Loved to the Very End

It was just before the Passover Festival. Jesus knew that the hour had come for him to leave this world and go to the Father. Having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end.
John 13:1

Dear Friends,

Admittedly, I’ve become so accustomed to the old, old story of Jesus and his suffering that, even during Lent, I find myself reading scripture with boredom or routine. I know the ending already. I know what’s to come. My pride-hard heart becomes a shell that stifles the potential each scripture passage can bring. 

Oh Lord, will you break through again because it is lonely on my own. Amen.

In the story of Jesus washing his disciple’s feet, John (the author) includes the detail that this was the last hour before Jesus would be arrested, tried, tortured, and murdered. The last hour with his disciples and dearest friends. The last hour. 

Foot washing was the job of servants, of hired help. People wore sandals and traveled by foot—calloused, dusty, scratched, sweaty, and who knows what was stepped in throughout the day. Meals were shared by reclining near the feet of friends and family. I desperately love my kids but I will never recline next to their muddy-because-of-sweat-and-dirt-croc-filled-feet while eating supper together. Foot washing was an expectation but never by the hands of the one in authority. 

In that last hour, Jesus didn’t preach a sermon or write a memoir or kneel at an alter. He didn’t write a to-do list with a hundred reminders to make sure they got it all. In that last hour, Jesus washed his friends’ feet. He loved them to the very end. 

If I had one last hour with my children before I was to die, I hope I wouldn’t use it to remind them of their responsibilities or my disappointments. I hope I would use it to love them to the very end. In that last hour, I hope they would simply be receivers of my love for them. That after my last breath was taken, they would continue forth knowing how loved they were by me.

When Jesus knelt down to serve his friends and wash their feet—to show love—Peter hollered out, “No!! I can’t let you wash my feet!” Sometimes modesty and pride find comfort in each other’s arms. I know my hard heart finds rest in my perceived holiness, like I don’t want Jesus to be burdened by my needs in any way. My hard heart makes it difficult to receive.

The wilderness tends to strip away excessive comforts, softening modesty and pride, undoing any protective shells so I might vulnerably receive love to the very end. The wilderness invites a different response. Instead of a prideful resounding “No!” at the offer of Christ’s love, I respond with “All of me, then!” And my Savior shakes his head because I am already beloved—I had just forgotten how beloved I truly am. Taking my dirty feet in his calloused hands, he loved me to the very end. And this is what I will take with me into every last hour.

With (love),
Bethany