Smelly Feet and Service
It's Holy Week, and here in blog-land I want to celebrate that! Check out the past posts on Palm Sunday and righteous anger if you missed them.
It's been beautiful here in Bozeman the past few days. We've had blue skies, temperatures in the 40s-50s, and tons of sun. This can only mean one thing:
It's Chaco season.
The first day of the year that I whip out my Chacos is always one of my favorites. It almost feels like a challenge to me. Yes, the weather may still shower me with snow, but in my heart of hearts I know that deep down, it's really spring. I have proof; I wore my Chacos.
Here's the thing, though: much as I love my Chacos, they're not the cleanliest of shoes. I don't know how often you wear sandals (and rest assured, I'm from the Pacific Northwest, so I am well accustomed to people strutting around in all their socks-and-sandals glory) but if you're anything like me, you tend to wear them everywhere during the summer--I've taken mine hiking up Silver Falls, strolling through the streets of Beijing, running around the beach at summer camp, playing in the river at Walla Walla Park, and walking to class on campus--and that means your feet won't stay clean. And so it happens that my feet get covered in sand flea bites (thank you, Kootenay Covenant Bible Camp). They get blistered. Sometimes I pull my shoes off and admire my growing tan lines, only to realized they're actually made out of dirt. More frequently than I would like to admit, they smell. Bad.
My feet are gross. I don't even want to touch them.
How humbling is it, then, to realize that this is what Jesus did?
John 13:1-20 describes how, previous to partaking in the Last Supper with His disciples, Jesus knelt down and washed their feet. I want you to take a moment to put yourself in the disciples' shoes (and to appreciate my pun). They walked in dirt all the time, so their feet were most likely disgusting. What's more, they're used to servants performing this task; yet here is their Lord and Master doing it. I'm sure they were in shock. The passage describes how Peter found it so odd that he initially refused to let Jesus wash his feet. Jesus, the one who came to save the world from sin, the one these men had devoted their lives to, served. And He calls us to, too.
I cannot help but be thankful that Jesus is more than willing to clean up all the dirt in my life, in more ways than one. I want to let Him wash my feet. I cannot help but love a Savior like that-- one who sets such an extreme example of humility and service. I want to mirror that.
We're called, in verse 14, to wash one another's feet. We're called to serve. And yes, this is slightly scary. It means that we have to serve in ways that are far out of our comfort zone. Washing feet was one of the worst jobs someone could have done, and this is what we are to do. We need to be willing to go into the messy parts of the world and pour out Christ's love. Maybe this means we get literally messy. Maybe this means we're willing to come alongside someone and help them clean up the figurative mess in their lives. One thing's for certain, though: It's probably not going to fall under the definition of "pretty."
It's not just supposed to be a get-in, get-out kind of deal, either. I don't know if you've ever been on either side of the foot-washing experience, but I've had the privilege of both. There's something about it that requires a degree of closeness or intimacy. If you didn't have it before, it tends to bring it out. When we serve, we're supposed to get close to people. I've been so excited in this past year to both watch and participate as churches and organizations around me have served in ways that not only help people, but bring about a relationship. That's what we're supposed to be doing. And in a way, that's messy, too.
I'm not sure where you are today. Maybe you have dirt in your life and you need to be willing to let Jesus wash your feet. Maybe you've watched as Jesus has served you and now want to share that love through service with others. Maybe you're a little of both-if I'm honest, I think that's where I am today, too. No matter where you are, just remember: there's enough water to go around.
It's been beautiful here in Bozeman the past few days. We've had blue skies, temperatures in the 40s-50s, and tons of sun. This can only mean one thing:
It's Chaco season.
The first day of the year that I whip out my Chacos is always one of my favorites. It almost feels like a challenge to me. Yes, the weather may still shower me with snow, but in my heart of hearts I know that deep down, it's really spring. I have proof; I wore my Chacos.
Here's the thing, though: much as I love my Chacos, they're not the cleanliest of shoes. I don't know how often you wear sandals (and rest assured, I'm from the Pacific Northwest, so I am well accustomed to people strutting around in all their socks-and-sandals glory) but if you're anything like me, you tend to wear them everywhere during the summer--I've taken mine hiking up Silver Falls, strolling through the streets of Beijing, running around the beach at summer camp, playing in the river at Walla Walla Park, and walking to class on campus--and that means your feet won't stay clean. And so it happens that my feet get covered in sand flea bites (thank you, Kootenay Covenant Bible Camp). They get blistered. Sometimes I pull my shoes off and admire my growing tan lines, only to realized they're actually made out of dirt. More frequently than I would like to admit, they smell. Bad.
My feet are gross. I don't even want to touch them.
How humbling is it, then, to realize that this is what Jesus did?
John 13:1-20 describes how, previous to partaking in the Last Supper with His disciples, Jesus knelt down and washed their feet. I want you to take a moment to put yourself in the disciples' shoes (and to appreciate my pun). They walked in dirt all the time, so their feet were most likely disgusting. What's more, they're used to servants performing this task; yet here is their Lord and Master doing it. I'm sure they were in shock. The passage describes how Peter found it so odd that he initially refused to let Jesus wash his feet. Jesus, the one who came to save the world from sin, the one these men had devoted their lives to, served. And He calls us to, too.
I cannot help but be thankful that Jesus is more than willing to clean up all the dirt in my life, in more ways than one. I want to let Him wash my feet. I cannot help but love a Savior like that-- one who sets such an extreme example of humility and service. I want to mirror that.
We're called, in verse 14, to wash one another's feet. We're called to serve. And yes, this is slightly scary. It means that we have to serve in ways that are far out of our comfort zone. Washing feet was one of the worst jobs someone could have done, and this is what we are to do. We need to be willing to go into the messy parts of the world and pour out Christ's love. Maybe this means we get literally messy. Maybe this means we're willing to come alongside someone and help them clean up the figurative mess in their lives. One thing's for certain, though: It's probably not going to fall under the definition of "pretty."
It's not just supposed to be a get-in, get-out kind of deal, either. I don't know if you've ever been on either side of the foot-washing experience, but I've had the privilege of both. There's something about it that requires a degree of closeness or intimacy. If you didn't have it before, it tends to bring it out. When we serve, we're supposed to get close to people. I've been so excited in this past year to both watch and participate as churches and organizations around me have served in ways that not only help people, but bring about a relationship. That's what we're supposed to be doing. And in a way, that's messy, too.
I'm not sure where you are today. Maybe you have dirt in your life and you need to be willing to let Jesus wash your feet. Maybe you've watched as Jesus has served you and now want to share that love through service with others. Maybe you're a little of both-if I'm honest, I think that's where I am today, too. No matter where you are, just remember: there's enough water to go around.
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