The Washing of the Feet

Today is Maundy Thursday, where Christians around the world remember the Last Supper and the Washing of the Feet.  When I was in high school I was in an environment in which it was pretty hard to avoid having your feet washed at this service, and as I don't recall going to every one I think the last time I actually had my feet washed was when I was about 15.  Very approximately, and very probably even earlier.

I have very unattractive feet.  So unattractive, in fact, that I went through a Leonardo da Vinci-style phase of drawing them (like his Ugly People, which I love).  I also don't like being touched.  Hugs are usually ok, massage very rarely (after a training session I appreciate it but that's pretty much it), but generally speaking, I value my personal space and the thought of someone touching me gives me the heeby-jeebies..  So the very thought of having someone else wash my feet is fairly horrifying.

Last night, when discussing tonight's service, I said I was just going to be there (not on duty for anything), and one friend asked, "So you're there to have your feet washed?" "No", I replied, "I don't do feet washing".  This evening when I arrived, I sat with a very dear friend, and my brother.  "I'm going to wash your feet" says this friend.  "No, I don't do feet washing" I replied.  "But I have to wash someone's feet, and I want it to be you". "So, how have you changed today?" prods my brother.  I already had something else lined up for a blog post, but the 2 of them stared me down.  It really was one of those out-of-the-comfort-zone times, I could feel my heart rate increasing and my face burning up... but this is a really good friend. 

The gospel, every time I hear this, makes me feel I should do this.  There is so much in that part that I could write a whole post on it (or relay several sermons).  After we had washed each others' feet though, Michelle pointed out the same sentence that had really struck me this evening: "Unless I wash you, you have no share with me."

Michelle is to be confirmed on Easter Sunday, and all in that position had their feet washed first, then moved on to washing the feet of another (me!) and then the cycle would continue with more people.  Feeling like an imposter, I sat and removed my shoes so my feet could be washed and dried.  The water was cool, and the towel at the ready was very welcome.  And, yes, it made me feel really connected.

Next, I took the place of the washer, and someone I hardly know came to be washed.  Interestingly, I felt much more comfortable in this position than the other.  I am not one of those people who knows instinctively what to do to help, but I am more at ease helping than being helped.  In fact, I really only ask for help if it's absolutely vital.  I imagine, though (based on not much expect instinct, assumptions, and the reactions of the disciples in the gospel), that most people feel this way.  We don't feel right having someone wash us, or do something so intimate for us, but performing an act of service is much more within our comfort zones and realm of 'normal'. 

Once we had done our foot-washing bit, we moved over to the side.  I felt so relieved it was done, but also much more fulfilled for having done something I feel I should do but haven't for many years.  After that initial reaction, though, I realised the choir was finishing singing.  I had not even heard them, but it was one of my absolute favourite choral works - Durufle's Ubi caritas.  I guess my brain was so taken up with the washing of the feet it didn't have any space left for music.