First-person feature: Attending a Holy Week foot washing service

Sitting on the third row from the front on the left side of the church, I could hear everything the pastors were saying. While being slightly different every time, it went something like, “Just like Jesus humbled himself, we are humbling ourselves. As elders in the church, we want to serve you in this way. Jesus died for you…”

At the front of the sanctuary, the two associate pastors, Casey Adams and Brett Carver, were kneeling on the ground with plastic bins full of water in front of them and a towel over their shoulders. A congregant sits in front of them on the first row of chairs, socks and shoes off.

It’s foot washing night, Maundy Thursday, the day before Good Friday, the pinnacle of nerve-wracking religious services for many who prefer not to have their personal space invaded by others, especially others who they revere, but keep at an arm’s length to preserve that air of authority.

Some churches hold services every night of what is called Holy Week - the week before Easter. The church I regularly attend, East Rock Community Church, happens to be one of those churches. While they are not super ceremonial year-round, Holy Week is the one time of year they go all out.

The small sanctuary is packed. I estimate around 50 people including children, and there were a lot of children. Brett had repeatedly encouraged people to bring their children to what promised to be a somewhat solemn, yet kid-friendly, service. Kids were allowed to be free for the most part, roaming the blue-gray-carpeted aisles, incessantly talking in murmurs.

Before the foot washing started, Casey explained the purpose of the service, how he and Brett would be washing people’s feet, and while they encouraged everyone to participate, no one would be made to.

My leg began to bounce up and down like I was pumping the brakes in an 18-wheeler speeding down a hill. My heart beat inside my chest at an even quicker pace than my leg bounced. With every word he said I became more troubled.

As Casey got situated at his foot washing station, his daughter, 5-year-old Gracie, walks down the center aisle and takes a seat in front of her father waiting to have her feet washed, her mother following. Whether Gracie went up first of her own accord or her mother’s prompting is unclear, but it’s sweet, nonetheless.

In the very place one is meant to feel peace and clarity, I fell into overthinking my choice to stay seated. If a small child can do this, why couldn’t I? I, too, am a pastor’s daughter, but didn’t understand the power of the symbol of actually having my feet washed.

Later I ask Casey to tell me more about the service, his first time leading the event. He says Maundy literally means “command.” He goes on to say that the command is found in the Bible to “love one another just as Christ loved us” and that Jesus gives that command in the context of foot washing. Jesus took the lowly job of washing his disciples’ feet to symbolize the sacrifice he would later make in his death on the cross and how we are to sacrifice ourselves to service as well.

Casey added that it's only a helpful picture, not a sacrament. Which eased my spirit, but in the moment on Maundy Thursday, I was hard-pressed.

I tried to distract myself, thinking of my weekend ahead, the work needing to be completed, the rest needing to be caught up on. I tried not to stare at those who had decided to have their feet washed.

On the end of my row sat Grace Long with her mother, Jacquie. After Casey’s daughter and wife finished having their feet washed, Jacquie slips off her Birkenstocks and heads to the front.

Taking her mother’s cue, I see Grace untie the laces on her high-top Converses and walk over to the other associate pastor Brett on the right side of the room.

A few days later, I asked Grace what the experience was like.

“I never knew what to say or how to respond,” Grace says, “It was a little overwhelming. I just had to forget about the possible awkwardness of a leader in the church that I have known for a long time doing it and think of it as Jesus doing it.”

I didn’t get my feet washed that night. But, unless Jesus does come back, there’s always next year.