Maundy Thursday - Holly Hartman

On Maundy Thursday, we at Christ Church practice the ancient ritual of foot washing.
You can see in your bulletin that you’ll have the opportunity to participate in this right after this
homily. If you choose. I hope you do choose.

Why do we do this? Presumably, we want to emulate Jesus. The humility, love, and act of
service that Jesus displayed when he surprised his disciples during their Last Supper together to
perform this act.

At first, the disciples bristled. “You will NEVER wash my feet”, Peter says. But Jesus
admonishes him that unless he allows this humble, pious act to occur, then Peter will “have no
share” with Jesus.

Most of us, bristle, too, when it comes to foot washing. “You will NEVER wash my feet”, we
think or even say out loud, when it is offered on Maundy Thursday. Feet are smelly, ugly, dirty.
It’s awkward. It’s embarrassing. It’s uncomfortable. Instead of identifying with Jesus, we
identify with Peter in this story. Peter was embarrassed to have Jesus, his master, treat him as if
the roles were switched and Jesus was the servant instead. Jesus’ message was to reassure Peter
that there is no greater or lesser person in the eyes of God. Everyone can serve, and everyone
can be served.

I am certainly not going to shame you into having your feet washed tonight, or even try to
convince you. But I do want to share a story with you that changed my own feelings about foot
washing.

A few years ago, I was in Haiti on a mission trip with some members of my sponsoring church,
St. Paul’s in Dedham. It was October of 2008, and our trip took place just after a series of
powerful hurricanes had afflicted the country. I was walking to church on a Sunday morning,
along the unpaved road in the rural village of Juampas. With me were three young adult Haitian
friends- Jothson, Pascal, and Kerline. All three of these people are very close to my heart. They
speak English quite well, and always serve as our translators many times. I have been a guest at
their homes.

The dirt roads were full of big ruts, and there was mud everywhere. We were all dressed up for
church, but I was wearing sneakers because I knew I couldn’t navigate those ditches and mud
puddles without them. Kerline, however, a beautiful 21 year old woman, adeptly negotiated
around the ruts in her high heels.

We came to a place in the road that was covered with water. In order to continue on, we had to
walk from rock to rock in the puddles. My friends held my hands, but I still managed to slip off

a rock and land in the water. With mud up to my ankles, now, I wondered how I could ever make
it to church.

My young friends laughed at my plight, and without a word, brought me over to the nearest
house- a hut, in our standards. As if pre-planned, a homemade cane chair appeared in the yard,
and they sat me down. Kerline took my shoes off and headed over to a pump to wash them.
Jothson went to fetch a bucket of water, and seeing my distress, patted my shoulder, laughing,
telling me not to worry. Before I knew it, my young friend Pascal was washing my feet. As he
squatted down and tenderly wiped the mud off each foot, I said to him “Pascal….you remind
me of Jesus.”

You see, I thought I was there to serve the Haitians, and in true biblical reversal of roles, the
Haitians were serving me.

Having your feet washed is not a comfortable thing. Washing someone else’s feet is equally as
disconcerting. So, why do we do it on Maundy Thursday?

We do it, of course, to remember that Jesus commanded his disciples to love one and serve one
another. The act of washing their feet before they ate their last supper together was the most
humble way he could demonstrate the radical love and desire to serve them that he had. John
13:1 ? tells us that Jesus “showed them the full extent of his love.”

We, too, are to love and serve each other