“Jesus—rose from supper and laid aside His garments, took a towel and girded Himself.
After that, He poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples’ feet and to wipe them with the towel—.Then He came to Simon Peter. And Peter said to Him, ‘Lord, are You washing my feet?’ Jesus answered and said to him, ‘What I am doing you do not understand now, but you will know after this.’ Peter said to Him, ‘You shall never wash
my feet!’” (John 13:4-8)
I know just how he felt. Something similar happened to me in my first years of the priesthood. I was the youngest priest at our cathedral in New York City at the time. The order of services for Holy Thursday provides for the ritual of feet washing in cathedrals. It’s done in Russia, and our cathedral continued the practice. In reading the gospel of John one can hardly fail to notice how logical it would be to recreate the actions of our loving Lord if the scenario of the Last Supper is to be reenacted—and indeed the Last Supper of that traumatic night is what the Church is reconstructing in all parishes, most thoroughly in our cathedrals.
So it was that following the lengthy St. Basil liturgy we priests sat on a long bench in our vestments, slipping off our shoes and socks to wear sandals for the feet-washing ritual. St. Peter came to mind. I felt squeamish and ill at ease. I was in my early twenties. Archbishop Ireney, at least in his seventies, removed his outer garb, looped an extra long towel about his shoulders, took a basin with tepid water from an acolyte, and approached me. I was uncomfortable. I wanted the episode to end quickly. I hoped he would bunch his fingers and flick some drops on my bare foot, daub it with the towel’s edge, and move on to the next priest. Another scriptural passage popped into my mind. I recalled St. John the Baptist saying about our Lord that he, John, was unworthy to unlace His sandals. I felt the same about my beloved “Vladiko.” And he would wash my feet?
He didn’t merely sprinkle me; he took the heel of my right foot in his left hand, scooping up some water from the basin now held by an acolyte, spilled it on my toes, then slowly wiped away the moisture from my foot.
Many years later while studying at a seminary operated by the Assembly of God communion, I witnessed the way they upheld foot washing as a sacrament of unity, perhaps even more significant for them than the primary act of that traumatic Thursday night when our Lord, God and Savior shared His last meal with His disciples. Of course the act of eating and drinking, which He insists is His very body and blood, is more relevant than the lesson of the washing of their feet, but that ritual should not be ignored by us. It’s more than hospitality; otherwise an ordinary servant could have performed the act. And it cannot be explained better than by Christ Himself in the Johannine gospel:
“Do you know what I have done to you? 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 13:12-16).
Isn’t it odd that those who enjoy ritual so much have all but lost this precious act of love in a generation? Some who model their ‘ordo’ of services on the practice of the Russian Orthodox Church have not adopted this scriptural example of affection and humility. I may be wrong, located in the Midwest so far from the various cathedrals of all the Orthodox jurisdictions throughout the continent, but I am not aware of any where the Holy Thursday ceremony of foot washing is being performed. Maybe it takes too long. Maybe it’s complicated to find a dozen persons, priests or laity, to carry out the act. Or maybe it’s just because we lack sufficient humility.