Exactly one week ago was Holy Thursday (also known as Maundy or Mandato Thursday from “A new command (mandate) I give you: love one another”). At liturgies on that day in at least a few Christian traditions there is some sort of ceremonial foot washing. This is done to commemorate when Jesus washed his disciples’ feet. In the Catholic tradition, when this is performed, it is typically done by the Priest, who takes off all his vestments and kneels in front of the people whose feet he is washing, pours water on the feet, drys them, and kisses them. I would guess that in other traditions it would take a similar form.
Why am I thinking of this? Today in clinic, I had to examine someone’s feet. This is not the first time, nor will it be the last. They were not the dirtiest or sickest or most malformed feet I have ever seen, but they were in disrepair. And as I drove home, thinking of those feet, I thought of Jesus.
First I thought of the feet he would have washed. His disciples wore sandals, not shoes. Their feet would have been scarred, scraped, battered just from daily use. I’m sure there were callouses. They weren’t covered and they weren’t in socks so they were exposed to dirt, mud, grime (just think of how dirty your shoes can get when you’re walking around in a field). And to boot, the disciples were working people, not elite. They were men. Between those two facts they likely didn’t have the time, supplies, or desire to have what we would consider to be a well groomed foot.
For many people, there is an ick factor to even the most well groomed foot. There’s something just “undesirable” about them. I can’t count the number of times I’ve had people with feet who were perfectly fine want to hide them when I asked them to take their socks off.
Jack points out that Peter reflected this ick factor - he protested loudly when Jesus tried to wash his feet.
So I started to speculate: why might He pick feet to wash? Why tie foot washing with being “clean”, not in a physical sense but in a spiritual one. And I got to thinking about how Feet can be a good analogy for the soul.
For one thing, no pair of feet is perfect. Maybe baby feet, but that’s about it. They have callouses and dead skin. They have warts. They have foot fungus. They have deformities (bunyons, flat feet, etc.). And often, these imperfections tell us something about a person’s life: did they like high heels (perhaps too much), wear workboots that didn’t fit quite right, enjoy manicures or going barefoot, etc. etc. etc. Sometimes, these imperfections (like flat feet) are something we’re born with but can be somewhat corrected with a lot of outside help (although never fully perfect).
Like feet, our souls (before Jesus) are dirty after the fall. They have imperfections. They have flaws. They have outright deformities. They are stained by sin and weakened by concupiscence. The stains on them reflect the things we’ve done in our life, our own particular weaknesses, temptations, and failings. And no one’s is perfect.
And yet Jesus came. He took off his Royal Robes to be a servant, to wash our soles/souls clean (and not only that but to clean off all the stains, to be the Great Physician and help correct even some of our weaknesses), to dry them, and then to kiss them.
And our souls need regular care to stay clean. We have to maintain our relationship with Jesus, through prayer, through the Bible, and through the Sacraments (especially Reconciliation), to let him continue to clean off the sin-stains and correct our weaknesses through grace.
I’m reminded of me during pregnancy. By the time I get to the 30-something weeks, I can’t see my feet and I can’t reach them either. By 36 or so, I can’t put on my own shoes. I have to rely on my husband for help. I have to rely on him to help me get those shoes on - and more importantly, to help me take care of my feet. The extra weight, the re-distribution of forces all make my feet hurt - and I have a job that requires me to be on them a lot. So when I get home, at least a few times a week, I don’t just want a good foot bath/massage, I need it. And my wonderful, amazing husband helps. He imitates Christ and literally cleans my feet. And just like I have to rely on him regularly to do so… so too I must rely on Christ, go to him, and ask for help.
And so ends my meditation on feet.
