“Peter said to him, ‘Lord, you will never wash my feet.’
Jesus answered, ‘Unless I wash you, you have no share with me.’”
–John 13:8
26 years ago, I spent four days touring Washington, D.C. as a chaperon on our son’s fifth grade class trip. In many ways, it was terrific event. I had been to our nation’s capital a number of times before, but on that trip saw new memorials and learned more about places seen in the past. I was able to have some special conversations with our son and put faces with the names of children I had heard him mention. The boys for whom I was responsible cooperated and generally stayed within view as we toured. We ate well and slept fairly well and had perfect weather. We returned with the same children we had taken, too, but even with all of those positives I was still ready to get home.
As the most challenging part for me was the bus ride. It wasn’t the noise or diesel fumes or traffic that proved wearying, but all the times when I was bumped by 10 and 1l-year-olds moving up and down the aisle or fidgeting in their seats. I had it better than most chaperons as our son vacated the spot next to me at the first opportunity leaving me with extra space, but the activity inside that coach made up for it. As I must have been hit on the head fifteen times by cameras and elbows and hands. I had posters fall on me and water bottles roll under my feet and the seat in front of me reclined back so far I could have parted that child’s hair! I really did have fun in D.C., but on the eight-hour trips to and from that city, my personal space wasn’t very personal. At one point I was just about ready to pay for cab fare to get me home!
I share that memory not to discourage any of you from going as chaperons on school trips, but rather to highlight the way in which each of us have a comfort zone. We all know how close is too close for us and when that boundary gets crossed by a person speaking in our face or a crowded elevator or a commute slowed by onlooker delay, our sense of appropriate distancing is violated. When that occurs, we learn something about ourselves, perhaps that our need for space is greater than it is for others or that we might start using the stairs more often or that we like mass transit more than we thought–though a rush-hour train ride isn’t an open-air experience either! Such discoveries about space and comfort can occur in any facet of life, including faith.
The conversation we heard moments ago highlights a time when one of Jesus’ disciples learned something about that reality. Those verses come from a moment just after Jesus’ public ministry has ended when he gathers his disciples for a meal we call the Last Supper. He knows what is about to happen and realizes this will be one of his final opportunities to teach that group things they need to know. So during the meal, Jesus offers yet another lesson as he stands-up, takes off his robe, ties a towel around his waist and begins to wash his disciples’ feet.
In that culture, providing water for washing feet wasn’t unusual. Since the roads were dusty, offering water was a sign of hospitality, much as today we will point someone who has traveled a great distance to our home toward the nearest restroom. Yet Jesus’ action was unusual even so, as normally foot-washing was performed by the guest or a servant at the behest of the host. No matter who normally did the foot washing, it occurred before the meal and not in the middle, yet in our text, Jesus performs that act while the group is still eating.
It’s no wonder then that Peter, the brash and outspoken disciple, initially resists Jesus’ gesture. “You will never wash my feet,” he says. “Unless I wash you,” his teacher replies “you have no share of me.” So with typical zealousness, Peter then responds “Lord, not my feet only but also my hands and my head!” Jesus says such additional steps are not necessary.
This passage is the basis for the practice in some Christian traditions of foot washing as an act of faith. Perhaps you’ve participated in such a service when that step occurred, a Maundy Thursday observance in which the minister or priest washed the feet of those who had gathered. I’ve never been part of such an event and will confess that my first reaction were someone to ask for such a service is that I’d rather volunteer again as a chaperon for another bus trip!
That might be your reaction, too, yet to hear Jesus say “unless I wash you, you have no share with me,” makes me pause, for what does Jesus mean? I’m not sure, but do wonder if he is saying that there are times when we have to move beyond the everyday preferences and choices if we are to have a share with him. So, where is that kind of discomfort for you?
Perhaps it comes in feeling nudged to forgive someone who has wronged you or to let go of the disappointment over recent events. Maybe it comes when you sense God wants you to give generously of your finances but just can’t take that step. It might appear when you know that your current job is draining your spirit, but just can’t seem to make the first move to start looking.
I can’t say what that act might be for you, but throughout the pages of Scripture one finds evidence that faith isn’t meant only to be safe and comfortable. It isn’t a journey marked only by the familiar and routine either. As sometimes, the call of God is to move beyond our preferred setting into something that feels very risky.
Taking such a step is rarely easy yet real growth often comes when we take that kind of chance. When with a symbolic towel around our waist and a water pitcher in hand, we act. Especially in those occasions when it takes us to a place we never planned to go.
Gracious God, for all those moments when you nudge me to act. Help me consider what it is you would have me do, even if the response is one that makes me uncomfortable. Amen.
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