I found foot-washing stressful, even growing up a pastor’s son and having the Lord’s Supper at least once a quarter.
I mean, it should have been pretty straightforward, right . . . right?
Deacons and deaconesses would put out the wash basins and towels in at least three rooms the night before: one room for men, one for women and one for married couples. Directions would be given from the pulpit, explaining where the rooms were and instructing parishioners in what to do. All I had to do was find a partner, right? Right.
Now imagine you are a 12- to 13-year-old boy who forgot it was the Lord’s Supper and had not washed his feet well the night before; they were not just dirty, but smelly. You race to the restroom to wash your feet. At that age, you are not married, so you just have to find a guy friend, right?
But what if your church has almost no young people, or only young girls? You finally work up the courage to ask someone, only to find they already have a partner. This happens multiple times. So you find a comfy place against the wall to stand or hide, that is, until a very kind, but slow, older gentleman comes along and asks you to be his partner. Then another man comes to ask you, and you politely say, “No, thank you, I am being served already.”
Finally, you get basins, remove shoes and socks, pray, and wash and dry each other’s feet. You and all the men begin to sing a hymn, and you hope you remember the words. Then you run to the bathroom to wash your hands and try to get back to the sanctuary quickly so you will not be the last one searching for your new seat. Finally, you sit down and breathe a sigh of relief as you wipe nervous sweat from your brow and exclaim to yourself, Whew! I am glad that is over with.
In the Cambodian mission field, many things are much different, yet still stressful. The Lord’s Supper is often held only once or twice a year. Instead of putting basins and towels out the night before, they are set out the same morning. There are not enough for everyone, the towels are definitely not white, and everyone meets under the same shade tarp at the same time. You are in a culture where feet are considered vulgar, where pointing your foot at someone, or stepping over a person, is an insult equivalent to or greater than certain obscene hand gestures in America. Everyone arrives with dirty feet because during the dry season, when the Lord’s Supper is usually held, dust can easily be four to six inches deep, and most people wear sandals as they walk or drive to church on motos.
I am now a half-century old, but finding a partner is still stressful. Who is a baptized member? Who wants to do it, or will admit that they do not want to, to an old white-haired guy (that’s me, now)? And naturally, it would sure be a lot easier if they spoke English.
You look around and spot a young man you know is baptized, speaks English and is very timid, so you politely ask, “May I serve you?” He has no idea what you are talking about. So, you say plainly, “Knyom jung leang chun. I want to wash your feet.” He says, “Okay,” and you head to where the foot washing will take place, but he stays put. In the meantime, another man asks to wash your feet. You tell him you are already serving someone; will he be offended? Finally, you go back to the young man, practically pull him over to a row of plastic chairs, and sit him down while you go to get a basin of water and a towel.
He looks up, grins and says, “Can I wash your feet too?”
Grinning back, you respond, “Of course.”
Now, looking around, you realize you need to fill the foot-washing basin from a clean plastic turtle pond filled with water and hundreds of brilliant yellow flowers. A kind deaconess dips a cup into the pond, making sure your basin is full of yellow flowers. As you try to find a clean, unused towel (and pray that everything will be as sanitary as possible and no annoying fungi will be spread, right?), you notice several older men on the sidelines and make a mental note to wash their feet, too, afterward.
You return to the young man, who kneels to wash your feet and says, “This is my first time doing this. I never got to do this with my father. You are kind of like my father.”
Wow! You think about his father, who had led his family into Christianity, worked as a church planter, and then, for some reason, apostatized and went crazy. He had lived the last years of his life in a dark, dingy shanty, rarely stepped into the light of day, and died within the last two years.
Tears come to your eyes as you realize he would never have the opportunity to wash his father’s feet. Quietly, you say, “The beautiful thing about being in the family of God is that we have many mothers and fathers.”
You ask if he has any prayer requests. “Yes, please pray for my family to return to God.” You are touched. This is the right thing for which to ask. His request is so different from the usual appeals for health, freedom from sickness, prosperity and good grades.
This time, amid the stress, worries and doubts about accidentally offending people during the foot-washing ceremony, God blessed you with a very special gift. And that, truly, is right.
Please pray that this young man, as he seeks God, will find his place in life and that he will be a Timothy, bold and courageous, to lead God’s people and not be ashamed of his youth and inexperience in a culture where age is respected, revered and nearly worshipped. Pray that he will be an uncompromising influence for God among his peers, many of whom have been baptized but are afraid to stand up for and keep the seventh-day Sabbath.
