That Foot-Washing Scene

 Think about a man on death row with an hour left before his execution.  Or King Louis XIV awaiting the guillotine. He paces, he moans, he prays, he's totally quiet; his heart must feel as if it would burst. He's terrified.

Then, picture the room where Jesus met with his friends for that last time.  Jesus knows what's coming, the men do not. They have won the lottery, are dividing the spoils. They're IN. The whole city has welcomed them; they're famous, about to have a major part in the long-awaited revolution. Two brothers fight over who should get the best assignment.

Jesus tells them they've got it all wrong, but they don't understand.

Do his hands shake as he breaks the bread, pours the wine? Does he see his own blood in that glass? Is he white-cold with fear? Doesn't he want to scream to his friends to listen to him? How can he even speak?

He does speak. He tells them they will rule some day. He talks about betrayal, about safety. Then he does something very strange.

Without speaking, he gets a bowl and a towel, removes his coat, and gets on his knees before one of them. He removes a sandal; with one hand he dips the towel into water, with the other he cradles the mud-encrusted foot. He washes feet. Twenty-four of them.

 Breathe in the smells of men and dust and wine and roasted lamb. Feel the humidity, the warmth of friends who love each other deeply. See the men's confusion when Jesus says that one will betray, another will deny, all will be scattered. A night of victory and celebration, anticipation of glory turned so solemn, dreadful. And now this outrageous act.

What was he doing?  Meeting a need? Not really. They could have washed their own feet. Something symbolic? Not merely. (Surely he didn't do this so future believers would have foot-washing ceremonies.) I don't claim to know what he was really doing here. I'm trying to understand, and so I welcome any insights. But here's what I hear Jesus saying and doing:

 You've been vying for position, for advantage. I'm telling you that life with me doesn't work that way. Here's the kind of person I want you to be.

 Then he showed them what he wanted by performing a lowly job. He placed himself beneath their gaze, not saying a word. With only hours left to live, with his heart no doubt pounding, he took feet into his hands and washed them with water, dried them with a towel.

 And I chafe, balk, and even refuse to wipe off the countertop after someone else.

The Eyes Can Say So Much

He was so eager. So appropriate. So respectful. Theologically correct. He dropped to his knees, called the teacher “good”. Then as all movers and shakers do, got right to the point.

“What do I do to inherit eternal life?”

Top me off, put a cherry on top, another coat of wax, the year-end bonus. All is good. You’re good. I’ve been good. I just need to know how to keep all this goodness coming.

Jesus parroted the man’s religion back to him. Don’t murder, steal, run-around with women, lie, slander, cheat, dishonor your parents.

“I’ve been good all my life,” he said as he straightened up tall, situated his robe, brushed off the dust from his former kneeling. His heart pumped with satisfaction and his face relaxed, returning to the assured and confident look of the well-heeled, the well-fed, the well-respected.

Mark was watching. What would Jesus say to this man in fancy clothes, a man who no doubt lived like royalty, asked for and got anything he wanted? The friends of Jesus had given up trying to guess how he’d respond to people. He’d commend swindlers and worthless beggars and call respectable leaders snakes. He’d tell some people to follow him, others to go home and not say a word. So, they just waited and watched. Closely.

That’s why Mark was able to say this: “Jesus looked at him and loved him.”

Camp here. Let this sink in, however it will. This is Mark’s account - Mark who narrates Jesus’ days in Palestine like an action-packed novel. Immediately. Straight away. This miracle. That one. Up the mountain. In a boat. Across the sea. Another village.

Mark was accustomed to watching Jesus’ face, was familiar with his facial expressions, looked for signs. Knew when a rebuke was coming; perhaps anticipated one this time. Instead, something in Jesus’ countenance, his eyes, his forehead, caused Mark to say, “And looking at him, Jesus felt a love for him.”

Linger here. Picture the scene. Don’t rush to the conclusion, dive into the debate about God’s view of riches. Just imagine this person, this moment, and Jesus’ response. "He looked at him hard in the eye, and loved him."

Two Gods

On Sunday,Ronnie Stevens quoted someone who has said, "There are two Gods; the one you want - and the one who is there."

Perhaps due to the winter weather, I've been hibernating when it comes to phrases and sentences that catch my attention. For a couple of weeks it was this one, referring to Jesus in a sinking boat with the storm raging and his friends panicking...

"asleep on a cushion"

Several times a day I've thought about that. Chewed on it slowly as if it was all I knew. A man in a boat that was sinking

"asleep on a cushion"

In my reading of Mark, I'm seeing how often people try to tell Jesus what to do. And he doesn't do what they say or say what they expect. In the past I've imagined him center-stage, dispensing healing, gathering children in his arms, teaching on a hillside with throngs of people before him. I realize those images come from movies and flannelgraphs, not from honest reading of the gospels.

He had no halo, no aura, no supernatural authority that made people speechless, move out of his way, feel that nothing bad would happen to them if they were in his presence. Even those closest to him thought they could influence him, tell him where to go, what to do. Read the gospels with that in focus and see how often people tried to control him. Notice his responses.

The firm, "No, we're not staying here. That's not why I came."
The heartbreaking response to the news that his mother was outside, "Who is my mother?"
The scorching rebuke to Peter, "Get behind me, Satan!"

"asleep on a cushion" while his friends were frightened to death, frantically bailing water. They force him to wake up. He has no pity. Instead, after telling the sea to hush, he rebukes them. "Where is your faith?"

There are two Gods: The one we want (imagined, pretend, synthetic, flexible, comfortable, you fill in the adjectives).

and

The one who is there
Sleeping on a cushion in a sinking boat in a raging storm
Unperturbed