Reading · Writings of a Beholder 🌿

Jesus spent his last night on this earth washing dirty feet. I’ve heard and read the story a hundred times over, but for some reason, it hit a little deeper this morning. Because the feet He washed were the feet of people He loved deeply, but they were also the feet of people who would betray Him, denounce Him, leave Him. And yet, Jesus chose to kneel before them, love them, serve them, and wash them clean.

As I read the story this morning with my warm mug of tea, I imagined a holy hush falling over the room as the disciples turned from the table and watched Jesus remove His outer robe before tying a towel to His waist. I wonder what they were thinking as He bent to pour water into that basin, as He slowly knelt before that first disciple.

I would’ve locked eyes with the nearest friend and raised my brows in question. What is He doing? I would’ve mouthed. I would’ve nodded emphatically when Peter proclaimed, “You’ll never wash my dirty feet—never!” (John 13:8 TPT). And I would’ve backed him up when he refused Jesus the second time.

I’m an avid reader and writer, and therefore, I love beautiful language—poetic language. I’m a sap for pretty words. That’s probably why I feel most drawn to the Passion Translation of the Bible. At the beginning of John 13, John writes that “all throughout His time with His disciples, Jesus had demonstrated a deep and tender love for them. And now He longed to show them the full measure of His love.”

I realized then that Peter wasn’t just refusing the washing of his dirty, dusty feet. He was refusing Love.

Sometimes I think we forget that our most basic need is to be loved—to belong. That we were created by it just as much as we were created for it. To be received as we are and told that we’re enough. To be welcomed to the table without the pressure to change anything about ourselves. We complicate it by furrowing our brows at our friends and asking ourselves, are you sure you deserve this? Have you done enough to earn it? What’s the catch?

But Love was always meant to be given and received freely, and that’s what Jesus chose to demonstrate on His last night on earth. Knowing the weight of that makes it a little more significant, doesn’t it? It did for me today.

I’m Peter on a good day, refusing Love and indignantly declaring that I must prove I deserve Him first. But it’s Jesus Who smiles softly before bending His knee and filling the water basin. It’s He Who looks up with His nail-scarred wrists and torn up side and says, “Share in this gift with me. It’s my joy and honor to love you.”

He said something similar to Peter the second time Peter refused Jesus. He said, “But Peter, if you don’t allow me to wash your feet, then you will not be able to share life with me (John 13:8 TPT).”

Switch out “if you don’t allow me to wash your feet” with “if you don’t allow me to love you,” and the meaning changes—deepens—a bit, doesn’t it? Receiving Love and receiving Jesus are one and the same. What a mystery—what a hard gift.

Love is a practice, both giving and receiving Him. It’s one I want to be more intentional with as I move through the seasons of my life. It’s also one I know I will wrestle with for the rest of forever. It sounds so simple—being loved—yet I feel the resistance in my bones most days. The desire to run, hide, or work harder.

Throughout the Lenten season, I’ve been reading Kate Bowler’s ‘Have a Beautiful, Terrible Day!’ I have so appreciated her dry humor and honest tellings of the human experience. Near the end of the book, there are meditations for Lent and Holy Week. Her meditation for Maundy Thursday spoke so well to this struggle of receiving love. Here are the final lines of her blessing:

“We don’t know it, Jesus,

but you will feed us, wash us,

serve us, save us.

And we will do our best to set you aside.

But this is your great stubbornness:

how you give us what we need, even as we

refuse it.”

She then offers a simple prayer that I want to carry with me today and ask God to remind me of on the days I forget it and need it most.

“God, you never step back from us, even in our refusal. Help us learn to be better at being loved.”

A-freaking-men.

May it be so.

With you on the journey,