighbors by trying to limit the spread of the coronavirus.
And it also takes a toll on us. Our hands may be cleaner than ever, but if your hands are anything like mine, they are drier and more chapped than ever.
Our hands may be a bit raw.
Our hearts are a bit raw too.
Our world is a bit raw.
But these wounded places are exactly where Jesus shows up. Jesus tends to those who have been hurt. Where Jesus soothes and salves. Where Jesus comforts God’s people.
So, we’re going to keep washing those hands to serve and love others, but how will we remind ourselves of the love and comfort Jesus offers us too? You might have guessed that this is where the lotion we invited you to gather comes in. Hopefully you’ve had a chance to go grab some hand lotion to have with you as you sit with your phone or device.
In a few moments I’m going to invite you to put lotion on your hands. This is a practical act—just like foot washing was a practical act in Jesus’ day. But it’s also an act of love, of soothing, of comfort to our weary, raw hands.
As we put on lotion, as we imagine God’s hands soothing ours, we’ll hear Mel sing “There is a Balm in Gilead.”
A balm. It’s not a word we use that often anymore. Balm means anything that heals, salves, soothes, or lessens pain. A balm is different than a cure.
We all wish we could snap our fingers and have a cure. We also know we serve a God who did not back away from human suffering but who pressed on towards the cross, who suffers with us, who promises to never leave our side. A God who stoops down to wash our very feet.
We serve a God who hasn’t promised a cure but who has promised a balm.
A balm for our weary hands.
A balm for our weary souls.
A balm for our weary world.
This is the Gospel of our Lord, Thanks be to God! [can go ahead put lotion on now]