Next, he poured water into a basin and began to wash his disciples’ feet and to dry them with the towel tied around him. John 13:5
One evening my friend Patrick and his family were finishing their dessert. This had been another classic dinner prepared by Patrick’s wife, Patsy, a culinary wizard. “Just as we were about to dismiss ourselves from the table,” Patrick told me later, “an idea popped into my head. I tried to ignore it, but I couldn’t.”
Turning to his wife, Patrick asked if he “could help with the dishes.” Patsy sat there for a moment, waiting for the request to sink in. “Uh, sure,” she responded, making no attempt to hide her surprise, “I’d like that.” Though you may regularly get your hands in the dishwater, this was not a regular occurrence for Patrick. That night, until the kitchen was completely clean, Patrick did not leave his wife’s side.
The following evening Patrick made the same request and, predictably, received the same response. And for two solid weeks, the Morleys did the dishes together. “I actually was enjoying this,” Patrick later admitted to me. “But please don’t tell anyone.” Hey, no problem, Patrick. Your secret’s safe with me.
At the end of the second week, Patrick shuffled to his bathroom early one morning to begin his day. When he looked into the mirror, there, right in the center, was a yellow note stuck to the glass: “Good morning, Patrick,” the note read. “Thanks for being my best friend. Love, Patsy.”
In spite of the odd juxtaposition of these two words, serving your family is powerful. Just ask Jesus.
The setting of the Last Supper is one that has been depicted by myriad artisans through the centuries. Many of these depictions have been inaccurate. Jesus and His disciples’ last meal together before His crucifixion was not at a long table. There was probably no table at all. And the men were not sitting in New England-style ladder-back chairs. They were reclining on the floor. It was an informal scene.
Suddenly and with no warning, Jesus stood up, took off His outer robe, tied a towel around His waist, poured water into a basin, and began washing His disciples’ filthy feet. Here was the sovereign Creator of the universe, the long-hoped-for Messiah, the Savior of all humanity on His knees, rinsing road dirt. Where’s the houseboy? they must have thought. Jesus shouldn’t be doing this.
Even though these verses give us Peter’s verbal protest, is there any doubt that every one of the disciples argued with this display of subordination? Probably not. What was happening was unthinkable.
So, what was Jesus doing? What was He saying in this moment of subservient humility? He was saying the same thing my friend Patrick was saying to his wife. Whether you’re God incarnate or a husband, leadership requires humility—power demands service. Several decades later, the apostle Paul put it this way: “Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ loved the church and gave himself for her” (Eph 5:25).
Do you want respect at home? Of course you do. Do you want to own up to your responsibility as the head of your home? This sounds good to me, too. Then we’re going to need to trade in our crowns for basins—our robes for towels. We’ll need to get off our high horses and drop to our knees. Jesus’s example on this unforgettable night ought to be enough.