St. Timothy's Church

Maundy Thursday

April 1, 2010

John 13:1-15

“Do you love me enough to wash my feet?”

In the Name of God: + Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.

I answered the phone and heard panic in my mothers voice; I’m in the Emergency Room at Oakwood Hospital (Dearborn, Michigan) your fathers had a stroke – he can’t talk and I’m not sure if he can walk. Can you come here?

Time turned to a blur and I put myself on auto pilot rushing down I-94 from Detroit to Dearborn. A few minutes later I found my mother looking frightfully worried and my father sleeping.

I don’t remember my exact reaction to seeing my dad but I do recall that while driving I had conjured up several mental images of what I might be walking in to and how I would handle it. . . . I wanted to be prepared.

After she brought me up-to-date it was clear the doctors were sure that he had suffered a stroke that affected his ability to talk. They were going to admit him and do further tests.

I remember thinking to myself that his drinking and high blood pressure finally caught up with him.

I sat with my mother for what seemed like an eternity and finally he started to stir. His eyes met mine – I could see he recognized me – that was good – but when he tried to say something – a few curse words came out and then he started to cry.

I had never seen my father cry – his eyes full of confusion – he looked little and frail – the right side of his face already starting to droop - trapped in a body that wasn’t working as it had even a few hours earlier. It was tough to watch. The whole scene touched me deeply.

In the shock of the moment - I wanted to cry for him. But it wasn’t the time to cry – I had to take as much control of this as I could.

Stay in control – that’s a fool’s effort. The next 18 months would teach me that I had no control over what God was going to do.

I spent the better part of the next week in the hospital – sometimes staying overnight – other times catching a few hours sleep, take a shower, change clothes and hustle back.

One day I walked into my dad’s room and he looked at me and said an expletive and pointed to his sheets, holding up his hand to show me part of the mess.

Today I’m reminded of the verse from John 13 v. 1 that says, “ . . . when Jesus knew that his hour was come that he should depart out of this world unto the Father, having loved his own which were in the world, he loved them unto the end.”

The NIV says, “ . . . . he now showed them the full extent of his love”.

What flashed through my mind in that instant was how repulsive this was. . . .the mess was everywhere. It looked like he had found it and was playing in it. I hardly knew where to begin.

“ . . (Jesus) took off his outer clothing, and wrapped a towel around his waist. After that, he poured water into a basin and began to wash his disciples' feet, drying them with the towel that was wrapped around him.”

My dad just lay there – was he expecting me to do something – or was he embarrassed – to this day I don’t know for sure. . . . .

I could have called for a nurse or an orderly but instead I got several wash cloths, a set of new sheets, a gown, a bowl, soap and got to work. I had worked in a hospital ER as a high school student and knew how to change beds with people in them – I know how to give a bed bath – I knew how to help him.

You see in the early period of dealing with “it” – the stroke - my emotions ran from extreme anger that once again he found a way to mess up my life, to profound pity for this once strong man who now could barely speak and look as frail as a china doll.

(Jesus) 6He came to Simon Peter, who said to him, "Lord, are you going to wash my feet?" 7Jesus replied, "You do not realize now what I am doing, but later you will understand." 8"No," said Peter, "you shall never wash my feet." Jesus answered, "Unless I wash you, you have no part with me."

My resentment toward my father was the size of a mountain . . . . he had done so many things to hurt our family economically and emotionally – his drinking did most of the damage.

When I left for the University of Michigan I never moved back home – now at 24 I had been out of the house 6 years. Still working my way through college – working nights and days to pay for a class here and a class there . . . . determined to get through.

Resentful that a man who could have easily paid for my education had announced to me that I was on my own – way to go – glad you got into college – best of luck to you.

My emotional coffin was full of the nails of his bad behavior and goofy decisions.

I washed him – I talked to him – I told him it would be okay. . . . . but I never said I love you . . . . that would have been a lie.

I wish I could say I approached my duties with the proper spirit – But I can’t.

I can tell you I did what I thought an only son – an only child – should do.

Just before my dad came home the doctor and I were talking by the elevator. He told me my father had a year or so to live. His kidneys had taken a severe shock and would eventually completely fail. Dad was not a candidate for dialysis because of the stroke and high blood pressure.

He was being sent home to have as much of a quality of life he could until he died.

For the very first time I went to my home, got down on my knees and cried out to God for help.

I asked for help in erasing the hatred I sometime felt for my dad.

I asked for help in loving him.

I asked for help to be a good son to him.

I asked for help in being able to be fully available to him in his last days.

A few weeks earlier I had felt I needed to take control of the situation – Now I felt totally helpless and I turned to God for help.

Jesus told the disciples, “15I have set you an example that you should do as I have done for you. . . . “

As I reflect back these were hard days but necessary days.

Jesus – knowing He was soon to be betrayed by someone he had loved and made one of his closest students – he spent his last moments setting an example of the grime his followers would have to jump in to and not shy away from.

About 14 months later I was sitting with my dad in the room I grew up in – in fact he was laying in my old bed.

Very sick – a pale yellow in skin color – he weighed less than 100 pounds – his once 17 inch neck now pencil thin.

We talked about some of the past – he told me he was sorry – I told him there were things I too was sorry for. . . . we forgave each other . . . . and the room started to feel different.

He asked me if I would take charge of his funeral – to get Brother Babb to preach his funeral – to bury him next to his mother – to help my mother once he was gone.

I said I would –

There was no visible water used during this conversation but let me suggest that the Spirit was washing us both . . . . . we were being made clean where there was some dirt.

Jesus told us this very night, “17Now that you know these things, you will be blessed if you do them.”

About 5 days later my dad was walking into the kitchen to take some medicine and he shouted out to my mother and fell on the kitchen floor – he died where he fell.

Br. Babb’s preached a fine sermon – his burial was on a hot, clear day – I stood at the edge of his grave – threw some dirt in and thanked him for the last 18 months.

In the years since I have learned that loving someone to the end is hard – it takes being able to forgive and to be forgiven – it takes a willingness to get your hands, if you will, dirty by cleaning up the mess – washing the dirty feet – of those we may not like more less love.

Loving to the end means we cut through the showy emotions of a ceremony like footwashing and stare into the reality that as John Calvin said, “when we have discharged this empty and bare ceremony we think we have done our duty finely and are then free to despise our neighbors.”

Loving to the end means an every day attitude that makes us ready “all through life to wash the feet of our neighbors” our church members, our enemies, even the relatives we hardly love.

Amen.

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