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Two of my sons and I are eating pizza at the table on Maundy Thursday night. I almost went to a footwashing service at the local Anglican church but was too shy; it�s at those sparsely attended functions that you stand out most as a newcomer. It would probably be a good lesson, though, for both my Anglican counterpart and me to wash the feet of a pure stranger, as well as to be washed by one, and regard each other as Christ. Aaron who is 10 and loves black olives explains between bites how his class took the Easter assembly in school today. Among other things they re-enacted the Last Supper, and Aaron says he was chosen as the likeliest candidate to play Judas. Before I can worry properly about the psychological effects he might suffer from this, he adds, ��because of my evil grin,� and demonstrates. He looks only like a moderately cunning leprechaun, but I agree aloud that his grin is truly malevolent. Then I remember that we are all Judas anyway, and John the Beloved, and Peter--first pulling his feet under his robe with his hands tightly over his toes, and then begging Jesus for a bath and being told he is already clean. And here we are, expected to be Christ to each other! I probably should have gone to the footwashing. Blessed Eastertide to everybody.
Debbie
Zeal repents Oh, Jesus, I blew it! how did I do it: got soap in their eyes, it�s their feet I�m supposed to be washing. Help me help to keep this improbable bond; with those tears on my towel, to fetch fresh water, and walk back the basin. God, let me do this good.
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