When images stop working
Maundy Thursday | John 13:1-17
Jesus washes the feet of his disciples. And if you saw the Super Bowl ad, this may be the very thing running through your mind.
I was stupefied by it. At once, a beautiful message but one strangely told.
The ad raises all kinds of opinions—and I know some of you are already bringing those to the surface. But I am bringing the ad itself to mind for the one thing such an ad can’t do.
It can’t tell us why.
Footwashing
Obviously there are no cars to help people get around. No bikes. People walked everywhere. In open-toed shoes.
There’s a reason we think of Jesus in sandals and a bathrobe. Much like The Dude in The Big Lebowski.
And, of course, there’s no concrete, so paths and roads are mostly composed of earth—dirt and dust. So the impact of 1st Century Palestine on the feet is obvious.
So what, then, is the impact on the home?
To keep the home clean, you’d wash your feet on the way in. Much like many of those in Asian cultures will remove their shoes before entering a home. To keep the inside clean.
So washing feet is a thing people did.
What was weird for the disciples was that their rabbi was trying to do this for them. Because he holds authority over them and people with authority never serve their underlings. This undermines their authority.
Which is what we see in the gospel, actually! Peter tries to shoo Jesus away. No, don’t wash my feet. But then, after Jesus insists, Peter indulges in the moment. Alright, then! Wash my feet. Wash all of me!
Jesus flips the expectation. But what then, happens to people used to serving? Now they get to order other people around. Which also isn’t the point.
It is a message of service.
And almost more importantly, extreme generosity. Which we don’t associate with power for a reason! Devotion, serving, giving, sacrificing are things people of power have taken advantage of throughout history. These are the gifts we underpay in our economy; exploit in our employees; and reject in our elected officials.
In short, leaders don’t serve. They get people to serve them. That’s the cultural norm.
Which means that when we, growing up in this culture, see our leaders do this, we act like Peter. Oh, OK then, Mr. Humble, why don’t you do all of the work, then?
What the infamous ad played up was the equalizing character of service. It tried to make the power difference disappear so that what we could see in every human encounter is another human.
What the ad failed to do, however, was help us see why this image should resonate with us.
Because we have no reason to wash our feet.
The image depends on a life situation the people all have. But us? There’s indoor plumbing. Most of us have a place to live. The percentage of people in this room who bathed today is very, very high.
The need that is present in the story is not present for us.
But we have a more pernicious need: intimacy.
The disciples all saw each other’s feet. And they were no doubt accustomed to watching each wash them as they waited their turn to do the same.
This night is the only time I see your feet. And how many people touch them?
I am deeply aware of the fear of allowing someone else to touch my feet. It is still uncomfortable for me.
We are in the midst of an epidemic of loneliness at the time when our relationship with intimacy is at its lowest. That should be obvious. But it’s almost as if we think intimacy is a threat to our autonomy (and power) rather than the most human of needs.
It isn’t just about things we want from each other, but our dwindling opportunities to be known by another.
So our loneliness isn’t about being in a room with other people, it is a measure of intimacy. What we allow people to see about us. Who we are with one another.
We are afraid to be known. And the reason is simple: authority.
We need to be powerful. Have our way. Even if it’s being the best at being humble (I’ll out-humble you!). Or hiding what we really think of ourselves to look good in public.
We’re scared.
And I think that’s what Jesus is trying to show us. That of course we are. Intimacy is scary. Facing our weakness is scary. Showing our age is scary. And when we think we’re unworthy, a fraud, a wimp, what are the chances we let anyone see the real us?
Not in a world of exploitation. When somebody can take advantage of you? No thanks, we usually say.
When my Mom encouraged her parents to move in next door to them, she was excited to spend their final years with them. And when Grandpa died, my Mom, Grandma, and Aunt washed his body.
To be honest, the thought of it freaked me out. Because we’ve separated ourselves from death. I was raised in a culture that now rejects that intimacy. It didn’t always but it does now. Letting someone else take care of it means I don’t have to face it.
And when my Mom described it, she described the experience as “what you do.” For Grandma, it was as present to her as washing feet was for the disciples.
It isn’t just that we’re afraid of dying. We’re afraid of finding in death the same feelings stirred up by intimacy. Like vulnerability, insignificance, weakness, inability, frustration, loneliness, rejection.
Think about how hard our culture wants us to reject these things. In ourselves and one another.
Now think about how Jesus invites us to embrace these things in each other.
He washes feet doesn’t do it as an image.
Not by itself. We need to see why we are so afraid of letting people see our feet to even get close to it.
Because it isn’t about the mythical culture war mindset. It’s about our insecurities and our sense of power. And all things which prevent us from serving each other with hope and faith.
When Jesus does this, washing their feet before feeding them one last time in a display of divine hospitality, he does so knowing his own fate is long-sealed.
And so we gather this evening with that same spirit—of generous love and trepidation of what is to come. We will eat and then prepare to say goodbye.
It is bittersweet. And fitting, for so is death itself.
So let us serve and be served! Let us celebrate! And then prepare to face tomorrow.