I am one who despises religion… I’m more into relationships. Not only that, but I go to church… for relationships. Not the traditional rituals. The Bible is clear that the traditions held by mankind hold no meaning in God’s eyes. The apostle Paul describes it best in Galatians 3. Rituals, traditions, and religions do not save the soul. Yet, we still have them. We still go. To. Church. Maundy Thursday seems to be the new rage these days. Our church held their first Maundy Thursday service this year. Normally, I am not one to get hyped up about these kinds of services. They seem so very… ritualistic.
Jesus taught in parables. He taught by example. Kids learn more by observing their parents than from any textbook. Traditions, festivals, religious holidays, etc. do serve a purpose. They “show” us the event. But save us? No. So then, why do we bother?
I was ever so glad when I was asked to run the media during the Thursday service. Work is always the perfect excuse to avoid participation. I could hide behind the sound booth where no one notices. My husband was asked at the last minute to participate in the live depiction of the Last Supper. So we were both busy. All settled. Foot-washing ritual avoided!
During the service I hit play on a couple of videos that showed Ray Vander Laan explaining in detail the purposes behind each ritualistic position. Why they leaned on their right… or was it the left… arm. Why they wanted to sit in such and such a place at the table. Why Jesus dipped in the bowl of bitter herbs… with Judas. That part of the service I love. The whys? We read and hear things about Christianity that makes no absolute sense in today’s world. We have dishwashers and stoves. We drive cars and fly in planes. Why does it matter which arm they sat on? We sit at the table, and they sit on the dirt floor.
Jesus, in his loving and patient way, lived what he spoke. He said serve. So, He served. He was the leader. The king of the pack. The President. We are to serve those above. Yet, Jesus grabbed the title of the servant… the seat on the other side of the table… and took up the rag. He washed their feet. The King… washed their feet!
So, yeah… we have this “Foot Washing” in the middle of the service. Oh, don’t get me wrong… I love a good foot massage! I am not above having my feet washed… Hey go for the whole deal… I’ll even provide the lotions! And for me to wash others… fiddlesticks, I’ve wiped plenty of babies’ butts! No, the mechanics of the act have no effect on me.
It’s the ritual. The meaning. Lost in today’s world.
A low voice circles around the sound booth door… Can I wash your feet?
If there is one person in the whole church who deserves a spa pampering day… it’s the momma of a pre-teen and a very special boy! I believe the parents are just as, if not more, special than the child. Life never quits. She drops in bed exhausted every night. Yet, full of love. Her house is the host of many a gathering… even in the midst of their own chaos. Always working. Always caring. Always giving. And she wanted to wash my feet.
No way… I should be washing hers!
Then Peter’s words popped out. And Jesus replied. And the least shall be first and the first shall be least. So we wash. And be washed. Washed with the Spirit. The spirit of fellowship. The spirit of Love.
Ritual? Yes… to show… to remind us to feel… to love.
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**Highlights in color are links for more information.
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**The sidewalk picture downtown in Fortville is mine. I don’t own the rights to the original washbowl & wheelchair images, and I’m not making any money on them.
Voice of Restoration 