Sometimes I’m asked after our Maundy Thursday service why we don’t hold a foot washing like some other churches do on that night. They’re never quite prepared for my answer. The reason I don’t do foot washings is that I’m not sure about the theology communicated in that act, namely that we are at all capable of loving one another as Christ loved us, as he commanded us to.
Let me explain. The Maundy Thursday Gospel reading is actually two sections cut together, such that it gives the impression that Jesus washes his disciples feet, then immediately gives them the commandment to love one another. Actually, the scene in between, as well as the scene that occurs right after the commandment to love, are both more instructive as to the extent of this love. The scene in between is the one that results in Jesus giving the commandment to love, and not the foot washing. And what happens in between is that Judas leaves the room and goes off in the night to commit his betrayal. So John isn’t linking the commandment to love one another with foot washing. He’s linking it with the betrayal of Judas. The commandment is to love our betrayers, as Jesus loved his.
Sketch for ‘Jesus Washing Peter’s Feet’ c.1851 Ford Madox Brown 1821-1893
That’s a tall order. And the scene right after the love commandment is similar. It’s the scene where Jesus foretells that Peter will deny him three times. So Jesus is commanding us to love those who would deny they even know us when the going gets rough. We’ve all had such people in our lives, who desert us when we need them most. And Jesus is commanding us to love the ones who desert us, as he loved those who deserted him. The way the lectionary sets up the Maundy Thursday reading makes it a little too cozy, a little too rosy, for it to truly communicate the momentousness of what’s happening. I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with foot washings. I just don’t care to do one as part of the liturgy. I think the stripping of the altar at the end of our service is far more illustrative of our reality.
We are commanded to love one another, and we are commanded to do so by someone who humbled himself, though he was king of all the universe, humbled himself to take the place of the lowest servant, and wash the feet of his own betrayers. That’s beautiful, and it’s meant by John to highlight what he said at the beginning of the reading, one of my favorite verses. John begins the Maundy Thursday Gospel with one of the loveliest statements in all the Bible — one that rivals John 3:16, “For God so loved the world,” and yet one that augments John 3:16, by adding weight to it. Now that the time had come, John says of Jesus, “having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the very end.” Really, that’s what the foot washing is all about.
Jesus is about to show the full extent of his love, by being betrayed by Judas, whom he loves, by being denied by Peter, whom he loves, and by being put through one of the most horrible, cruel and tortuous methods of execution ever devised, all at the hands of the people he loves. That is the great irony of Holy Week. Jesus loves us even as we put him to death. It is this to which the foot washing is pointing, to the events of Good Friday when Jesus loved us to the very end, when Christ said, “It is finished.” That’s the end to which the foot washing points.
This act on Jesus’ part, of taking the lowliest position and doing the most menial task, is meant to highlight for his disciples, and for us, the full extent of God’s love for us. It is another way of saying that God so loved the world that there was no end to the lengths he would go to love us.
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5 responses to “I Love You, But I’m Not Gonna Wash Your Feet”
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Of course, we are not capable of loving as Jesus has loved us. But, that may miss the point. Inside this lengthy section of John is another command of Jesus. And, this one comes before the command to love. (This one comes first.) “If I then your Lord and teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet.” John 13:14. In practical terms, the folks in my church have learned this. Almost 15 years ago, a local school that trains podiatrists volunteered to bring their students to the rescue mission in our city to have them provide foot care to the homeless. But, they said, “Their feet will need to be washed before we will treat them.” Volunteers from the community were at the mission that day to serve in various capacities. The volunteer coordinator asked the group of volunteers, “Who will wash the feet of the homeless today so that they can receive medical care?” The group remained silent at first, and one women raised her hand and explained that it would be an honor to serve them in this way. That day was 15 years ago, and a group from our church has washed the feet of the homeless in our city every year since. That day was Good Friday. Somehow I think that is what Jesus had in mind. Not a theoretical discussion about whether we can love as Jesus has loved us, but a more practical question. Are you willing to serve someone that can never do anything to repay you? I think I can see the theology communicated in that. Love. That sounds like what Jesus was talking about. I think if that is what is seen in the liturgy, it will be beautiful and illustrative of reality. It may also actually be what the “maundy” part is about.
I think that within Jeff’s reflection (how we do not and cannot 1:1 match Jesus’s love) and yours, Sam, there is considerable overlap of what at bottom aren’t really two Venn diagrams. Owning that we will never even approach the love of Christ can free us to do the small, un-repayback-able good that presents itself to us in the moment. Instead of scanning the horizon for the biggest good to do, we can locate ourselves as falling laughably short of what Jesus exhibits and find instead the graced space to do any number of unglamorous, unsexy, acts of self-emptying love that will probably never attract headlines or inspire monuments.
Ian, I’ve often wished DZ would add a “like” button.
Sam, fair enough. The beauty of the Gospel is often the breadth of possible interpretations. However, the Maundy part is actually the Command to Love, (Maundy meaning law, or command), and it is misplaced in this particular lectionary text. Although Christ says we “ought” to wash one another’s feet, it is not the new law. I’m simply seeking to raise the question of the distance between our capacity to love and that of God in Jesus Christ. Thanks for your comment. The action of your church sounds lovely. I would be for something like that. Unfortunately, that is not typical of what is normally seen on this occasion. We are usually awkwardly washing the feet of our peers, and I’m just not sure that such an action communicates as well in a liturgical sense.
It the ordained clergy (without whom the means of grace is not available) do all the washing, and the laity have no part in the administration of the ritual commanded, then what is the problem? The top-down inequality hand down can continue. The status quo remains. https://thefederalist.com/2015/10/30/how-denying-christs-body-and-blood-leads-to-progressive-politics/