The Footwashing

We are growing everyday in what it means to do the footwashing.

A friend shared these words from Abbot John Klassen at Saint John’s Abbey, from a homily he gave on Holy Thursday a few years ago. Today these words came back to me as I thought about what we celebrate at the start of the Triduum.

All day long the Abbot’s words echoed in my head, as I worked and wrote. As I cooked and cleaned. As I played with the baby, changed his diapers, fed him meals, read him stories. As I prayed at Mass.

We are growing everyday in what it means to do the footwashing.

Tonight I watched our pastor, priest, and deacon bend over bowls. I watched them pour warm water from clay jugs over small feet, old feet, clean feet, bandaged feet. I watched them dry with a fresh white towel, then look up at the face of the person whose foot they had washed. I watched the humble exchange of emotions: gratitude, humility, embarrassment, relief, compassion.

We are growing everyday in what it means to do the footwashing.

I thought about my work as mother, my vocation as spouse. I realized, as the Abbot’s words poured over my thoughts like warm water from those clay jugs, that I, too, am growing everyday in what it means to do the footwashing.

Some days I think I know what it means to serve: to care for my son, to love my husband, to carry this new baby. But many days I have no clue. So I try to keep going when I struggle, when I fail. I hope that is what helps me to grow, step by step, day by day, in what it means to do the footwashing.

Sometimes footwashing means letting a feverish, sobbing toddler hiccup himself to sleep in your aching arms. Sometimes footwashing means feeling nauseous for the better part of a year while a new life grows within you.

But regardless, footwashing means humility. Self-gift. The messy work of love.

As I leave for the rest of Triduum, I think of all of us who are washing feet. Parents, spouses, caretakers. Friends, sons, daughters. Ministers, teachers, healers. We are growing everyday in what it means to do the footwashing. 

I pray that we find strength in a God of such humility and love that he knelt to wash the dirty feet of a friend who would betray him.

I pray that we help each other through the dark times, the difficult days, the threats of despair.

I pray that the next days’ journey through death to new life reminds all of us what service and sacrifice and salvation look like.

I pray that we keep growing in what it means to do the footwashing.