Wash my feet every day, Lord

A teacher decided to start a band at her school and gathered together enthusiastic students. After much effort, investment and bonding, she succeeded in teaching a small group of eager learners how to play their various instruments and do so in unison. They decided to venture forth with a concert for the school and at an assembly the band gathered on the stage in front of the whole school, nervously fidgeting their instruments. As the teacher took the podium to conduct her pride and joy, she noticed their anxiety and leant forwards to whisper: “Remember, if you lose your place or feel too nervous, just pretend you are playing…” With that she raised her baton and silently mouthed, “One, two… three…” The first note sounded: silence.

The church is a bit like that. God calls and on the count of three, there is silence as we look to each other for a lead, for some hopeful sign of knowing what to do. The result is deafening silence.

This last week, the lectionary guided us to read the story of Jesus washing his disciple’s feet at the last supper. It’s a story we know so well it has lost some of its startling power. Jesus act was amazingly simple and powerfully meaningful – something only a fully alive person could have come up with. It shocked his disciples to the core, but, together with the breaking of bread and sharing of wine, went on to be a central symbolic theme in their lives and the lives of the church ever since.

Robert Herhold reminds us that this scene has been called the “sacrament that almost was”. Sadly it never made it even though it has all the ingredients one expects of such ecclesiological constructs. I am sure that this is because of its power. If you have ever participated in such a ceremony, it is far more disturbing than communion or baptism, especially if you are having your feet washed – no matter how much you’ve washed your feet before hand…

Robert imagines the theological battles that might have resulted if foot washing had become a sacrament: “It’s probably just as well that foot washing never became a sacrament. Church property committees would not take kindly to pans of dirty water on the new carpet in the chancel. If theologians had gone to work on the question, we would still be embroiled in endless debate as to whether the feet should be immersed or sprinkled. Liturgists would argue whether the right foot or the left foot should be immersed first. Others would speculate on the symbolism of baptizing heads or feet. It’s always easier to follow Jesus in our heads than it is to follow him with our feet on the Via Dolorosa.”

What is it about Jesus that made him so dynamic; so able to strike home such powerful messages in simple acts? And what a contrast to the apathy of the church! It is tempting to write-off Jesus’ abilities as Divine, especially if one belongs to those of a Trinitarian fundamentalistic bent. For me, Jesus was human and so I can’t but be amazed at his ability in contrast to my lack thereof.

I guess that most of the reason we struggle to act appropriately, effectively and authentically is because we lack the confidence to do so. As much as my self-esteem issues hold me back in so many of my pursuits, it is no different in church.

Surely Jesus has the same problem? We hallow his parents, but they were still human and must have left Jesus with a very human legacy of personal issues to wade through in adulthood. And the playground wounds we all have and live with? He must have had those too. And yet, every time he acts decisively, effectively, shockingly and transformingly.

Something in Jesus’ identity helped him overcome his self-esteem issues. As far as we can tell, his identity is crystallised in the story of his baptism. However we may regard the historical veracity of this story, the kernel of truth must surely be this: for Jesus, he knew in some deep way that he was beloved of God, that God was well pleased with him. I imagine that this was how he began each day of his life, building his identity on this single fact; allowing every act to flow from this singular reference point.

I think of the things I say to myself every day, especially the things I say at the beginning of the day, “Come on lazy-arse, if you don’t get going now, you’ll screw up again. Oh, and you forgot to brush your teeth silly! Do you really think you can handle this meeting today, if you can’t even remember where you left the keys?!”

And yet, I belong to the same baptism as Jesus. I belong to the same promise: I am beloved of God. God is well pleased with me.

What a profound arrogance: to believe that my opinions of myself are more important than God’s!

Jesus’ identity is framed by God. God is his beginning and end. He gets on with his life.

There is a beautiful theological word, “eschatology”, which is all about the study of the “end times”. As Christians we believe that time is linear. It had a beginning and will one day end. Jesus placed his identity firmly in the hands of this God who would bring history to a loving conclusion in God’s heart.

But eschatology should never be divorced from ethics – the struggle to determine what is right and wrong for today. Jesus moved from eschatological identity to engage every day with every day people, bringing his identity into conversation with a broken world.

Some time ago the Methodist Church of Southern Africa struggled with the question of legalising abortions. Our eschatology affirms the sanctity of all life, even unborn life and so the immediate response is always, the unborn are sacred and should not be killed. But as we bring this affirmation to bear on the streets we find that not only the unborn are at risk. Mothers, whose pregnancies cannot truly be called consensual or even desired, are threatened because of back-street abortions and the pressures of family and poverty. Our ethical struggle forced us to come down on the lesser of two evils: abortion is in some cases the best we can do in a terrible situation. We long for a world where such a desperate choice will not be necessary. Eschatology and ethics in conversation.

Such a conversation for me personally is only possible when I begin with my baptism: I am loved by God.

As Robert Herhold puts it: “An eschatology without ethics is futuristic and irrelevant. Ethics without an eschatology is desperate and futile. But joined together, they can produce the power to wash feet; to live fully today because God is in the present as well as in the tomorrow, and to work for the impossible because with God all things are finally possible.”