Saturday: Washing Feet and Washing Hands

Saturday provides a silence between the drama of Good Friday and the miracle of Easter. No doubt, the disciples spent the day trying to make sense of all that had happened. We, too, have an opportunity to take a moment and reflect. Fortunately, I am blessed to have a men’s group that meets of Fridays, and we explored Holy week in eye-opening, or should I say heart-opening ways.

Specifically, we spoke of the washing of feet. The story of Jesus washing the disciples’ feet is familiar to us all, but one of our members said words that caught us all off guard: “Jesus washed Judas’ feet too.”

I had never thought about that. What an amazing moment it must have been for Judas, knowing what he knew. What a powerful moment it must have been for Jesus, knowing what he knew. And yet the washing still happened. It says God’s grace and love are extended to us all. No exceptions. The Peters as well as the Judas’s, and all of us in between.

Could you imagine if we lived our lives in the same way? What would it look like if we washed everyone’s feet? No exceptions. Harder still, could you imagine a church that washed everyone’s feet? Not just their members, but every person regardless of who they are and what they have done.

Instead, we are better at washing our hands, like Pilate. Better to keep things neat and tidy, better not to create a stir. Let’s just surround ourselves with the ones who are easy to love and let God take care of the rest.

I recently read of a Bishop who was involved in a tragic accident in which she killed a pedestrian while driving drunk. It is an awful thing, one that will bring with it many consequences, but it begs the question: what will the Church do? Will it wash her feet or wash its hands? My experience is that the Church, like you and I, are much better at washing our hands than washing feet. Maybe reflecting on that fact this Saturday will help us see what Jesus chose to do and cause us to do the same.

Good Friday: Sand and Stone

The story is told of a woman brought before Jesus and his being asked what should be done with her. She was a sinner, they said, and the on-lookers were ready to heave judgment upon her like rocks. Seated, Jesus doesn’t even look up. He speaks to the crowd while tracing his fingers through the sand. 

What was he writing? Maybe it was the word “sinner” or maybe a list of what she did wrong. Whatever it was, the words were written in sand. Later, after everyone left, the desert winds came and blew away the sand and the words with it.

Later, Jesus would communicate another message to an on-looking crowd. Not in sand, where winds erase, but in stone: “Father, forgive . . . You will be with me in paradise . . . It is accomplished.” Although delivered two thousand years ago, the words remain. They bring people to their knees still.

On Good Friday, it is fitting to reflect on the words written in sand and stone. In the sand are all the things we have done wrong, and, if your list is anything like mine, it is longer than we would like. Today, however, is a day to rejoice in the fact that such words are taken away by the winds of grace. 

It is also a day to remember the other words, the ones written in stone: “Father, forgive . . . You will be with me in paradise . . . It is accomplished.” They cannot be blown away, only read over and over again, for two thousand years and counting!

Thanks be to God.

Maundy Thursday: There's something about a meal.

Two friends met at the gym and talked about their golf game. When they saw each other at a cocktail party, they discussed their work. When sitting together at a meal, they spoke of their childhoods and the ups and downs of life.

There’s something about a meal.

Meals are intimate. They invite our souls to come out and play, or at least speak. When that happens, the meal becomes so much more, life becomes larger (or deeper), and a presence can be felt.

Two thousand years ago, in a room upstairs, some friends gathered for a special meal. On the one hand, they were happy to be together. On the other, they could feel a tension in the room. After the main course, the host took bread and wine, gave thanks and shared it with the others. The conversations were hushed as the assembled guests received the bread and wine. In that moment, the meal became something more, life felt larger, and a presence was felt.

It was the first of such meals, and each day since that meal has been re-created somewhere on this planet. Bread and wine await each of us every day. Yes, we can find them at the gym, at parties, but they’re particularly accessible when sitting at a table, sharing a meal, and giving thanks.

It is then, just as it was long ago, that a meal becomes sacred, life becomes larger, and a presence is felt.