Where Have Your Feet Been?

Eucharistic Homily
at the
Evening Mass of the Lord's Supper

Before we celebrate the Rite of Footwashing, I want to ask you something.  A question that goes deeper than it seems:  Where have your feet been?

In years past we have focused on the “Table-ness” of the Eucharist, the connection between Eucharist and charity, and on Jesus’ role as a servant.  Tonight, I would like us to look at the Footwashing from a different angle, in addition to charity and service, namely:  Healing.

Where have your feet been?  I remember my first day in Rome in 2011, in a liturgical procession on the cobblestone streets of that ancient city. by the time I got back to my room, my feet were so sore I had to walk on their sides—muscles aching that I’d never used before.  When Jesus washed the feet of His disciples, He not only cleaned them, but used the strength of His hands to knead, massage, and rub tired feet that walked up and down the rugged terrain between the Galiliean countryside and the paved streets of Jerusalem.  Some feet were in the water, fishing, when Jesus offered the initial invitation to His first disciples.  Some were sitting, collecting taxes; others were hiding in the shadows, ready to strike a Roman officer.  And what about the feet whose paths we’ve forgotten?  The quiet ones.  The shame-filled ones. The unrecorded steps—Jesus washed those too.  These feet walked through the “joys and the hopes, the griefs and the anxieties” that come with the pilgrimage of discipleship.

Eventually these feet would forsake Jesus, stand before Him Risen, and then travel to the ends of the world to tell forth the Good News.

But first, these feet had to be tended by the hands of the “Lover of Humankind,” kneading, massaging, rubbing their feet as a sign of the healing wholeness that Jesus came to give us.

But you—where have your feet been?  Some of you, fleeing the Soviet occupation of Hungary in 1956, and eventually finding your way here.  Others, in the Deaf boarding schools, separated from your parents and often mistreated by your teachers.  Some may have run away from home at a young age.  Still others, your feet—and your presence—were rejected by Church leaders who wanted to ignore your gifts and dismiss your service.  Many of you, I am sure, have walked in loneliness.  Think also of the gruelling migration of the Magyars to the Carpathian Basin, that we carry in our DNA., or the protracted migration of sign language from Spain to France to the Americas.  Whoever you are, your feet carry buried wounds and soreness that tells the story of your pilgrimage.

The God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob instructed that the Passover shall be “eaten like those who are in flight,” as we heard in the First Reading.  The Gospel tells us that Jesus’ own Passover was to mark His “pass[age] from this world to the Father.”  The Eucharist and our feet on the ground in pilgrimage go hand-in-hand.  This is why we hear in one of the Eucharistic hymns of St Thomas Aquinas:  “Behold the Bread of Angels, made the food of wayfarers.”  St Thomas goes on to say:  “this sacrament does not [only] admit us to glory, but bestows on us the power of coming unto glory.  And therefore it is called Viaticum.”

The Rite of Footwashing, then, interprets for us the meaning of the Eucharist:  It is healing for the journey; everywhere in life we may be inclined to put our “best foot forward”; here, we are invited to put our “worst foot forward” for Jesus to heal and strengthen so we can go on.  This we must do.  Why--?  “Unless I wash you, you will have no inheritance with Me.”

As your feet are being washed, think about where they have been, and think about where they are going.  Present them to Jesus—not the polished, presentable parts, but the wounded, weary places—so He can heal them, strengthen them, and guide them onward.

Let Him be both your traveling companion—and your final destination.