Maundy Thursday

Few of us who grew up Baptist really knew what Maundy Thursday, or Holy Thursday, was. It wasn’t until I moved to Texas that I found out when we attended a church that celebrated this day. The significance of the service and the day moved me and now I cannot pass an Easter season without thinking on this fifth day of Holy Week what happened in preparation.

Maundy Thursday is a remembrance day. It marks the day that Jesus washed his disciples’ feet, ate the Last Supper, agonized in prayer in the Garden of Gethsemane, and was betrayed by Judas. It marks the visible beginning of the road to the Cross.

When my pastor led us through the events on Maundy Thursday, I was drawn to a couple very specific things. First, can you imagine what it was like to have your feet washed by the Master, your God in the flesh? Think back to that time in history. The main method of transportation was walking. If you were rich enough, perhaps a camel or donkey, but walking was still the easiest way. Because of the arid land, your feet would most likely have been filthy. You would wear sandals, due to the heat, but it wouldn’t keep out the dirt and sand. After walking for a time, you would come to the host home where the host or his servant would wash your feet for you. Then you could recline comfortably for the meal. Yet, it was not the host of the home who washed the feet of the disciples. It was Jesus. How humbling. How magnificient. How inspiring. To think that God the Son loved us so much that he was not only willing to become flesh and live among us, but he was also willing to do what we would do, dirty as it would seem.

I saw a missions team in Africa take children from an AIDS orphanage and gently wash their feet. These children lost their parents and most members of their family to AIDS. They were so poor that shoes were the least of their worries. But in order to get an education, they had to have shoes. The missionaries tenderly cleaned those small, dirty feet and dried them. Then they pulled out clean socks and rolled them over the calloused feet. The childrens’ faces were a mixture of joy, wonder, and disbelief. Lastly, the missionaries slipped brand new sneakers on their feet.  One little boy claimed he could now run faster than anyone in the world! One little girl was sobbing. Another child stepped so carefully, claiming not wanting to ruin his new shoes. The joy of the moment translated into significance that was beyond anything an American could imagine. These might be the only shoes these children ever receive. These shoes meant they could actually go to school and better themselves. These shoes meant they could walk without fear of hurting their feet from stones or getting parasites.

To me, Jesus’ washing the feet of the disciples means something much more significant than clean feet. It showed his deep love and willingness to do whatever it took for our reconciliation with God the Father. It gave us a beautiful picture of what our hearts should show to others: servanthood. It was symbolic…no matter how much filth we have, he will love us anyway and is willing to purify us.

The change in format today is on purpose. Since the blog is usually about me, I wanted to shift the focus to where it really should be.