Dirty feet

I have a hard time with Holy Week. I used to think I was so grumpy on Palm Sunday because I was pooped from Lent. I used to think that Maundy Thursday was rough because I was so busy getting everything in order for all the services. I used to think… Since I gave up thinking everything’s been much easier.

One year the calendar put communion on the day for having the kids parade into church with palms. I got up to do communion and I started to cry. I realized I was so mad it hurt. Everybody was whoopiedooing and He was crying. Where the hell do any of us get off being as obtuse as everybody was then? How can we be so self centered? How can we ignore the Christ in His pain? Whew! Took me a minute to get that set of monsters back in their harness. People told me I ought to get some rest. I must be really tired from Lent. They were lucky I remembered my mother telling me it wasn’t nice to knock people down and punch them in church. Yo! His heart is broken and you’re discussing how to make little crosses with leaves?

Since then I’ve approached this whole thing a lot differently. And they have too. Funny thing. Maybe we spiritual leaders need to spend more time with the Lord. Might do us all some good.

But this washing the feet thing still gets me. Since I paid attention to what was going on during this week, the relationships and all their gives and takes are so poignant, so loaded, I don’t know how He got through it. Here He was, knowing what was going on (I really don’t think it required the Great Kreskin to figure out what was ahead), and they’re having a party. That would leave me somewhere between walking out on the idiots and getting Gabriel to fry them. But He stuck in there, even without a pension to preserve. He moved inside all the self centered idiocy and gave them a lesson they would never forget. He wounded them with the only weapon that would leave them with anything except embarrassment and self defensive excuses. He washed their feet. Talk about counter intuitive.

It left them abashed. It leaves me absolutely positive that I am not worth His concern. I am still so angry about His pain and their unwillingness to pay attention to it, I know I haven’t learned what I need to.

But that’s the point isn’t it. We’ll never learn. Even at our best we’re a lot less than good at this growing-up-into-our-potential-as children-of-God business. Our own anger and pain and lack of vision and faith and generosity and compassion and courage etc, etc. will always, sooner or later, put us in the shoes of the Pharisees or Judas or Peter or good old naked John. And that’s when we’ll see Him kneeling in front of us, taking our feet in His hands as He tells us that He loves us.

I don’t know about you, but this guy gets under my skin, dirty feet and all.