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The pope and the prisoners
Thursday of Holy Week, April 13, 2017
Jesus rose from supper and took off his outer garments. He took a towel and tied it around his waist. Then he poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples’ feet and dry them with the towel around his waist. – from John 13
In the chaos we thought no one would notice, so my friend and I crept in through the upper room door. Passover’s meal was finished. Empty dishes sat untouched on the table. Jesus spoke quietly, and everyone wanted to hear every word. So did I.
I was learning that Jesus’ words are few. It’s what he did, how he looked at people and touched them that changed their lives. Now in the darkness lit by candles he poured water into a basin. He took off his shirt and soaked it. And Jesus washed the feet of his friends with his shirt.
All of us can bear to have our feet washed now and then. These days when I sit up in bed and stretch to greet the day, I often pray the prayer the Lord taught us to pray. But then also sometimes, with my eyes still closed I can just feel Jesus kneeling too, washing my feet. Without words, tender touch, God’s healing pours in through my skin, those aging feet, Jesus loves me. This I know.
Pope Francis changed today’s tradition; he doesn’t wash his cardinals’ feet. Now he goes to jail, moves through the ten locked doors one by one, wears his whites and carries his jug of water. The pope prepares to see the prisoners, ready to wash their feet today. He loves them. They will probably only see him once, and it just might change their lives. Jesus loves them, and the pope is there to say so.
The inmates go back to cells, the disciples return to their spiritual family. I wanted to be near Jesus, even though we were new to his family. But he did not require that we come to him. Jesus knew we were there. He turned to us and smiled. Jesus knelt in front of me, slipped off my sandal, wrapped his dripping shirt all around my foot, and squeezed. Oh, the water.
My tears flowed, because just like that, I knew how much my Abba loved me.
Walter Wangerin, in his dad’s North Dakota church, saw only teeth. All those flashing teeth, all except Jesus, who shut his mouth and said so little in the last week of his life.
Me, today, I see feet. Jesus’ hands holding all those feet. Holding mine. Washing them the way Mary caressed his feet such a short few days ago. Wasting so much nard on my feet now.
God owns the cattle on a thousand hills.
There is such sweet silence in my mind, Lord. While the sun shines and the moon comes up nearly full, while the day moves into night and you go out to pray and be captured whole, I have fallen into space where time has no dominion. Your gentle smile swirls near and far, and when you kiss me, I am kissed.
 http://www.davesandel.net/category/lent-easter-devotions-2017/
http://www.christiancounselingservice.com/archived_devotions.php?article_id=1599
