This little piggy went to market...

It was cold at the farm last night. I know this because after I stuck my feet out to cool off after the first hot flash of the night, they cooled off quickly. As I lay there waiting for sleep to return, listening to the night noises (a full moon night full of barks and bellers and train whistles) I began to think on feet. The only pretty feet I have ever seen are the feet of babies and small children. Most feet get so much wear and tear they look worn and torn pretty quickly. Some of us get pedicures ( a wonderful sensual experience), use foot cream, paint our toenails, buff the calluses with scratchy pads, cover them up with socks and shoes and go on our way. As you age, it gets harder to ignore your feet. They hurt sometimes, ache and creak, spread out as the day goes by but still they hold you up. They are not pretty but they are a very important part of our body.
When I look up "feet" in my concordance I find a long list of references to feet.. Kiss his feet lest he be angry; Thy word is a lamp to my feet; How beautiful are the feet of him who brings good tidings; How graceful are your feet in sandals, queenly maiden; She wet his feet with her tears. My favorite foot passage is in the Gospel of John. "Jesus, knowing that the Father had given all things in his hands, and that he had come from God and was going to God, rose from supper, laid aside his garments, and girded himself with a towel. Then he poured water into a basin, and began to wash the disciples’ feet, and to wipe them with the towel with which he was girded. He came to Simon Peter and Peter said to him, "Lord, do you wash my feet?" Jesus answered him, "What I am doing you do not know now, but afterward you will understand." Peter said to him, "You shall never wash my feet." Jesus answered him, "If I do not wash you, you have no part in me." Simon Peter said to him, "Lord, not my feet only but also my hands and my head!"
The only religious folks I knew in South Georgia who washed feet were the Primitive Baptists. They believed in predestination and foot washing as a sacrament, equal to the communion meal in significance. It was easy to dismiss them from my lexicon of spiritual practices until our church had a Lenten service where we washed one another’s feet. Those of us who showed up were a little nervous. Showing your naked, ugly, possibly smelly feet to someone you don’t really know THAT well was almost more than we could bear. Letting them place your feet in a basin of warm water, pour water over your feet, lift them out and tenderly, awkwardly dry them with a towel was one of the most intimate sacraments I have ever experienced. Trust, humility, loving kindness and laughter transformed a mundane seeming act into a hallowed moment. I will remember that worship until I die. Washing and drying someone else’s feet, having my feet washed and dried by another person was a power full way to act out being a servant priest. As I looked at my feet, cradled in another persons’ hands, I remembered the old nursery rhyme. "This little piggy went to market, this little piggy stayed home. This little piggy had roast beef, this little piggy had none. And this little piggy cried Wee Wee Wee all the way home." All of our little piggies, our knobby, ugly, long toed, crooked, covered up selves for a brief moment, rested in the hands of Jesus, clean and warm and safe. What a surprise... what a joy... all because of the humble act of foot washing. Thanks be to God.