Loading...Throughout Lent, a group of folks, including some of you, joined me on Wednesday nights for soup and conversations about the impact of the pandemic on our lives. We talked about things we lost and things we gained. We explored emotions. We talked about how church was impacted and about what we think church might look like in the future.
We talked about hope and fear and how this pandemic forced us to change in ways we may not have been ready to be changed. But we also recognized that some changes have been needed and some change will create more positive ways to walk in this world.
One of the things that changed has been how physically close we can comfortably be to others. How “near” feels safe.
At the beginning of the pandemic, we were not sure what was safe. So much of the world shut down, shut us in, and took away our ability to be near others who were not in our “pod” or family groups.
As a clergy person serving a congregation of many vulnerable adults due to medical conditions and advanced age, and knowing that most of these folks lived alone, it was both easy and hard for me to close our doors.
Easy, because I love them, and I did not want any of them to come to harm if they were exposed to this mysterious virus.
Hard, because I love them, and did not want them to become more sequestered, more separated from community. I simply did not want them to be left alone, without companionship.
So, we did what most Episcopal churches were required to do. We closed our doors and found new ways to stay connected to one another. And when we were able to return to worship, we, like most churches, tried to keep our distance, require masks, and stopped one of the most loved moments of worship: physically greeting one another while exchanging the sign of the peace.
That lack of physical contact, whether a hug, a handshake, or a peck on a cheek, has been missing now for a few years. There are those who miss what the Peace used to be. Many miss the physical touch of another person as we exchange this moment of friendship in our worship.
On the other hand, … introverts and timekeepers may appreciate that we have not returned to the boisterous moment of greeting one another in the name of the Lord.
That moment of physical attachment with the people you are worship with has been an expression of love for one another, but it was intended as a moment where those in conflict can express comradery, maybe even forgiveness, before receiving the sacrament of holy communion.
The Peace is important to how we connect as people of God, and it is an outward sign of our love and commitment to following Jesus. Tonight, we express these same bonds of relationship a different way.
In tonight’s Gospel, Jesus is at table with the disciples. All of them. Even Judas. And he does something so unexpected and intimate when he washes each of their feet. Even Judas’ feet. He does this to teach the disciples to love one another. To love “all” of the other. Yes, even their stinky, dirty, aching feet. Yes. Even those with whom there is conflict.
Jesus kneels, so very deliberately, and spends individual time with each of his followers, who he will soon call friends, and washes their feet.
Imagine that moment as if you were one of those he washed.
Jesus looks at you and invites you to put your feet into this basin of water. He takes your left foot in his hands and gently rubs the dirt and sweat and grime away, caressing each toe and massaging each muscle up to just above your ankle. He knows the roads you have walked, and the pains you have each night. Slowly, he sets your left foot down and picks up your right and repeats the process. All the while he looks at your feet, and maybe glances up to catch your eye, his lips moving in silent prayer. For you. Only you. Then, he takes the towel from around his waist and dries each of your feet. He might look at you, directly catching your eye, with a look of deep love and compassion as he offers a silent benediction as you step away for the next one to take your place.
This moment of intimacy between Jesus and each disciple was probably surrounded by the noise of mealtime—voices in conversation, faces turned away from the scene before them, embarrassed by the deep connection and love being expressed, uncertain what the experience will be for themselves, wondering what Jesus is up to. Food, still being eaten, wine being drunk. The world, still moving around this intimate moment as each set of feet is washed.
For Jesus, this is his moment to say farewell individually. To make peace with any of those he may have struggled to like. To show the others that none is greater than the other—that each is a servant to the other. To express agape, the kind of love that acknowledges that everyone is beloved of God, no matter their circumstances, and that to be true followers of Jesus, this is the way to express love.
He reiterates this by telling them, after the last toe has been dried, that they are to love one another. That when they love one another, others will see it and know to whom they belong. That they are followers of Jesus.
We are given this example, and we relive this practice every Maundy Thursday. To be invited to take off your shoes and socks and entrust another person in this community of faith to touch your feet in such an intimate way, puts you in a vulnerable position.
To kneel at the feet of another, who has removed, perhaps both physical and emotional barriers with you, for you, now, to be bold enough to wash their feet, so intimately, puts you into a position of servitude.
To pray for one another in this extraordinary moment where vulnerability and service meet so vividly, creates an expression of agape love.
Agape love—that kind of love that expresses empathy for others—that kind of love that wants for others what we would want for ourselves, if we were in their shoes—that kind of love that is helpful, kind, generous, and hopeful. A love willing to sacrifice for the sake of others. A love that can be expressed in ways so that the world can see to whom we belong. The kind of love meant to be shared when we offer one another the Peace of the Lord.
I cannot say we will be able to have the way we previously expressed the Peace restored to pre-pandemic days anytime soon. But I am inviting you be bold and enter this moment of vulnerability and servitude. Into this time of prayer and intimacy. Into this time of peace and reconciliation. Into this time of love.
If you choose to stay in your seat and do not come forward to be washed and to wash, you are a still part of this moment. Sing with the choir. Pray for the people you see here tonight. And…
Envision what it would have been like to be in that upper room, eating with Jesus and all his friends, and being washed by the loving hands of Jesus.
Amen.
