It began from a conversation.
It was dusk on a late July evening and my labored body nestled to rest on the couch. I sat side by side with my husband and unveiled my mere and utter exhaustion.
The season has been dry, and the harvest has been slim. The past seven months has weighed heavy on my spirit as we have endured the dryness and waited in anticipation for the rain. A daily dose of hope that droplets of heavenly water would fall to replenish the earth. As we’ve waited on the Lord, our hearts have grown faint and the dryness has penetrated our bones.
Hope becomes a heavy labor when the people you walk with once had what to feed their family, but now return to their homes emptyhanded. Those with bounty, return with lack. Those who were satisfied, return with aching hunger pangs. Whole villages. Whole districts. The entire country. So every day as we sit around the table to break bread and give thanks, we pray for the hungry and the weary – that God would be their sustenance and strength in the days of hunger and need; that God would provide, and in the days that they wait for provision, He would wholly satisfy their bodies and minds.
The drought has amplified the burnt-orange dirt. Entire roadsides filled with lifeless trees and homes have been coated thick by the orange dust. When walking on the road, by the time you return home, any part of your body not covered in clothing has become a new tone of dirt. At the end of the day, when you return home to retire to solitude and rest, the first thing to do is wash your feet. Your gruesome and grimy orange masked feet. It has become a chore; a daily habit of one, two, sometimes three times. As I rested on that evening in July, I returned emptyhanded with no desire to wash the day off my feet. And in response to my complete lack of willpower, Acram replied: “I’ll wash your feet.”
He answered without hesitation or thought, as if it would be the most natural action to wash my feet for me. As I laid in bed that night, I meditated on his sincerity and humility:
If my husband can love me with a love like this, how are we called to love others?
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It was customary in Palestinian homes to wash guests’ feet as an act of hospitality because they wore sandals and walked on dusty roads. We read in the Gospel of John that Jesus also washed His disciples’ feet.
“So when He had washed their feet, taken His garments, and sat down again, He said to them, ‘You call Me Teacher and Lord, and you say well, for so I am. If I then, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet. For I have given you an example, that you should do as I have done to you’.” John 13: 12-15
Jesus loved His disciples with a love like this – an intentional-and-humble-act-of-service kind of love.
And Jesus leaves His disciples with the commandment: love the LORD your God and love your neighbor as yourself. [1]
And the Great Commission: go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all things that I have commanded you, and I will be with you always. [2]
So then the question beckons:
If Jesus, Teacher and Lord, can kneel to wash His disciples feet, how are we called to love others?
And He states it plainly: do to others as I have done to you.
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I stared at the ceiling in the blackness of night and wondered at the passing thoughts.
Okay, Lord, so what am I supposed to do?
Our bodies are weary, our land is destitute, our hope is flickering, our light is dull, our paths are dirty and dusty, and we are aching for You.
What am I supposed to do?
It is innumerable, the number of times I have asked God that question. As if He hasn't already spoken to me in His word:
Do as I have done. Feed my sheep. Tend my lambs. Deal kindly, with patience and humility. Love your neighbor.
And the words came softly:
Wash their feet.
Okay, Lord, but where do I begin?
Begin where you are.
As if that is not the Gospel - come as you, be washed, cleansed, and restored.
So I began. I took my small blue basin, a grey towel and yellow washing rag, a jug of water, toenail cutters and nail polish.
Let’s be honest though, Jesus likely did not carry with him toenail cutters and nail polish. To honor the women whose feet I would wash, I was glad to offer them a luxury of cosmetology they likely hadn’t ever experienced – a full pedicure. And to be sincere, I do not necessarily believe when we read these scriptures and see Jesus command His disciples to do as He has done, that we are supposed to go out and wash others' feet.
Jesus humbled himself in such a way to honor His disciples as was customary in the time and social systems in which He lived and that we are called to respond to Jesus' act of love, humility, and service in likeness according to custom and culture.
The women hesitated when I announced my intention. Shy and timid; scared of what I may think about the condition of their feet and toenails. And maybe more than that, coy about having a young light-skinned girl kneel on their behalf to wash their feet and serve them in such a way as to bring honor and beauty. And it was my greatest pleasure.
I called them each, one by one by name, and asked them to sit in the plastic blue chair. It was glorious and beautiful and humbling. And I remembered in my life, all the times I went somewhere new and washed feet and painted toenails and braided hair. The ways these kind and intentional acts serve as a ministry of their own – signifying something greater and a Man more worthy, the One for whom we are not worthy to untie His sandals.
But this time, this time was different. It held more meaning; it groaned with aches beyond words for I knew these women deeply. I had walked with them intentionally for years. I had seen their sorrows and their joys. I had entered their homes and seen their mattresses lay on the floor. I had seen the pieces of grasses and small sticks neatly arranged where a mattress lacked, and I had seen the tilt of their mud homes ready to collapse if the wind blew the rain ever so slightly in the right direction.
I have looked in their faces. I have seen their eyes.
Their toil. Their modesty. Their tenacity. Their resiliency.
In the act of honoring them, it was me who was given the most honor – to love deeply in unspeakable ways through action and intention. Their faces shone; the joy radiated as apprehension moved to confidence and timidity shifted to poise. The fragrance of Grace lingers on our hands as we give good gifts from the One by which all blessings flow; how much more deeply we fall in love with the One who calls us by name, washes us clean, and makes us to stand with courage in boldness when we walk in likeness with intention.
Very nice!!