Bromhidrosis

Bromhidrosis

It was just before the Passover Festival. Jesus knew that the hour had come for him to leave this world and go to the Father. Having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end.

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.

He came to Simon Peter, who said to him, “Lord, are you going to wash my feet?” Jesus replied, “You do not realize now what I am doing, but later you will understand.” “No,” said Peter, “you shall never wash my feet.” Jesus answered, “Unless I wash you, you have no part with me.” “Then, Lord,” Simon Peter replied, “not just my feet but my hands and my head as well!”

Jesus answered, “Those who have had a bath need only to wash their feet; their whole body is clean. And you are clean, though not every one of you.” For he knew who was going to betray him, and that was why he said not everyone was clean. (John 13:1-10)

Feet. Smelly feet. Most guys, even in our culture with a daily shower and Fast Actin’ Tinactin, still have stinky, nasty feet. That’s what bromhidrosis means. The last thing any guy would want to do is clean another guy’s feet. I know this because I know what my feet smell like and, believe me, it’s proof that I have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God. But as Jesus sits with his friends, he sees their dirty feet and figures he’ll wash them. And in that culture, that’s the lowliest duty for even the most common slave. If your job description was “foot washer,” you were on the bottom of the social food chain and not really promotion material.

In Jesus’ time, when you walked into a home, the designated foot washer would wash the guests’ feet. However, in our passage, the guys were using a borrowed room for the meal, so there wasn’t a host and, therefore, no one at the bottom of the totem pole to wash Jesus and the disciples’ feet. And so Jesus, looking at his men, determines to wash their feet. 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 way 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 takes the feet of the men that he created and scrubs them. He takes the dirt and the stank off the feet of his own creatures – humility beyond imagination.

And did you notice something? Look at the passage again. Yep, right there. Jesus even washed Judas’ feet. Can you imagine? Now that’s a tough one. Maybe this will help. 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 care deeply for your friend; you’ve never sinned against 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 an armed delegation to murder you. But tonight, despite knowing your friend’s evil intentions, and knowing you’ll be dead by tomorrow, you invite him over for dinner. And, when he arrives? Oh yeah, you wash his feet. Really?

Would you do that? I don’t think so. There’s just no way. If I had a large basin of water, I’d put his head in it for a loooooong time until he wasn’t breathing. Are you kidding me? I wouldn’t wash that guy’s feet. I’d drown him, instead. That’s what I’d do. 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. It’s just scandalous to me because, I mean, at this point you’ve got to be asking yourself the question: “Is Judas ever going to change?” Is he ever going to repent? Is he ever going to be a Christian? Is he ever gonna love God? No! He’s the one doomed for destruction, right?

And what has Judas been doing up to this point in time in the ministry, anyway? That’s right. He’s been stealing money. I mean, if you’re stealing money from Jesus, you get the corner in the Blair Witch basement. That’s just so totally wrong. You can’t take money from Jesus! I mean, you’re not gonna 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 – lovingly affectionate and patiently guiding. He’s only got a few hours left to live, and – 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 gonna go to hell. That’s the way it’s going down. We all know it. So forget about it, 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 he 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 this, 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 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, or emotion, or energy or money. I do this because I love God. And whether or not anyone cares or even appreciates it, I’m going to do it 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 did a good thing, and that 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 for me is that I’d like to think that I’m a whole lot better than Judas. But it’s this myth that I think we all tell ourselves: Judas is a punk. He’s a thug, a thief, a crook, 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? Yeah, he has. Well, then, if that’s true, what makes me any different than Judas? I mean, have I taken money that belonged to God and, instead of applying it to God’s purposes, just wasted it? Yeah. Have I denied Christ? Well, yeah, I have on occasion. Have I maintained this outward sense of piety, when, inside, I was bitter and angry against him? Check. 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? Yep. 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? Well, you can call me Cinderella.

But then “(h)e came to Simon Peter.” I just love Peter, don’t you? Peter’s impetuous, he’s loud and he’s brash. A lot of people think Peter’s got some sort of character defect. There are even those who call Peter the apostle with the “foot-shaped mouth.” Personally, I think he was Irish. “He came to Simon Peter who said to him, ‘Lord, are you going to wash my feet?’” Peter is apparently skilled in recognizing the obvious. Case-in-point: Jesus has just washed a bunch of guys’ feet. He’s got a bucket. He’s got a towel. He picks up your foot and you say, “Are you gonna wash my feet?” “Yes, Columbo, I am.” Genius. But Jesus, rather than embarrassing Peter, simply moves on: “You do not realize now what I am doing, but later you will understand.” In other words, Jesus is saying, “Peter, you don’t know what I’m doing, but trust me. In hindsight, in retrospect, some time down the road you’ll look back and say, ‘Now it all makes sense.’ But right now, you don’t understand.”

Anyone who tells you that they know the entirety of God’s will is lying. We have no idea what God’s complete will is. What we do know is that we’re supposed to love God, do what pleases him and just follow after him in keeping with what we do know. Then, when you least expect, expect it. Expect what? Expect one of those “Aha” moments when you say, “Ohhhhhh, now I get it. So that’s what God’s been up to. Brilliant! He had it figured out the whole time. Amazing.” In other words, looking in the rearview mirror, it all makes sense. You know, objects in the mirror are closer than they appear kind of stuff? Right. But in the meantime, it’s all fake.

Have you noticed that most of the books on faith you can buy 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. Problem is, that’s how they got to the place where they finally arrived. 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.”

Peter’s response? “No!” Excuse me? He’s screaming like a two year old! You’re telling Jesus “No?” Are you kidding me? Well, read it for yourself: “No, said Peter, you shall never wash my feet.” Peter likes to tell Jesus what to do. (I know none of us can relate to that) “And Jesus answered, ‘Unless I wash you, you have no part with me.” In other words, unless you can receive my grace and my humility and my service and my concern for you, then we don’t have a relationship. “’Then, Lord,’ Simon Peter replied, ‘not just my feet but my hands and my head as well!” 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. Wash my whole body, and here’s the soap and my luffa.”

Why does Peter struggle with Jesus washing his feet? Tell me. 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.” And 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’m in that latter category.

But, rather than embarrassing Peter, Jesus uses this as a teaching opportunity. “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.’” 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. Now, don’t get me wrong. We’ll still sin and get dirt on our hands. We’ll still sin and get some dirt on our face. And when we do? We wash our hands and our face. We confess our sin to God and repent. 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.” Judas was not clean. Apparently he never was.

You know, your 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 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. On the other hand, Judas 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. Doesn’t tell you how he’s doing. Let’s Jesus wash his feet and doesn’t even put up a fight. But, Judas has got this callous, hard heart just like pharaoh back in the day. The more kindness Judas received, the harder it got. Mercy didn’t break him.

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 us. So much so that he took our place, took our 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 being executed for a crime he never committed. Who’d do that? Jesus.

Grace,

Randy