Last night as I was drifting off to sleep, this image came to mind. I was sitting in a really ornate jacket/vest thing – something my mother would have worn for her fancy outfits, something Bollywood-like in color. I was the first in a long row of people; we were monks (don’t guffaw too loud at the idea of me being a monk, folks, okay?) As we sat there, backs board-straight, eyes unfocused ahead, a man came and knelt before me, a white washbasin in his hand. He took the towel, dipped it in water and began to wipe off my feet. I knew him to be Jesus.
As I lay there, fever almost gone, head still clouded with the last two days of flu, I slipped into a peaceful pocket where someone was giving me the gift of washing my feet.
So often, I think we look at Biblical stories to see what they tell us about what we should do – be more humble, give more to the poor, refrain from judgment, and of course, this is part of the reason that Jesus came to earth – to show us how to live. Yet, I wonder what would happen if sometimes, we looked at these stories as ways to teach us about God. What if we looked to them as simple stories about the person/entity (what is the right word there?) who loves us enough to wash our feet? What if we saw God as the one who wants to gift us with things and time and Godself? What if we knew, really knew, that Jesus would bow down and wash our feet if we needed it? What if we believed, truly believed, that God would give us all the best if we would but let it happen?
By the way, I loved that there was a Buddhist influence to this dream (if it really was a dream). It reminds me that God doesn’t love religions or practices, places or histories – God loves people.
