Today is Mandate Thursday, though some of you may know it better by its archaic moniker, Maundy. This is the mandate we hear from Jesus: “I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another,” (John 13:34-35).
We wash feet on Mandate Thursday to remind ourselves of the love that Jesus has for us, and of the love we are meant to have for each other. It is easy for me to wash another person’s feet. It is not a real scrubbing that we do, but a ceremonial act, in many ways similar to our Eucharistic Feast. The small, thin wafer dipped in wine is no feast – it’s not even a snack. But we don’t go to Eucharist to fill our bellies; we go to fill our souls. In the same way, we wash feet on Mandate Thursday. It’s a symbolic gesture of humility and service. But for me, the humility doesn’t come from washing feet; it comes from having them washed.
There are people I know who don’t like anyone to touch their feet. They don’t want to go to a foot washing, nor do they want to get a pedicure or foot massage. I didn’t get a pedicure until I met Jennifer; she was going to get a pedicure, and she invited me to get one with her. I think she may even have dared me to do it. It doesn’t take long for a dare to turn into a double-dog dare, and I was cornered. I got the pedicure, and I liked it. The worst part about a pedicure for me is not letting my ticklishness get the better of me.
But getting a pedicure is different from a service of foot washing at church. In the case of the former, the person doing the washing is getting paid, and I get to sit in an incredibly comfy chair and look at my phone or look at all the shiny things in the beauty parlor. In church, the chair is not comfy, the washer is not paid, and I don’t know where to look. For me, the humbling part of foot washing is not washing feet; it’s having them washed.
It’s not that I’m ashamed of my feet or worried about how they look or smell. When Jesus washed the feet of his disciples, he, their teacher, leader, and Messiah, put himself in a position of weakness, and in so doing, elevated his disciples. The author of John never misses an opportunity to make Simon Peter appear foolish, and when Jesus tells Peter that he will wash his feet, Peter says, “No, never, you will never wash my feet!” Peter didn’t want to be put in a position of power over Jesus; he didn’t want to be served by Jesus.
When Jesus says to Peter, “If I do not wash you, then you have no share in the kingdom with me,” Peter says, “Well then, if that’s the case, wash my feet, hands, and head!” Peter’s desire to be with Christ in the kingdom outweighs his distaste for being in a place of power while Jesus washes his feet.
Jesus had already had his feet washed by Mary in her home in Bethany by the time he washed the feet of his disciples. He’d been washed and anointed for burial. What she did for him, he did for his disciples, though he didn’t use tears or perfume for their feet, and he dried them with a towel, not his hair. Even so, it was a great act of service and devotion.
On the one hand, I don’t want to be served or doted on, nor do I want devotees; on the other hand, it’s because this is so appealing that I push it away as far as I can and say to myself that I am not equal to that kind of love. But I am, and we all are; we are more than equal to it.
And lest I forget, we have our feet washed, and we wash the feet of others; we take turns being doted on and served. When we love one another as Christ loves us, no one is left out of the circle, all are invited to the banquet, and all are meant to feel treasured, wanted, and loved. Jesus never tells us we are not worthy, nor does he tell us that we are the only ones worthy; he affirms our worth and the worth of all people.
Our mandate is clear: we are to love one another, as we are loved. Which means loving others and allowing ourselves to be loved.
The Rev. Jason Shelby
Rector