Being new to the Pentecostal
domination I love to hear testimonies of brush arbors and six-week tent
revivals. Fire running through the rafters. Goiters falling off. But foot
washings? Not something I aspired to do. Who wants to wash someone’s dirty
nasty feet? Thank God it is not required anymore. Or is it?
One Sunday, instructed by our Pastor
the adult Sunday school teacher deviated from curriculum and taught on communion.
Her first question—What does communion mean to you?—prompted various answers.
Ranging from the humorous (grape juice in a cup and a stale cracker) to the
serious (check point - a time to reflect on the sacrifice Jesus made on the cross).
How could grape juice signify the
blood? How can a stale cracker do justice to the broken body of Jesus? Our
finite minds failed to grasp the full concept of communion. A pondering hush
settle over the sanctuary.
Until a frail feminine voice from in
the back said, “You know… used to be when we took communion… afterward… we’d
have a foot washing.”
What? A foot washing? What did
washing feet have to do with taking communion?
The elderly sister in the back quoted
John 13:14 “If I then, your Lord and Master, have washed your feet; ye also
ought to wash one another’s feet.” KJV
Pages quickly turned to John chapter
thirteen. Led by our teacher, we we’re reminded that Jesus washed his disciples’
feet during the Passover supper. The
first foot washing took place during the first communion. Although I knew both
events occurred, I never realized they went hand-in-hand or hand-in-feet.
The class began to reminisce of foot
washings in the past. And how the Holy Ghost moved in such services. Did I
mention I love hearing about such things?
As the bell sounded indicating the
end of Sunday school our teacher vowed to hold a communion/foot washing service
during the adult class. All participating in the discussion agreed. We needed
to have a foot washing sometime during the next few weeks.
But isn’t it great when God’s ideas
supersede our own? Church services began. The choir sang. Before the pastor
could begin his sermon people began to testify of the good things the Lord had
done. The Holy Ghost gently breezed into the sanctuary. Conviction
fell and the people, myself included, flooded the altars.
It’s impossible to describe the
presence of the Lord. You either feel him or you don’t. His greatness
surrounded me and I realized the smallness of myself in comparison. Dirty and
unclean in my sinful nature, urgent for a cleansing, burdened for a foot
washing, I prayed. The Holy Ghost whispered a vision of my Sunday school
teacher washing my feet. I wanted to run for a basin of water but fear of
disrupting the service held me in place. The urge intensified, yet I doubted.
Did God want basins of water in his sanctuary or did I?
Our pastor discerning of the Holy
Ghost spoke into the microphone. “The Holy Ghost just spoke to someone to get
up and do something. Do it now, in the name of Jesus.”
Thank God for confirmation. In the
fellowship hall two dishpans fell to the floor as I opened the cabinet. The
words “one for the men and one for the women” whispered through my heart.
Quickly (thinking only of myself and my need to be cleansed) I threw two dish
cloths into the pans, tossed two towels over my shoulder, filled the pans, and
hurried back to the sanctuary with one of them.
Miraculously not one drop of water
sloshed over the side of the pans during the two trips to the sanctuary. The
people praying in the altars didn’t notice the pans of water placed in front of
the communion table. Two folding chairs from the fellowship hall completed the
vision.
Back at my place in the altars,
desperately praying for permission to sit in one of the chairs, a hand tapped
my shoulder. With tears in her eyes, my Sunday school teacher pointed to one of
the chairs. The pastor sat in the second chair removing his shoes as a male
church member knelt waiting to wash his feet.
Anxiously wanting to experience
something new in the Lord, I smiled and sat in the chair. But as my sister in
Christ knelt down in front of me and lifted my foot in her hand, humiliation
washed over me. Tears began to pour. Why should she be on the floor in her
beautiful Sunday dress while I sat high above her in my ordinary one?
A trickle of water hit the top of my
foot and the anointing flowed from the top of my head to the soles of my feet.
I began to weep uncontrollably. My sister spoke in a heavenly language. As she
bathed my feet, first one then the other, a semblance of the humiliation Christ
felt hanging on the cross swept over me. Unworthy and unclean, I wanted to
spring from the chair. Covering my face with my hands, I tried to hide. My
voice mingled with hers as Christ’s love washed over me. In that moment, lost
in the Holy Ghost, the depth of Christ sacrifice and his love for me became
abundantly clear.
After she dried my feet, we quickly
switched places. Bathing her feet, the privilege of being Christ’s servant hit
me. I didn’t deserve to be here feeling his presence. I didn’t deserve to be a
vessel. But yet, Christ saw fit to humble himself on a cross to lift me from
the pit of sin and place me in a position to bring him glory.
The sweet mist of the Holy Ghost
surrounded us both. Afterward we both stood worshipping and praising the Lamb.
Two other women quickly took our place in the chair and pan of water. They too
began to weep and groan in the Spirit. Others stood nearby with looks of
longing on their faces. The men likewise spoke with tongues and wept as they
bathed one another’s feet. As soon as the chairs were vacated they quickly
filled. No one ran. No one shouted. None danced in the Spirit. Strong men wept.
Tongues were spoken. In the atmosphere of Jehovah, I wondered if my brothers
and sisters felt the awe of the cross or the glory of his resurrection as I
did.
Today, I still love to hear about the
good old days. But I’m glad I experienced the humbling power of a foot washing
first hand. How ironic that while elevated in the chair, I was humbled, but
while kneeling, the privileges of serving was made real to me.
My finite mind could not understand
how grape juice, a stale cracker, and a basin of water represented the sacrifice
of the cross. But the power of the Holy Ghost allowed my soul to commune with
the humility and serving-love of my savior, the Lord Jesus Christ.
~ Bridgett Henson
