The Washing of the Feet

I was priviledged to be the lector on Holy Thursday at the Mass of the Last Supper. In the U.S. it is not mandatory, but allowed, that after the sermon, twelve men get their feet washed by the priest up in front of the altar, representing what Jesus did at the last supper when He washed the feet of the apostles. He told the apostles that what He did they also must do. In effect, He was telling them that even He, the Son of God, is to serve. We, too, must do what He does, and serve others. Never should we consider it above our station in life to serve others, no matter how menial the job. Footwashing was one of the lowliest jobs for a servant to do.
Since I was the lector at this Mass, I sat close by and observed as Father washed the feet and soft music played in the background. My mind wandered to three occasions when feet played a significant part in a situation in my life. The first one was when I was in Medjugorje in 2006. I took my shoes and socks off to walk up apparition hill barefoot so that I could offer up the discomfort as a sacrifice to God. It was very uncomfortable and by the time I descended the rocky hill, I had fallen a couple of times and the bottom of my feet were bruised and scraped. As soon as I got down, there were some little shops and I sat down on the ground to put my shoes and socks back on. I was rubbing my feet and must have looked uncomfortable because one of the shop owners came running over to me with a small pillow and a cup of water. He told me to sit on the pillow and offered me the water to drink. I gladly accepted. He told me he would be right back. A couple of minutes later, he returned with a plastic jug of water and towel. In broken English he explained that he wanted to wash my feet. I felt embarrassed, but he insisted. He tenderly washed and dried my feet. It was one of the kindest things anyone has ever done for me.
Then my mind wandered to my little handicapped friend, Jason, who died a few years ago at the age of 18. I used to visit him at his house. Jason was wheelchair bound and could not speak. He was very misshapen, had to be tube fed and wear diapers. He was very handicapped, but, he knew me and knew that I loved him very much. I would visit him and he would smile at me with a huge smile from ear to ear. When I would visit Jason, I would massage his limbs. His little feet were very malformed. He couldn't wear regular shoes because his feet were so bent. One of his feet was more crooked. I would always hold that little foot and kiss the toes and massage that foot. I called it "my favorite foot." He liked that. I thought of Jason's foot while Father washed the feet.
Lastly, my mind wandered to Karim, whom I had in my home for a total of sixteen months. As you can see from the picture above, his feet were terrible from his disease. One job I had was to cut the dead skin off the bottom of his feet and away from his toes. He would cry and complain and often we would both be crying as I did this miserable job several times a week. Then we would bathe his feet and put the proper creams on them. The washing of the feet reminded me of this foot washing. The thought of this brought tears to my eyes and I had difficulty composing myself. I realized that I had indeed "washed feet" as Jesus had. What a joy to serve Christ by serving others in this way. I pray to have many more opportunities to "wash feet" of others in my lifetime.