Stinkin’
Thinkin’
Stinkin' Thinkin' - Audio/Visual
The
evening meal was in progress, and the devil had already prompted Judas, the son
of Simon Iscariot, to betray Jesus. Jesus knew that the Father had put all
things under his power, and that he had come from God and was returning to God;
so he got up from the meal, took off his outer clothing, and wrapped a towel
around his waist. After that, he poured water into a basin and began to wash
his disciples’ feet, drying them with the towel that was wrapped around him. (John
13:2-5)
Feet. Dirty feet. Most guys, even if they shower every day and liberally apply Fast Actin’ Tinactin, still have stinky, nasty feet. So the last thing any guy would want to do is clean another guy’s smelly feet. But as Jesus sits down with his friends he sees their dirty feet and figures he’ll wash them. That was the lowliest duty for even the most common slaves during Jesus’ day. If your job description was “foot washer,” you were at the bottom of the pecking order and not really considered promotional material. So when you walked into a home during those times, the designated foot washer would wash the guests’ feet. However, in this passage, the guys were using a borrowed room for a meal so there wasn’t a host and, therefore, no one at the bottom of the totem pole to wash anyone’s feet. And so Jesus, looking at his disciples, determined to wash their feet since they would by lying around a table and eating the Passover meal with their feet in each others’ faces.
Now I don't know why they hadn’t washed their feet. Maybe they were tired. Maybe they were hungry. Maybe they thought it was demeaning. Maybe they were waiting for one of the others to do it. Maybe they all felt like they were too good for the job. I don't know. But Jesus set the example. He took off his outer garment, like an overcoat, put a towel around his waist, grabbed a basin of water and then God took the feet of the men that he created and gave them a good scrubbing. He took the dirt and the stank off the feet of his own creatures. Frankly, it’s enough that God would come down and be one of us – that’s humbling enough. But for God to come down as a foot washer? That’s pretty scandalous.
And did you notice something? Jesus even washed Judas’ feet. Can you imagine? That’s a tough one. Picture a friend you’ve had for oh, I don’t know, three years or so, and during that time you’ve fed him, housed him, loved him and even taught him in your small group. You’ve prayed with your friend; you’ve cared deeply for your friend; you’ve never hurt your friend. But for some reason, even after all of that, your friend just flat-out hates you and decides that, tomorrow, he’s going to lead a bunch of armed soldiers to arrest you and eventually have you murdered. But tonight, despite knowing your friend’s evil intentions, and knowing you’ll be dead by the same time tomorrow, you invite him over for dinner. And, when he arrives? Oh yeah, you wash his feet.
Would you do that? I don’t think so. There’s just no way. If I had a large basin of water, I’d have probably put Judas’ head in it for a long time. But God is different. God is holy. God is ….. well, God is just other. Jesus washes the feet of Judas Iscariot – the feet of the man that’s going to walk out on the meal, betray him for a few bucks, and then walk back and finger him so he get’s whacked. And Jesus knows it. So at this point we’re asking ourselves, “Is Judas ever going to change?” “Is he ever going to repent?” “Is he ever going to love God?” No. He’s the one doomed for destruction, right? (John 17:12)
And what’s Judas been doing up to this point in time in the ministry, anyway? He’s been stealing money. I mean, if you’re stealing money from Jesus, you get the corner in the Blair Witch basement. You can’t take money from Jesus; you’re not going to get away with that. It’s bad enough to steal money from a church – that’s bad. That’ll get you in the Blair Witch basement. But you get the corner if you’re stealing money from Jesus Christ. And Judas has been stealing money for years. In other words, Judas is going to betray and murder Jesus. He’s going to commit suicide by hanging himself. Judas is going to hell. I don't know about you, but Jesus has already given this guy three years of his life and he’s only got a few hours left to live. If it were me I’d be like, “Well, to hell with you. You’ve gotten enough of my time, enough of my love, enough of my grace. I’m through with you. That’s it, Judas. You’ve been stealing. You’re gonna murder me. You’re gonna kill yourself. You’re going to hell. That’s the way it’s going down. We all know it. So forget about it, you traitor!” But not Jesus.
Why in the world does Jesus wash Judas’ feet when it’s not going to make a bit of difference anyway? Why would he do that? Because Jesus loved the Father, that’s why. Jesus knew, “I’m not scrubbing Judas’ feet for Judas. I’m scrubbing Judas’ feet for the Father. Judas may never appreciate it, but the Father does. Judas may never show me any love, or kindness, or affection but the Father does. So, I’m not doing this for Judas. I’m doing this to Judas. And I’m doing this out of love for my Father.” And that’s at the heart of humility. The heart of humility is not, “I’m going to do something because it’s going to be successful, or it’s going to work, or it’s going to be a good return on my investment of time, emotion, energy or money. And whether or not anyone cares or even appreciates it, I’m going to do this because I love God and God knows my heart.” And that’s why Jesus did it. Jesus didn’t get bitter like, “I’ve wasted my time. I’ve wasted my energy. I’ve wasted my investment.” No, instead he says, “If I love God, and if I’ve done it for the glory of the Father, then my time has not been wasted; my energy hasn’t been spent in vain. It was a good thing, and it was to honor my Father.”
So Jesus washes the feet of his men, including Judas Iscariot. And I think the hard part about this passage is that I’d like to think that I’m a whole lot better than Judas. But it’s this kind of myth that I think we all tell ourselves, i.e., Judas was a punk, a thug, a thief, a crook and a hoodlum and he should die and go to hell. That’s just the way it is for Judas. He should have never gotten his feet washed. Why? Because he’s a bad guy, unlike me, who’s a really good guy. But the issue comes down to this: “Has Christ come to me?” Has Christ humbled himself before me? Has Christ loved me? Has he served me? Has he forgiven me? Has he not only scrubbed my feet, but washed my soul – dealing not just with my dirt but with my sin? Yes, he has.
Well if that’s true, then what makes me any different than Judas? Have I taken money that belonged to God and, instead of applying it for God’s purposes, just wasted it? Yep. Guilty. Have I thought sometimes, like Judas, that God was wrong, or that God didn’t know what he was doing, or that God wasn’t to be trusted, or that – somehow – Jesus needed my advice? Yes, we all have. And I think the reason that Judas bothers me so much is because I’m a lot more like Judas than I am like Christ. Does the sandal fit you, too? You can call me Cinderella.
Have you ever noticed that most of the books on faith in a Christian bookstore are written by people who’ve looked back and taken note of the things that have happened in the pieces of their lives? Then they turn these pieces into steps. Step 1, Step 2, Step 3, Step 4, etc. Problem is, that’s how they got to the place where they finally arrived and then they wrote a book about it. But before then? They got there by faith. They didn’t know what God was doing. And that’s what Jesus was telling Peter: “Just trust me; go with it. One day you’re gonna look back and this is all going to make sense to you.” But not yet.
Peter’s response at the time? “No!” (v. 8) Excuse me? Apparently Peter likes to tell Jesus what to do. “And Jesus answered, ‘Unless I wash you, you have no part with me.” (Id.) In other words, unless you can receive my grace and my humility, my service and concern for you, then we really don’t have much of a relationship. “’Then, Lord,’ Simon Peter replied, ‘not just my feet but my hands and my head as well!” (v. 9) Peter is still telling Jesus what to do. “Okay, you’re God, I recognize that, but I’m still gonna tell you what to do. So, go ahead, teacher. Wash my whole body, and here’s the soap and my luffa.”
Why does Peter struggle with Jesus washing his feet? Why is it so hard for Peter to have Jesus serving him in that way? Pride. It’s hard, isn’t it? There’s just something in us that prizes autonomy and self-sufficiency. I stand on my own two feet. I take care of myself. I don’t need anybody. I can pull myself up by my own bootstraps. And Christ comes to us and he says, “No, really, you need me.” “No, no, no. I’ll take care of my own dirt, Jesus.” Answer? “You can’t take care of your own dirt. You’re way too dirty. You need me.” In other words, Jesus is saying, “No. I’ll take care of everything. You just need to receive me. You need to let me wash you. I’ll take care of your mud. I’ll take care of your dirt. I’ll take care of your stench.” Peter wrestles with that, and I’m a lot like that, too. You see, some of us have a hard time being like Jesus and taking care of others, while others of us have a hard time being like Peter and allowing others to take care of us. I fit mostly into that latter category.
However, rather than embarrassing Peter, Jesus uses this as a teachable moment. “Jesus answered, ‘A person who has had a bath needs only to wash his feet; his whole body is clean. And you are clean, though not every one of you.’” (v. 10) Jesus is using this opportunity as a metaphor for salvation. We are filled with dirt and sin and the mud of our own lives. But Jesus’ crucifixion conquered the enemies of sin and death and, as a result, his blood has washed us clean. We’ll still sin and get dirt on ourselves, but when we do we tell God that we’re sorry; we tell Him that we’ve strayed. And then Christ comes in his humility and his kindness and he washes us up again. But not Judas. “But, not everybody’s clean.” (Id.) Judas was not clean – apparently he never was.
I think our first instinct in reading this story is to pick on Peter. But at least Peter’s honest. Peter thinks out loud. Peter is one of those guys who has no real boundary, or filter between what he’s thinking and feeling, and what he actually says. He just tells you where he’s at. He tells you what he’s thinking. He tells you what’s going on. And the thing I love about Peter is that when Jesus rebukes him, Peter repents and he changes his mind. Jesus says, “No. unless I wash you …,” and Peter’s like, “Oh. Okay.” He’s honest and he’s brash, but he’s also teachable. Judas, on the other hand, was not. Judas maintained this pious, outward exterior. Through the Gospels, we don’t hear Judas saying a lot. But he doesn’t pick any fights; he doesn’t tell you how he’s doing. He just lets Jesus wash his feet and doesn’t even put up a fight. But Judas has got this callous, hard heart just like pharaoh did back in the day – the more kindness Judas received, the harder his heart got. Mercy didn’t break him any more than it did the Pharaoh.
For some of you, like me, accepting grace is the hard part. Understanding that Christ has humbled himself before us, loved us, served us, forgiven us, scrubbed our feet and washed our souls is hard to accept when you’re feeling a whole lot more like Judas than Jesus. But the fact is that Jesus is madly in love with you. So much so that he took your place, took your penalty and was put to death as a common criminal. That’d be like a judge sentencing a criminal defendant to death and then taking off his robe, stepping down from the bar, taking the defendant’s place and then walking the green mile to his executioner for a crime he never committed. What judge would ever do that? Jesus would, and Jesus did.
Do you know him? Do you really know Jesus? Or are you going to continue to go to bed with smelly feet? Frankly, that kind of stinkin’ thinkin’ could get you into trouble – maybe forever.
Grace,
Randy
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