Jesus knew that the Father had given him authority over everything and that he had come from God and would return to God. So he got up from the table, took off his robe, wrapped a towel around his waist, and poured water into a basin. Then he began to wash the disciples’ feet, drying them with the towel he had around him…
After washing their feet, he put on his robe again and sat down and asked, “Do you understand what I was doing? You call me ‘Teacher’ and ‘Lord,’ and you are right, because that’s what I am. And since I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you ought to wash each other’s feet. I have given you an example to follow. Do as I have done to you.” – John 13: 3-5, 12-15 (NLT)
The night before everything changed, Jesus knelt.
Think about that for a second. Jesus knew his death was coming. He had anxiety and mental anguish. He would be denied by Peter. Betrayed by Judas. He’d experience a rigged trial. A gruesome death. The path to the cross was laid out, had been since the beginning of time.
And yet what does Jesus do? Does he try to wrestle back control? Does he put up walls, distance himself? The opposite. He kneels and reaches for a towel.
“The night before everything changed, Jesus knelt.”
He takes the position of a servant. He fills a basin with water. And then he starts to wash feet.
Imagine the scene. Imagine the awkwardness for the disciples to see their Rabbi kneeling. No doubt the week for everyone was a whirlwind. And in the middle of it all, Jesus chooses to show love with his own hands; the very hands that would soon be pierced and nailed. The King who rode into town just days before on a donkey is now kneeling at their feet.
This is what real power looks like in God’s Kingdom, doesn’t it?
It’s about being present. Not about putting on a religious show but about serving.
It’s another one of those moments, like Palm Sunday, where Jesus empties himself – this is kenosis. Only this time, it’s not just a grand entrance or a celebration; it’s poured out with water and the washing of feet.
“In the middle of it all, Jesus chooses to show love with his own hands; the very hands that would soon be pierced and nailed.”
In this moment Jesus becomes a caregiver.
To those living with disability, I think this scene holds a special place. In a world that values independence it can feel like a constant pressure to downplay what we need, to apologize for needing help, to almost disappear our pain. Receiving help can feel like some kind of failure.
But then there’s Jesus – God with us who chooses to kneel. He doesn’t shy away from the smelly, dirty feet or the vulnerability of touch. He doesn’t ignore or shy away from dirt or anything that might look different. He sees each person, each foot, every scar, and he chooses it.
“Holiness isn’t about being strong and in control. It’s about love you can see, love that is messy.”
He doesn’t flinch from being vulnerable. He flips everything upside down. Holiness isn’t about being strong and in control. It’s about love you can see, love that is messy.
And just three days later, in the Resurrection, Jesus allows his own body to be cared for, by Mary, by others, by the very hands he created. As Nancy Eisland writes in The Disabled God,
“In presenting his impaired body to his startled friends, the resurrected Christ is revealed as the disabled God. Jesus’ injuries are not erased; the memory of his pain is not wiped away. He is the disabled God, bearing the scars of human experience.”[1]
The way love works in God’s Kingdom is in giving and receiving, washing and being washed.
“Christ holds both the towel and the wound. And it’s in that posture, together, that we find wholeness.”
Maundy Thursday shows us that being whole isn’t about not needing anything. It’s about being willing to be with each other in our needs. Jesus doesn’t magically heal his disciples in that moment; he serves them. He touches what’s messy, what’s fragile, what might seem unglamorous. And it becomes sacred.
It’s an invitation to not just to be the one serving but also to be the one being served. To let someone else carry my burdens. To let my tired feet be touched, not with pity, but with genuine love.
What if holiness isn’t about being able to do it all on my own? What if receiving help without shame is “holy”?
What if that simple towel becomes a sacred act? What if the body that can’t kneel is just as holy as the one that does?
So, this Maundy Thursday, remember, Jesus kneels and Jesus touches. Christ holds both the towel and the wound. And it’s in that posture, together, that we find wholeness.
Most Recent:
About the Author:
About the Author:
Bryan Gillmore works with Karis Disability Services as an Organizational and Spiritual Life Specialist. He’s a former Executive Director and family pastor, and lives in Guelph, ON with his wife, kids, and their family dog.
Bryan Gillmore works with Karis Disability Services as an Organizational and Spiritual Life Specialist. He’s a former Executive Director and family pastor, and lives in Guelph, ON with his wife, kids, and their family dog.
