It’s dinner time and no one had washed their feet.
Jesus was near the end of the pre-crucifixion part of his life. In a few hours he would face horrors most Americans can’t imagine and many Jesus-followers in the rest of the world have little trouble imagining. Thirteen people are gathered in the room to eat. There should have been fourteen, a servant to politely clean the dirt of travel off the feet of the guests.
But there was no servant.
Jesus slips over, grabs the bowl and towel, and begins washing feet.
In this moment, he is making their lives immeasurably more challenging. He is showing them exactly what it means to be a servant.
He serves the man who will in a few hours deny ever knowing him. He serves the man who will in a few hours turn him in to the cops. He serves the man who, three years before, laughed at his redneck roots. He serves the men who argued over which was most important.
He is washing the feet that will, in a few hours, run away from him.
And it isn’t like he didn’t know what these feet, these hearts, were going to do, because he told them what they would do. But he still washed their feet.
And it invites, always, questions. How did he do that? How do I do that? He doesn’t expect me to do that, does he?
Yes, he does.
He expects that we will, when we are with those who we are closest to, who we are most likely to treat with familiarity or disdain, drop to our knees and help them. Without a thought for our reputation or entitlement.
I know it’s hard. But he leaves the door open to ask, “how did You do that?”
