FOOT WASHING - WHO WOULDA THUNK

Our Maunday Thursday service began with a covered dish supper, candles on the table, real plates and flatware, tables set up in a large "U" shape set for thirty. There might have even been thirty of us there. The important thing is there were enough. Enough participants. Enough food. Enough spirit. Enough time for the enough people to greet one another and share a meal.

When the children became bored which, of course results in noise, Lois, our priest, softly rang her brass singing bowl with her little wooden mallet thingie. It is a soft sound -- but audible -- just. But the soft sound continues and the children finally catch it and begin to quiet down. The sound continues until they are silent. She calls them back to table to hear a story -- Raven Steals the Sun, Stars and Moon. We continued to eat. We listen to the story. The story is short. The children once again grow restless and then boisterous.

I grow uneasy with this distraction. This sound of disruption is annoying. They will soon be out of control running with abandon and squealing with the delight of their uninterrupted antics.

The calling of the bowl repeats and children are called back to hear the short reading before the foot washing begins. The foot washing ceremony is a very meaningful ritual for me. It not only instills in me, once again, how Jesus became servant, but allows me to be served and to be servant. It is ritual filled with holy love -- for the person being washed and the one doing the washing. It is a solemn ritual, done in a hushed atmosphere....

Add children. Add water.

Lois explains the procedure. The children immediately rip off their shoes and socks and gather around ready to 'participate.' Lois washes the feet. Lois dries. Lois washes more feet. Lois dries. Then she is tapped on the shoulder. The tapper wants to take a turn being the washer. AHAH! His sister is next in line to be washed. He wants to wash his younger sister. As the pessimistic observer, I can see water all over the place, tickling of feet, screams, and kicks. But Lois has him sit on the floor next to her and turns to the second chair where a washee awaits. She guides him through the washing and tells him how to dry. He listens and follows her instruction. Lois meanwhile washes the feet of the sister. The brother continues to wash feet of others. Slowly. Solemnly. With great attention and with great care.

I decide that I will have my feet washed. The sister is there to do it. "I'm tired," she says to me. "Too tired to wash my feet?" I ask. "Oh, no," she replies, "I can do it." And she does. It is not the slow and careful ritual that I have experienced in the past. But this child is serious about this washing. It is quick. Pour the water, swipe the towel. She has an observing helper who points out that she missed the water on the bottom of my feet. The bottoms of my feet are duly dried. I return to my place at table. Others have their feet washed. The young boy stands up from his last foot washing, stretches out his arms and says, "Any more customers?"

Foot washing is done. We move on to share communion. These children probably do not fully grasp what we have just experienced together. And that's okay. Next year when we gather for this same ritual, they will remember. They will be one year older. They will be in a different place spiritually. They will understand a little more. They may participate, they may not. But they will remember.

I will remember.