Last evening I watched the live-streamed Maundy Thursday service in the chapel of the Society of St. John the Evangelist. I say watched, but I really mean that I participated in it. The brothers washed one another’s feet. I felt I was there, that it was happening to me, that I was participating, washing and being washed.
I’m rather surprised my visceral reaction to this intimate orthodox experience.It was nothing we ever did at UCC church when I was growing up (nor is a tradition now). It might be part of the reading of John 13, but I recall we focused more on the breaking of the bread featured in the Synoptic Gospels (Matthew, Mark, and Luke), not on Jesus washing the disciples feet, which only John records.
But here I was, sitting at home, witnessing this very intimate experience between the SSJE brothers, witnessing an expression of love that encourages me to let go of the many excuses I have not to do whatever loving thing I am called to do.
I’m rather surprised my visceral reaction to this intimate orthodox experience.It was nothing we ever did at UCC church when I was growing up (nor is a tradition now). It might be part of the reading of John 13, but I recall we focused more on the breaking of the bread featured in the Synoptic Gospels (Matthew, Mark, and Luke), not on Jesus washing the disciples feet, which only John records.
But here I was, sitting at home, witnessing this very intimate experience between the SSJE brothers, witnessing an expression of love that encourages me to let go of the many excuses I have not to do whatever loving thing I am called to do.
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