My daddy’s mother was one of
the most giving people I have ever known. She was the epitome of the woman
standing at the back door holding a plate out to the Big Depression “hobo” who
knocked and asked for a few scraps of food. Not a scrap giver, she offered full
plates. I remember the meals she cooked for all who came to help with whatever
yearly event was happening on the ranch. I recall the Sunday-Go-to-Meeting and
church picnic dishes she prepared. I remember fried chicken, fresh biscuits,
and every family member scrambling to get the biggest piece of her “butter roll”
dessert. To the age of 90, she cooked meals for her rural Meals on Wheels AND
delivered the meals. She was wonderfully gifted at giving.
Receiving, not so much. When
we tried to give her a present she would say, “Pshaw” in a self-deprecating way
followed by “you should not have done this!” and she meant it. It was not a
sentiment of humility. It was an admonishment. One time, I gave her something
that was a very special gift from me to her. I wanted her to really like it. Immediately,
out came that offhand response. It hurt my feelings. As a know-it-all young
adult who believed I could speak up to authority, I boldly told her, “Grandma. You
are always giving other people things, but you never let us give to you. Sometimes
the biggest gift you can give is to take their gift for you.”
You want to hear that it made
a difference, don’t you? Well, maybe. But I know Pshaw was a part of the
response. Regardless, she did accept the gift and told me she loved it.
I used to look at Maundy
Thursday with a feeling of Pshaw! And a sigh at the thought of having to take
off my shoes and have my feet washed. Or to wash the feet of others. I would
guess that there are many people here who agree. I do not know what causes foot
shame but so many of us have it. Other than the sweet little feet of a baby, I’ve
heard few people express delight with feet. I was no different.
And then.
One Maundy Thursday I was
kneeling at the bare feet of a St. Paul’s parishioner and as I held her foot
and began to run the water over it, I was overwhelmed with love. Tears welled
up and began to fall and one dropped onto her foot. I felt the urge to kiss the
foot in my hand. Now, that might seem a bit creepy. Even now, I can imagine
what her face might have expressed had I followed my urge. Still, it was a
mighty moment where I realized that it was not me giving; rather, I was receiving
a gift of love. She allowed me to wash her feet, to love her. It remains one of
the most precious gifts I ever received.
Peter is where we might have
been. He is shocked to think Jesus would stoop to wash his dirty feet. Oh, No
you won’t, he exclaims! Jesus is adamant, Oh yes, I will and if you don’t let
me, you will have nothing to do with me.
I can imagine Peter’s tears
welling up as he concedes.
To wash someone’s feet, a
person must kneel low in front of that individual. To kneel before someone is a
vulnerable action. And then, imagine the feet. The roads are dirt. The shoes
are sandals. The feet are coated in layers of dust. To kneel before a person
and wash their feet is a humbling thing, servant’s work.
Jesus asks, “Do you know what
I have done to you? … I have set for you an example.” If he, as their Lord and
Teacher, can do this thing, then so shall they do it for others. He loves them so
much … so much that he kneels before them to wash their dirty feet. It is a gift,
and he gives and he receives.
This is a gift that is ours to
receive. This act of foot washing is a humbling experience, not just for the
one who bares their feet but for the one washing. The foot is an offering in
trust that you will take it and feel the love of that person as you cradle this
gift in your hand and let the water wash over it.
We are told to love one
another yet it is not simply the idea that we give love. Love is a two-way
street, meant to be shared. It is humbling, it is surrender, it causes us to be
vulnerable. It requires us to receive the love offered to us.
It is the way that God loves
us.
Take off your shoes. Let down
the walls that protect you. Can you receive the love?
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