Tonight I went to church for Maundy Thursday at Christ Episcopal Church, Redondo Beach. This is the annual ritual of the washing of the feet and after the liturgy is over, the altar is stripped of all sacramentals. Catholics call this Holy Thursday but Episcopals call it Maundy Thursday. This day is the Christian feast or holy day falling on the Thursday before Easter that commemorates the Last Supper of Jesus Christ with the Apostles. It is the fifth day of Holy Week, and is preceded by Holy Wednesday and followed by Good Friday.
The Old Testament references show that the washing of the feet was the first act on entering the tent or house after a journey. The Orientals wore only sandals, and this washing was refreshing as well as cleanly. In the case of ordinary people, the host furnished the water, and the guests washed their own feet, but in the richer houses, the washing was done by a slave. It was looked upon as the lowliest of all services. Jesus pointedly contrasts Simon's neglect of even giving Him water for His feet with the woman's washing His feet with tears and wiping them with her hair. On the last evening of His life, Jesus washed the disciples' feet. Their pride, heightened by the anticipations of place in the Messianic kingdom whose crisis they immediately expected, prevented their doing this service for each other. Possibly the same pride had expressed itself on this same evening in a controversy about places at table. Jesus, conscious of His divine dignity and against Peter's protest, performed for them this lowliest service. His act of humility actually cleansed their hearts of selfish ambition, killed their pride, and taught them the lesson of love.
I have gone to this service many, many times in my lifetime, but at the church where I now attend, it is a very intimate and optional activity. The congregation washes each other's feet. It is embarrassing for me; my feet are so misshapen as I've grown older and I rarely get a pedicure during the winter. Just getting my socks and shoes off--and back on--is very awkward because I do ache a lot from arthritis. But, I feel so loved and accepted when someone touches my feet, and I personally feel like a blessed servant when I'm washing someone else's feet, that it is well worth the discomfort. At Christ Church there are two large plastic basins and several white pitchers filled with warm lilac water to pour over the feet. The towels to dry with are pleasantly rough and white. When we make eye contact, it's like a jolt of electricity hits me from the crown chakra to the tips of my toes.
I brought the camera to photograph the ritual, but it seemed just too private a time to take photos. After communion, several women came forward and stripped the altar and we sat privately and quietly remembering the Garden of Gethsemane as it pertains to our own lives.
A favorite artist of mine is John Robert Swanson and here is his 1999 depiction of Jesus washing Peter's feet.
Though I am not a particularly religious Christian, Holy Week has always meant a lot to me. It's when I allow myself, I guess, to look at the passion of Christ and apply his triumph, suffering, death and resurrection to my own life and the lives of my loved ones. It's when I remind myself that life is in divine order even when it feels like it is crashing down around me. I am reminded of life's impermanency, the importance of living in the moment and being humble, and about letting go and letting God.
