Taking Off My Shoes
Several years back I led a Holy Thursday prayer service over Zoom as my parish no longer included the ritual of the washing of the feet (John 13:1-15). Participants were willing but very surprised as I directed them to take off their shoes and socks, get a little wet and allow others to touch their feet. The looks on their faces! It took some coaxing and I realized that those with aversions to touching feet experienced some uneasiness and discomfort. I hadn’t expected their reaction. Then recently I met a woman on my pilgrimage to Assisi who washes and tends to the feet of people who are homeless on a monthly basis. She didn’t hesitate to describe this foot washing, unembarrassed by the vulnerability and tenderness required. I was humbled by her tenacity and dedication.
On Holy Thursday, the foot washing is read in the Gospel and not always mentioned again. Perhaps we aren’t sure what to do with it. Normally the job of slaves for their masters in the first century, Jesus reversed this role, humbly washing the feet of his dearly loved disciples. It was a symbolic act of unconditional love and Jesus didn’t hesitate even in Judas’ presence. His knowledge of an impending betrayal and the denials that would haunt Peter did not prevent Jesus from teaching what it means to make God known in the world. Jesus knew full well that he chose failing and human disciples who would misunderstand, betray and deny him. In the midst of their failures, Jesus gave himself completely in symbolic gesture. He wanted them to know: such love makes God known.
Peter would have nothing to do with it at first. “Lord, do you wash my feet?” (Jn 13:6) Feeling the tension, I can picture myself reacting in much the same way. My Lord and Teacher, who I believed to be the Son of God, would get on his knees to wash my feet; it wouldn’t seem right or proper. Even when Jesus explained that he must do this and Peter must allow it. He misunderstood the gesture as I often do. This humiliating act of love - to be first is to be last; to be the greatest is to be the least. The woman who washes the feet of a homeless person understands it.
The Gospel doesn’t describe Jesus washing Judas’ feet. It’s left to our imagination. To love another despite knowing that Judas was about to betray. Without hesitation, without questioning him, without an accusing stare. Could I do that? Instead of rejecting Judas, Jesus included him in this act of mercy and love. It makes me pause to think that in my many and varied acts of betrayal, the times I don’t speak up, the moments I hold back from full participation, every time I choose self-preservation over helping another, God’s offer of loving kindness and service remains in front of me.
It’s time to take off my shoes and socks and allow Jesus to touch my feet. So that, by reversing accepted patterns of behavior, I can face my own ignorance, misunderstanding and betrayal of the One who loves me without end. “For I have given you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you” (Jn 13:15).
