What Clean Feet and Rest Have to Do With Each Other {#TellHisStory}

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Jesus got up from the table. Calm and intentional. He grabbed the bowl of water and a towel.

And Jesus knelt down. He unsandaled feet. He placed them in cool water.

He dipped the towel into the basin and began to wipe away the grime off of feet.

Sweaty,

sandaled,

exposed,

constantly-walking-on-dirt-roads

feet.

Jesus—the Miracle Worker, King of Kings, Son of God—cleaned feet the night before He died. He ministered to the dirtiest, humblest place of his disciples. And He was more than willing.

In fact, he scolded Peter for trying to stop Him, for saying he wasn’t worthy. “Never shall you wash my feet!” Because really, who could possibly be worthy of having Jesus himself touch their filthy, grimy feet?

“If I do not wash you, you have no part in me.”

Peter upon learning that his feet needed to be washed goes to the other extreme and says, “Lord, then wash not only my feet but my hands and my head.”

To this burst of zealous emotion, Jesus replies, “He who has bathed already needs only to wash his feet to be completely clean…” (John 13:1-17)

You have already been washed clean in the blood of the Lamb, but your feet have become dirty on the journey.

The other day I went to see an ENT (ear, nose and throat) doctor. I have had a persistent nose bleed and intense sinus pressure for seven months now. Being a good doctor, he didn't just treat the symptoms, he searched for the underlying problem. He stuck a tiny camera into my nose. It was completely unpleasant--the way the numbing spray tasted terrible, the way I fought the urge to panic or gag, the way the scope kept hitting nerve endings. It was a little awkward and at times painful to have a stranger searching around things like sinus cavities and mucous membranes (and that doesn’t count the 2 and 5 year old rearranging the doctor's furniture in the midst of this). But all this uncomfortable probing served an important purpose.

If I am honest, I have had some other issues that have been going on for a while. I’d been able to set them aside and keep my head down and focus on the task at hand. I was busy with ministry, busy serving, busy sowing my life. And now I am in a different season. I've slowed down and become a different kind of busy. My main ministry is those two little people that call me mom. I am adjusting to being a cop’s wife. I am holding my husband’s hand as he adjusts to being a cop.

And now that I've slowed down? God says it’s time to deal with all the issues in my heart.And they are not pretty ones. Insecurities. Pride. Frustration with church. Frustration with ministry. Frustration with people.

Deep Hurts. And in those festered wounds—Bitterness.

You have already been washed clean in the blood of the Lamb, but your feet have become dirty on the journey.

But here’s the thing.

Jesus insisted on washing his disciples feet. I struggle to grasp this. I hate feet. There’s just something about them. I don’t like them touching me. I don’t massage feet. I don’t really want my own feet massaged.

And yet this is the place that Jesus goes. He stoops down to the most humblest, dirtiest part of myself. He dips his towel into the basin of cool water and wrings out the droplets over my feet. He takes the towel and gently wipes away the dirt. He reveals the cuts and blisters. He places His salve on my wounds.

Where I might feel naked and exposed, where my pride might make me want to burst out, “Never shall you wash my feet, Jesus. I am unworthy. They are too dirty. And I need to be on my way now.” This is the place of restoration. This is the place Jesus ministers. “If I do not wash you, you have no part in me.”

May I submit this? If you are on a journey, if you are following after Christ—sowing your life… you will probably get dusty along the way. You might scrape up against some thorns. Your feet might get calloused and blistered.  And it’s okay. It’s the mark of a sojourner.

But Jesus beckons us to rest. Just like God gave Moses at Mount Sinai: six days for work, one for rest. The fields were to yield their fruit for six years and rest the seventh year. Rest is one of God’s principles and one that He founded this world upon. And on the seventh day He rested. And rest is for restoration. Healing. Having your Savior dip your dirty feet into the cool water. Not all of you needs to be cleaned. Just your feet. You are travel weary. Rest for a little while. Let me heal you. And then you may be on your way again. 

And no matter how yucky your feet are. No matter how much you would like to think that Jesus is so worthy of all your kingdom-building sacrifices and far too worthy to stoop down and touch your feet… If I do not wash you, you have no part in me.

Jesus needs to clean your dirty feet.

He leads me beside the still waters. He restores my soul. (Psalm 23:2-3)

Okay. And can I just stand back in awe of God’s graciousness?! His loving kindness. That even though He’s done so much for us, He would still stoop down and clean feet. That He doesn’t save us so that we can serve like slaves, he adopts us as his own children and longs to shower us in His grace. (Romans 8:15)

God is Good.

Amen.

{I'm not quite sure what kind of question I could possibly submit here at the end of the this post, but I would love to have a conversation about this. I long to hear that I am not the only one who has been here or what it looks like on the other side of a season of rest. I never realized rest could be so painful. I know it’s good, but, man, it hurts to see how broken I am. Thank you friends and fellow sojourners.}

By Grace,

Amanda Conquers

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