The Washing of Feet

Tonight was Holy Thursday, which meant there was the washing of feet at Mass.  I know this custom well, having gone through it twice; once as a Baptist at a summer camp and once as a Catholic the year I came into the church.  Every time I witness it, I feel the same thing that I felt the two times I participated, just to a lesser extent...deep and abiding humility.

If a priest is washing your feet, he is showing his job as a servant of the people alongside carrying out a sacred act that has gone down through the centuries.  Imagine then, the Disciples, and the Messiah washing their feet.  Feet, which unlike ours, were most likely dusty from their travels along the dirt roads of Jerusalem. 

Tonight we commemorate a man who did not merely act humble before the crowds, but also alone in the company of His friends.  He would soon give up His life for them and for us...but they didn't know that yet, not as he washed their feet and began the Passover meal that would be transfigured into the Eucharist.

Tomorrow is Good Friday...a day of special significance to me.  It was on Good Friday in 2001 that my grandfather had a stroke that left him fully debilitated but aware for years.  It is on Good Friday that Christ was crucified, and perhaps importantly to me, on Good Friday, Jesus suffered the Agony in the Garden.  I hopefully can blog about that tomorrow, as I hold a special devotion to it.