Oh What Love
John is the only Gospel writer to have recorded it. The narrative has long been familiar to me, but there are pieces I hadn’t contemplated before. It’s in these recent Lenten weeks I’ve been beckoned back to his account of the foot-washing event—to linger there, look and listen anew.
Many of us may know the story. Where Jesus, during what we now call Holy Week, dined with twelve He had chosen. His public ministry having come to a close, He spent some of His final hours in private, teaching those to whom He had first said the words “follow Me.” This bunch had traveled with Him for three years. Most of them would soon shoulder the responsibility of carrying His message forward, making disciples, and leading a newly-birthed Church. Jesus took this occasion to offer a living life lesson He knew they’d need for the road ahead.
“Now before the Feast of the Passover, Jesus, knowing that His hour had come that He would depart from this world to the Father, having loved His own who were in the world, He loved them to the end. And during supper, the devil having already put into the heart of Judas Iscariot, the son of Simon, to betray Him, Jesus, knowing that the Father had handed all things over to Him, and that He had come forth from God and was going back to God, got up from supper and laid His outer garments aside; and He took a towel and tied it around Himself (John 13:1-4, NASB).
Revisiting these verses brought memories of the first time I attended a Passover Seder. There must have been twenty or more of us gathered in the living room of the high-rise apartment. Upon entering, we slipped shoes off and placed them along the wall near the door, as usual. On this particular evening a chair, towels, and water-filled basin were situated just past the entry. I still recall how humbling it felt—kneeling to wash the feet of another, and watching her kneel to wash mine. Just weeks later, a lengthy chapter of living abroad would come to a close. I’d fumble my way through the thick fog of a failed marriage and a severed sister-like friendship—two deaths of sorts. That season left me walking with a limp—a lasting reminder of roads traveled. I’m sure I’ve not taken the shortest route between there and here. I’ve likely nursed some wounds longer than necessary and denied the Healer full access to others. But He’s been patient. Present. Ever faithful. “All the way my Savior leads me.” ²
“Then He poured water into the basin, and began washing the disciples’ feet and wiping them with the towel which He had tied around Himself (13:5).
Have you ever read a familiar passage of Scripture and something seems to stand out that you didn’t notice before? This, I believe, is one of the beautiful aspects of this Holy Book that seems to live and breathe among us as we press along this pilgrim path.
In Jesus’ time, travel was commonly done on sandal-clad foot, along dusty roads of Palestinian towns and countryside. Guests likely arrived in need of foot-cleansing—a practical custom which was also a token of hospitality. A rabbi, master, or host would certainly not have been the one to wash feet. Rather, this menial task was a servant’s responsibility.
Let us imagine the scene that John has set before us—Jesus, reclining at the table with the Twelve, “the one Jesus loved” leaning against His chest.³ We might wonder if they noticed Him get up. Do you think they eyed one another with puzzled looks? Did lively conversations slow to a nervous hum as He left the table? Was there a complete hush as He moved toward the pitcher and basin? Did their jaws drop as He removed his outer garment and donned a towel? (It appears that none of them had given thought to taking the task upon themselves.)
Unlike the disciples in that moment, we know how things would play out after that evening meal. For all they had seen, there was much these men still did not understand. Treason hung heavy in their midst. Jesus, knowing full well the horrific day which lay ahead, laid all authority aside, any concern for Himself, and literally took the role of servant. God Incarnate, the Living Water, who would soon pour His life out for all of humanity, poured an amazing act of love upon these twelve as He knelt to wash their filthy feet. The feet of ones who would doubt, deny, doze, betray, run away.
Even Judas had his feet washed by the King that evening. This is what hasn’t sunk in for me before.
I wonder if their eyes met as Jesus knelt before him. Or did Judas turn his face away, unable to watch? I wonder, if somewhere deep down, his heart might have been momentarily stirred by this inconceivable expression of humility and love.
“Then, when He had washed their feet, and taken His garments and reclined at the table again, He said to them, ‘Do you know what I have done for you?’” (13:12)
I wonder what went through the disciples’ minds when they later watched Judas deliver a kiss—the kiss which would lead to the arrest, trial, brutal flogging and bloody crucifixion of their Lord.⁴ Most of the remaining eleven fled into hiding. But I wonder if, as they witnessed or heard of the nails piercing through His flesh, they recalled how He had knelt to wash their feet— even the feet of His betrayer. When Jesus breathed His last breath, and the temple veil was torn top to bottom,⁵ would the words He’d spoken come rushing back?
“Do you know what I have done for you?”
I’m still trying to fully absorb what took place the evening they gathered. It’s not difficult for me to imagine Jesus cleansing the feet of a loved one, or those of a stranger, even. But if I’m honest, it’s not pleasant to picture Him washing the feet of one who has betrayed. I’ll admit that the thought of Him asking me to wash that one’s feet, is uncomfortable to say the least. This is no secret to Him who sees, and knows me well. And through His Word, He comes—not condemning, but with the gentle reminder: “If you’d been there that evening, I would’ve washed your feet, too.”
“So if I, the Lord and Teacher, washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet. For I gave you an example, so that you would do just as I did for you” (13:14,15).
It feels like I still have a long way to go in this journey. I may or may not have the opportunity to wash the feet that trampled my world. But maybe what He asks of me today is that I, by His strength, be willing.
For those of us whose hearts have been bruised and torn, it will likely be a life-long dusty road of daily putting one foot forward, then another. As we go, may we find comfort, hope, and joy in knowing that the One who came to dwell with us—this Savior who suffered the highest form of betrayal—walks with us, leads us, even as we limp along. And when stinging triggers come at us like arrows, poking at our wounds and scars, may we return to the scene of that room, where the King of Kings, The Messiah, The Darling of Heaven, knelt, in love, to wash the feet of all.
“All the Way My Savior Leads Me”
All the way my Savior leads me–
What have I to ask beside?
Can I doubt His tender mercy,
Who through life has been my guide?
Heav’nly peace, divinest comfort,
Here by faith in Him to dwell!
For I know, whate’er befall me,
Jesus doeth all things well;
For I know, whate’er befall me,
Jesus doeth all things well.
All the way my Savior leads me–
Cheers each winding path I tread,
Gives me grace for ev'ry trial,
Feeds me with the living bread.
Though my weary steps may falter
And my soul athirst may be,
Gushing from the rock before me,
Lo! a spring of joy I see;
Gushing from the rock before me,
Lo! A spring of joy I see.
All the way my Savior leads me–
Oh, the fullness of His love!
Perfect rest to me is promised
In my Father’s house above.
When my spirit, clothed immortal,
Wings its flight to realms of day,
This my song through endless ages:
Jesus led me all the way;
This my song through endless ages:
Jesus led me all the way.
- Fanny Crosby, 1875
1 Crosby, Fanny. “All the Way My Savior Leads Me” (1875)
2John 13:22
3 Matthew 26:49, Mark 14:45, Luke 22:4
4Matthew 27:51, Mark 15:38, Luke 23:44
