you do not understand now, but you will understand later

The Last Supper Mass.

It is my favorite.

Jesus and his friends, reclining around the table, breaking bread together, sharing a meal, happy to be reunited.

And then....the feet come out. Odd to do at your dinner party, don't ya think?

But let's back track a bit.

I had the honor of speaking to the beautiful women of Saint Thomas More yesterday about sufferings and trials, and how we respond. And I told them that I believe the reason we are all so tired is because we are so busy running fearfully around our cross, rather than simply picking it up in trust, and carrying it...just as Jesus did.

And when I read today's Gospel (Jn 13:1-15), Jesus washing the feet of his disciples as they gather for a meal, and I come upon the verse "you do not understand now, but you will understand later," I wonder why I have not yet written this on every wall of my house in indelible marker.

We may never understand.

Not the illness.

Not the addiction.

Not the loss.

Not the violence.

Not the betrayal.

Not the slander.

Not the poverty.

Not the depression.

Not the hurt.

Not the anger.

Not the scattering.

Not the facial hair...on a woman.

But we are not being asked to understand, are we?

What we are being asked today is to trust that he knows what he is doing, and regardless of how we feel, to model self forgetful love.

To bring glad tidings to the lowly.

To heal the brokenhearted.

To proclaim liberty to the captives.

To release prisoners.

To comfort the mourning.

And to wash the feet of even the one who betrays you.

Knowing he was about to be arrested, falsely accused, beaten, and nailed to a cross, he dressed in a slaves garments, knelt down, and washed the feet of not only those who loved him, but of the one who betrayed him. If I knew I was about to be killed, I can guarantee you, the guy who handed me over most likely would not have been invited to my dinner party. But let's be honest, if I knew I was about to be killed, serving others would be the last thing on my list. Please, I have trouble showing hospitality when I am not in danger of being killed. So if I were Jesus, and praise God I am not...I would most likely be hiding somewhere, not washing the feet of anyone.

But this is not about feet, my friends, is it? Because trust me, if we broke open everyone and watched our actual filth spill out, our feet would be the last thing that we found repulsive. We would be absolutely disgusted by what pours out. We would be embarrassed, to say the very least. We would probably run and hide. Because all would see that everyone of us are Judas. We would find it an impossibility to love, now that we know what we are. Now that others see the sin we are capable of.

But not Jesus. Tonight He makes himself small. And he kneels right beside us. Gets right into our filth. In the middle of our broken mess. In all of the stuff that gets in the way of our loving others. Of loving ourselves. And he cleans us, still. And he loves us, all the more.