May I Wash Your Feet?

This week I read a blog post by a friend of mine who is a nurse. She wrote about foot-washing and other foot care for the elderly as an aspect of caregiving. Reading her words reminded me of the foot-washing practice our church observes following Communion in a service we hold semi-annually.

And then it hit me – we likely won’t be having Communion and Foot-washing this spring. At least, “not in the normal way”. (which is becoming a very normal COVID-19 add-on to plans and clarifier to statements these days)

Quite possibly, this season I won’t be able to take part in foot-washing – that tangible act we do, symbolizing humility and servanthood to our sisters in Christ. I won’t be able to kneel down and physically touch my sister’s feet, or to rise and embrace her after she has washed mine. And this at a time when we are perhaps more than ever longing to be in person with people we love. Social distancing is also touch distancing us.

Sister, I don’t want to grow out of touch with you. May I wash your feet here?

I am kneeling, in a bowed down position to serve you. You, seated on a chair facing me, offer me your foot by lifting it just above the basin of water that is between us.

Did I see you hesitate a bit? Maybe your feet are ticklish. Maybe your feet are bigger than everyone else's and the embarrassment of having someone else see them up close almost kept you from joining the line of foot-washers. Maybe it just plain makes you squirmy inside to think of allowing another to handle a low-ly part of you, your sole.

But you offer me your foot anyway. I reach for it, and cradle it in my left hand while using my right hand to dip down into the water. I hope that the church trustees, when they readied the basin, have made the water not too warm and not too cool for your foot’s comfort. I cup some water in my right hand and bring it up to the top of your foot. I gently release the water through my fingers and it runs down over your foot and back into the basin.

I notice your foot shape is different than mine. Your toes sort of curve in over each other while there are significant gaps between mine. I recognize the signs of wear, though, in several places, and there at the edge of yours, I see a blister. Looks like you’ve been on a hard road these past weeks. Or is it months, now? I notice a scar on top of your foot. Maybe you’ve had surgery in that spot, or maybe it’s a rather knobby line of skin that’s grown over an injury you sustained there long ago.

Perhaps we would talk a long time about these things if we stayed like this, you holding the stillness and me holding your sole. But the last of the water slides off your foot into the basin and I let go. My hands reach for the towel I’ve laid at my waist. Both hands outstretched under the towel, I cup the cloth for you at the side of the basin.

You place your dripping foot on my toweled hands and I begin to wipe it dry. Pardon my awkwardness, I think, as I try to dry every inch, from the back of your heel to your tips of toes, and between.

You rest your newly washed and dried foot on the floor and we both sort of swing back to the basin as I prepare to wash your other foot. I repeat the bowing, the bending, the leaning, the cradling, the dipping, the releasing, the gently rubbing dry.

Then we trade places. Now I’m the one seated and you are facing me, stooped low and towel-girded. I feel bad that my feet are the ones you ended up having to wash. I reluctantly offer them to you as they are, bare and veiny. I hope you don’t see the brown cracks in my heels where I tried to scrub the earth marks out but they wouldn’t erase.

But you seem to overlook the ugliness – an ingrown toenail that I tried to repair myself, that weird bony bump close to my big toe, the calluses ridging up thickly along the edges of my feet. I pray they don’t also smell of sweaty shoes.

You reach out and receive my feet, these losers at beauty, and draw them toward the water with your servant hands. I watch the liquid from your cupped hand spill over my skin and fall back into the basin. You graciously dip up another handful for good measure.

Then you, too, reach out to wipe my damp and glistening feet in the unfolding of your towel. You are careful to absorb every drip of water with a methodical but gentle rubbing of my feet with the white terrycloth.

You finish drying my feet and you wipe your hands on the same towel you have used on my feet. You stand at the same time I rise from sitting. Facing each other, we draw close and give each other a quick embrace.

You whisper in my ear that my servanthood in daily life inspires you. I find myself protesting inwardly. Stop! If you had heard me snap at my husband and yell at my children this morning as we rushed to get out the door. If you would know how I envy you your confidence in a crowd. If you would see me grimace with impatience when the neighbor lady phones me for the third time in a day. If… you wouldn’t say those words!

But you have said them, and you seem to mean them. I lean forward and give you a quick little extra squeeze. “I’m so glad you’re a sister in my family,” I say.

And I really mean it.

Within REACH

Can one visit 52 different conservative Anabaptist-run ministries (and talk personally with some of the people that make those ministries happen) all in one – or two – days? Is there such a possibility? Well, there is, and it’s within REACH.

In my last post, I mentioned that recently Ken & I had the privilege of attending REACH, which is a ministries convention put on by Faith Builders every two years on a weekend in March. It’s held at a huge Calvary Church near Lancaster, PA. By huge, I mean big enough in its main auditorium to seat the 2000-plus people that attend on Friday, the second day of the two-day event, when entire high school grades from some schools will cancel classes and come and add to the 1739 other people who are already there.

It also has the capacity to comfortably handle the 15 or so breakout sessions that take place simultaneously at different times throughout the day. What may not be so comfortable is navigating the foyers and halls teeming with attendees to get to the breakout sessions rooms on the four different levels of the building.

The first year Ken and I went to REACH, we went to separate workshops during the breakouts time – Ken to a basement room and I to a chapel smaller than the main auditorium on the same level. When we met up again, the first thing Ken said to me was, “There’s another whole church down there!” It’s good that current Faith Builders students were strategically placed throughout the church to assist the throng in getting to the proper rooms.

Another large room on the main level of the massive church was lined with tables where the 52 different ministries set up their displays of literature and “advertising” pens, handbags, candy, or, as in one case, office scissors. (score!) Typically, two or three people associated with the ministry manned the booth; someone was on hand to explain briefly what the ministry is about and to answer questions anyone might have about it.

It was also the room in which to figure on taking a long time to get from point A to point B on account of meeting up with people you hadn’t seen for years. Depending on where you were headed though, you may have chosen to streamline your encounters, narrowing them down to mere seconds: Hello, ____! Face lights up and big smile appears. How are you? Doing well, and you? Good too. So good to see you again. You, too! See you later. (maybe or maybe not, you think as you graciously slip away and go another few feet until bumping into the next friend or acquaintance)

One of my favorite things about REACH is listening to the speakers in the main assemblies and in the breakout sessions. Throughout the talks on God’s will in the Kingdom, the power of the Gospel, finding identity in Christ, being faithful in supporting roles, reflecting the image and glory of God as a woman, and bringing Light to darkness, I just kept thinking oh, this is so good. People at REACH are passionate about the King and being in His Kingdom service. There’s something very energizing about mingling with that many people who have the same focus – someone said you can “feel it in the air”, and I think I know what he meant. It’s not hard at all for me to imagine the Spirit moving through the place as a rushingmightywind.

I also got to feeling slightly overwhelmed by so many opportunities in ministry. After hearing the 20-second blurbs about each of the 52 ministries participating at REACH 2019, hearing longer explanations of a few of those during Ministry Focus sessions, and browsing many of the display tables set up in the Ministry Displays Room, I realized I could be involved in soooo many areas.

I could pray, counsel, camp, send money, stock books, visit prisoners, study, nurse, broadcast, support, fly, preach (okay, maybe some of these I couldn’t do since I’m not a pilot and since I am an Anabaptist woman), publish, train, sing, and bake. I could teach – how about in a city school? and I love language – it would be fun to get involved in Bible translation somehow, and that couple who turned their home into a haven for troubled Anabaptist young women inspired me (how could one not be intrigued by a ministry with a name like Aquila Villa?!) So many opportunities are within REACH!

And as if it wasn’t enough God-saturation (really, though, could one ever get too much?) to be at REACH for two days, on Saturday night we went and saw Jesus, what’s showing right now at Sight & Sound in Lancaster. I loved the emphasis placed on Jesus rescuing people, ordinary people, like me. I cried a bunch. There was a young girl – maybe 8 years old? – sitting with her family in the row behind us, and I heard her sniffles at times throughout the story, and her tearful explanation to her mom during the crucifixion scene: “I don’t want Him to die!” and felt I understood completely.

But even Ken joined me in crying joyful tears at the Resurrection scene. It was just so delightfully moving. Jesus didn’t end with the Resurrection, though; it went even beyond the Ascension, to the coming of the Holy Spirit and the transformed disciples writing and telling The Good News. (Right back to that ministry/witnessing theme we’d been hearing at REACH!)

So, yes, I came home from that weekend in Lancaster with my head and heart full. My devotion to Christ is deeper, my understanding of discipleship is broader, my longing to show and tell Him to others, greater. The question is Where do I start to put to practice what I have discovered?

Perhaps right at home is the place to begin. Around my kitchen table. Being gracious with family members in conversation. (I felt like you were interrupting me. Really? And here I thought I couldn’t finish what I was saying because you were interrupting me!) Listening long to a chatty neighbor lady on the phone. Engaging in friendly conversation with the checkout person who is tossing my groceries into the bags willy-nilly rather than me pointedly packing them my way while stewing inside.

I want to remember what I discovered in a recent Sunday School class on Power in God’s Kingdom. Our teacher pointed out that, while there is definite power in sudden, loud and blasty things, there is also power in the long, quiet, and unpretentious things of life, such as a seed growing into a tree that bears fruit. In ministry, I want to realize the slow power of God. “The kingdom of God is within you” Jesus said in describing to the Pharisees how the Kingdom would look. Slowly, quietly, faithfully, I can begin Kingdom ministry. This is possible only through the power of the Holy Spirit of God who dwells inside me – within reach.

This Post’s Quotable:

“They almost fit,” she said.

This Post’s Childhood Memory:

I remember what a treat it was to Go to the Bookmobile when I was a little girl. The bookmobile was a bus, a commercial-sized one, converted into a portable library. Every few weeks (in the summer?) this delightful books-on-wheels phenomenon made a stop at The Log Cabin Store, which was only a quarter mile or so down the dirt road from where we lived, and Mom would take us children to visit it. We’d take back the books we’d checked out on our previous visit, and spend time browsing for another set to take home this time. I remember entering the bookmobile through the tall, narrow, hinged doors and smelling the black ribbed rubber of the inside steps and aisles, as well as the paper and ink of the books. It was a hushed and enchanted world. We got to go to the children’s books section among the shelves and shelves of books, sit on the low circular metal stools and pull out some interesting-looking books to pore over right there and to, glory be, choose a few on our very own to enjoy at home – for a couple of weeks. I loved the large square books, with crinkly plastic over the covers and lots of pictures, such as the Richard Scarry series. It was also extremely fascinating to watch the librarian take the card out of the little pocket in each book we were checking out and ink the date on it with her little rubber stamp.

 Did you ever visit REACH or a bookmobile? What were your impressions of either?