Maundy Thursday + April 6, 2023 + Pr. Craig Mueller
My preference is to go shoeless at home. In colder months I wear slippers. In warmer months I go barefoot. But I usually take off my shoes as soon as I get home. To be ready for tonight, I decided to go shoeless and wear my old, comfy Birkenstock sandals.
Do you have family or friends that ask you to take off your shoes when you arrive? Maybe they have wood floors, and it is snowy or muddy outsiden and they don’t want it tracked in. Or maybe it’s just the rules of the house.
You can by signs online to remind people of this required etiquette:
Lose the shoes.
Please remove your shoes. The dog needs something to chew on.
Please remove your shoes. And don’t take a better pair when you leave.
Since little fingers touch our floor, please leave your shoes at the door.
It’s one thing to take off your shoes inside your house, it’s another to lose the shoes all the time. Recently I read the shoeless story of Joseph DeRuvo from Norwalk, Connecticut. Joseph hasn’t been wearing shoes for twenty years. At first it was because of bunions, but then he stayed barefoot for other reasons. He loved the tactile comfort he had with the ground. Exposing his soles has been good for his soul.
“I pay attention to every step I take,” Joseph said.
But going barefoot outside the beach, the yoga studio or the pedicure chair gets people’s attention. That’s where he runs into trouble. “People have a thing about feet,” Joseph conceded. “People get skeeved.”2
And that gets us to Maundy Thursday, the day we take off our shoes in church. You know I’m getting to footwashing. But not yet.
Feet. The best passage about feet in the Bible is at the burning bush, when God tells Moses: take off your shoes. You are standing on holy ground.
Of course, all ground is holy. But there are places we sense God’s presence in a deep way that help us appreciate all the earth. All of life.
During the Great Three Days—the Triduum—this place becomes holy ground for us. We gather as community. We gather around the mystery of death and resurrection. We move. We process. We wash feet. We share a meal. We honor the cross. We carry a large candle into the dark sanctuary. We hear primal stories. We remember our baptism. We have water sprinkled on us. We take off our shoes—figuratively. But reverently. For here. In these three days. We meet God. We behold Christ crucified and risen.
Back to feet. Feet are mentioned 259 times in the Bible! How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of the messenger who announces peace. And now ou feet are standing within your gates, O Jerusalem. If anyone does not receive you, shake off the dust from your feet. A woman anoints and kisses Jesus’ feet. Mary sits quietly at the feet of Jesus. And of course, the risen Christ shows his disciples his hands and feet—the places of his nail wounds.
On the night before Jesus’ death, he lays aside his garments, he lays aside his power. For he will lay down his life all those he loves.
And in an uncomfortable reversal, Jesus desires to wash the feet of his beloved followers. Peter protests! This is not the way it is supposed to be. In that Mediterranean culture, if you were going to a dinner party you would have bathed at home or at a public bath. When you arrived at the party, all that was left was the ritual of washing feet. But this menial task was too low even for male slaves. It was left for gentile slaves, women, and children.
To see Jesus in this social awkward position was shocking.
In a world that values rank and power, the act of footwashing reverses social position and roles. Jesus overcomes the inequality between him and his disciples. And as one writer puts it, he establishes an intimacy that grants his followers access to everything he has received from his Father.1
Take off your shoes. Tonight we participate in a radical ritual that models servanthood and the reversal of power that Jesus embodies. Of course, we must be a little vulnerable, and in some cases, let a stranger touch and wash our feet.
The water reminds us of our baptismal vocation. We wash feet in a ritual. But this servant-love is then revealed in our daily lives. Changing a diaper. Caring for a sick loved one. Working at a food pantry. Calling a friend who is lonely. Marching for justice. Recycling and composting. Giving a hug to an elder who never is touched.
And attending to the body. The body of Christ. A middle-aged woman went to her podiatrist concerned she might have arthritis. Instead, he prescribed physical therapy. She had tight feet, calves, quads, and hamstrings. As the song goes, “the foot bone’s connected to the leg bone, the leg bone’s connected to the hip bone, the hip bone’s connected to the back bone.”3
Addressing foot pain, means attending to the entire body. Which is true in the body of Christ. We are interconnected. When one of us suffers. Or when a group of people are marginalized, we are all weakened.
In a few moments we will take off our shoes and gently wash one another’s feet. To provide options, for the feet-shy, this year we will also offer the anointing of hands for service. A sign of our baptismal calling. As Teresa of Avila said, “Christ has no body but yours. Yours are the hands, yours are the feet. You are his body.”
During these three holy days, take of your shoes. Figuratively. Learn again how to walk reverently on the earth. And be grateful for your feet!
And then: have your shoes on, ready to walk to liberation, as the Israelites were told to do as they awaited their deliverance from slavery. For freedom is coming. New life is coming. Easter is coming!
1Sandra Schneiders, Written that You May Believe: Encountering Jesus in the Fourth Gospel, p. 195.
2”Exposing His Soles Has Been Good For His Soul,” New York Times, 5 March 2023.
3Melissa Earley, “Maundy Thursday” in The Christian Century, April 2023.