The smell of lamb shanks hangs deliciously in
the air. Nathan reads a passage to
the children, one on either side of him.
Jesus is washing the feet of his disciples; their dirty, stinky, filthy
feet. The feet that no one wanted
to touch. The feet that all of the
disciples were “too good” to touch.
Because after all, that was a servant’s job.
And there is Jesus, the King of Heaven and
Earth, stooping down in this servant role before his friends. Here is the Master, the Teacher;
everything that He does holds great significance. Every moment is a teachable one. His actions, on his knees in humility, mystify each
student. This act of selfless
love, so unlike any they have ever seen, is the lesson that they must
learn. That they must model. That they must live. Because this act, unbeknownst to the
small fellowship, is just a taste, simply a prelude, to the greatest act of
selfless Love the world would ever know.
As father reads, babes listen. I fill the small
basin I have procured from beneath the kitchen sink. And I listen. I
ponder this washing of feet preceding the carrying of the cross. I am convicted. How can I ever claim to be ready to lay
down my life if I am not yet prepared to humble my heart, to embrace the worn
and aching souls that have traversed the gritty ground between birth and
eternity?
The familiar story reminds me that there is
something intimately related between the washing of feet and the
crucifixion: The humility of the
heart. The willingness to go to
the very depths for the sake of Love, no matter the cost. Am I prepared to walk that road,
selfless and sacrificial? I don’t
know. I want to say yes, rashly
promising to follow Jesus anywhere, in any circumstance. But then, so did the disciples of
Jesus. Before they truly
understood what it meant to follow Him.
Before they truly understood what it meant to drink from His cup. Before, in their fear, they left Him.
Do I even truly understand?
Maybe I do not. Not really, not in fullness. But even the ones who abandoned Jesus returned; returned in
strength. Still not knowing fully,
but more fully willing. I do not
want to offer hasty agreements. I
want to be moved by this offering of Love, this offering the disciples finally
came to understand. Came to
embrace. Came to live out. As Jesus lived. I want to offer a loyal promise of a
love-sick bride who, not knowing every obstacle that will challenge her
declaration of commitment, presses on towards devotion and presses into the
Love to whom she is promised.
I am willing. Patient Teacher, lead me down the path
of selfless love that you have laid, that you have tread. Show me what it means to endure because
of the joy set before me. Step by
step, however slowly I may move, may I always be moving towards Love, towards
You.
I do not let guilt steal the moment. I kneel before my son and, as the
passage concludes with song, I follow the example of my Teacher. As I wash, Nathan asks Caleb, “Why did
Jesus wash the feet of His friends?”
Caleb answers, “Because they were dirty. And because He loved them.”
“And do you know why mommy is washing your
feet?”
“Because she loves me.”
And though there is still much to be gained
from the passage, from this beautiful demonstration of servanthood and
selflessness, the most basic, the most crucial element is
grasped: LOVE.
“Mommy, can I wash your feet?”
I am caught off guard. I want to say, “No, no, you don’t have
to. This is my gift to you.” But then I only offer half of the
lesson. And I rob him of the joy
of serving the one he loves. I
think of the woman who, with her very tears, washed Jesus’ feet. So grateful for the grace that He
extended towards her. He did not
stop her from expressing the deep gratitude that was welling up and spilling
over from her heart. He received
the beauty of her gift to Him.
Tears sting my eyes. In his heart, my son is learning. After all these years, I am still learning. And, together, we partake in the
alive-message that transcends and transforms.
“Yes, my boy, you can.”
Adara has her turn, eager toes wiggling with
excitement. Then Caleb instructs
me to sit and he tenderly wipes the cloth over my feet. Adara, following brother’s lead, dries.
This is what Christ modeled. That we would not only serve with Love,
but that we would guide others on the path to do the same. That we might model and teach and pass
on this gift of Love. And as I
have received the gift from generations past, I now pass it onto my
children. The foundation of their
hearts holding glimpses of the Kingdom.
Their spirits learning to live lives of Love.
And the lesson, the gift, carries on.
