About those dirty feet
Here in Tennessee we have a quasi-famous television host known as the “Barefoot Gardener.” While I respect the fact that he wants to feel close to his land, I’m not about to expose my poor ugly dogs to the risk of sharp stones, thorns, or even just an extra-large chunk of mulch.
Alright, I’ll be honest. The biggest reason not to go barefoot is that I might step on a creepy-crawly and scream like a little girl.
That being said, my feet get plenty dirty even with shoes and socks on. By “shoes,” I actually mean Crocs with holes in them, lined with fuzzy material that seems to hold the dirt and make my socks filthy even if I don’t get dirt all over my feet on a given day.
Last week we had some heavy rain, and those funky shoes got submerged in four inches of water while I harvested okra. They now look pretty clean in comparison to their normal appearance. I probably should wash my shoes more often.
One would assume that the Barefoot Gardener washes his own feet. I wouldn’t ask somebody else to do the unpleasant task of washing my nasty old garden shoes. But Jesus gives an example of doing just that type of thing. He had one specific lesson that He wanted to teach.
“So if I, the Lord and the Teacher, washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet” (John 13:14, NASB).
As Jesus washed the disciples’ travel-soiled feet, it was a simple lesson, but one that keeps being missed by those who would follow Him. On one extreme, there are denominations that ceremonially wash each other’s already pre-washed, clean feet as an odd act of worship.
Most Christians understand that this seldom, if ever in Western culture, involves the washing of actual feet.
But do any of us really understand that Jesus was impressing on us that it’s the dirty jobs that need to be done that He wants us to do? Maybe it’s not always a “dirty job” that needs to be done, but an odd or inconvenient one.
My friend Teresa, during her last few months on earth, had a tough time relaxing due to the constant pain from the cancer that was killing her. She not only needed somebody to do dishes, clean out the rotting food in the refrigerator, or scrub the toilet, but she had an odd request one day.
Some friends from the church helped set up her television where she could finally see it — a kind and considerate act of service — and after they left I made her a cup of hot herbal tea and got some extra pillows. “You know what would help me relax?” She asked…and I was a little surprised by her answer. “Play with my hair.”
What? That wouldn’t relax me, but I didn’t have the memories she did of her mother playing with her hair, alternately twirling it between her fingers and then smoothing it as she sang. I don’t remember if I sang to her that day or other times when I performed this unusual service.
But I do remember the hair. And it taught me a lesson that washing feet isn’t always about washing feet. It isn’t about giving money for somebody else to go do the weird or yucky jobs. It’s about love, and it’s about service. And if Jesus, our Lord and the Teacher, could wash my feet (not that He ever did, but you know He would), I also ought to wash one another’s feet.