Jesus washes the feet of His disciples. We have heard the story so many times that it is easy to move quickly through it. We know what Jesus is teaching: humility, service, leadership. “If I, therefore, the master and teacher, have washed your feet, you ought to wash one another’s feet” (John 13:14). And so we naturally ask ourselves whether we are willing to serve others. Are we willing to humble ourselves? Are we willing to wash someone else’s feet? Those are good questions. But I want to ask a different one.
If Jesus knelt down in front of you and began washing your feet, would you let Him?
Think about the room that night. Peter is there. Judas is there. Both men will betray Jesus before the night is over, although in very different ways. Judas will hand Him over to His enemies. Peter will stand in a courtyard and three times deny that he even knows Him. Jesus knows all of this. There are no surprises coming for Jesus that night. And yet He gets down on His knees, takes their dirty feet into His hands and washes them.
Imagine Judas looking down at Jesus. Jesus knows about the thirty pieces of silver. He knows about the arrangement that Judas has already made. He knows about the kiss that is coming. He knows that in a short while Judas will walk away from this table and into the darkness. Yet Jesus washes Judas’s feet.
Then He comes to Peter.
Peter cannot stand it. “Lord, do you wash my feet?” (John 13:6). There is something almost embarrassing about God kneeling before you. Peter protests: “You will never wash my feet.” And Jesus gives him an extraordinary answer: “Unless I wash you, you will have no inheritance with me” (John 13:8).
Peter thinks humility means refusing the honor. Jesus teaches him that sometimes humility means accepting mercy.
That may be harder.
Most of us would probably be uncomfortable watching Jesus kneel in front of us. We know ourselves too well. We know where those feet have been. We know the things we have done that nobody else knows about. We know the arguments we have had with our wives. We remember the words we wish we could take back. We know where we have failed our children, our friends and our brothers. We know the grudges we still carry. We know the promise we made to God and broke. We know the confession we are embarrassed to make again because we confessed the same thing last time.
We tend to imagine Jesus washing the feet of the person we are trying to become: the better husband, the more patient father, the faithful Christian, the man who controls his temper, guards his tongue, prays faithfully, forgives quickly and finally stops committing that same stupid sin.
But that isn’t the man whose feet Jesus washed.
He washed Peter’s feet before Peter denied Him.
He washed Judas’s feet knowing Judas had already betrayed Him in his heart.
And He washes ours knowing exactly what we did yesterday and exactly where we will fail tomorrow.
“But God proves his love for us in that while we were still sinners Christ died for us” (Romans 5:8).
While we were still sinners.
Not when we finally got ourselves together. Not when we became worthy. Not after we had apologized properly. Not when we had demonstrated that this time we really meant it. While we were sinners, Christ loved us.
That is what makes what happens next in John 13 so important. Peter and Judas are not separated by the fact that one is a sinner and the other isn’t. They are both sinners. They both fail Jesus spectacularly. They both discover that they are capable of doing something they probably once thought themselves incapable of doing.
And both men are sorry.
But their sorrow takes them in two completely different directions.
Scripture tells us, “Godly sorrow produces a salutary repentance without regret, but worldly sorrow produces death” (2 Corinthians 7:10). Judas sees what he has done and falls into despair. Peter sees what he has done and weeps.
Luke gives us one of the most painful moments in all of Scripture. After Peter’s third denial, “The Lord turned and looked at Peter” (Luke 22:61).
Imagine that look.
Peter has just sworn that he doesn’t know Him.
And Jesus looks at him.
What did Peter see?
Anger? Disappointment? Condemnation?
Or perhaps somewhere in that look Peter remembered the hands that had held his feet only a few hours earlier.
The same Jesus whom Peter had just denied had knelt before him and washed him.
And perhaps that is the great difference between Peter and Judas. Peter eventually allowed himself to believe that his sin was not greater than Christ’s mercy.
Judas did not.
That is frightening because despair can disguise itself as humility. We can say, “God could never forgive me for this,” and think we are acknowledging the seriousness of our sin. But hidden inside that statement is an extraordinary claim: my sin is greater than His mercy.
It isn’t.
“As far as the east is from the west, so far has he removed our sins from us” (Psalm 103:12).
Yet how often does God forgive us and we keep the record?
We go to confession. We ask forgiveness. God pours the water out. And then we pick the dirty water back up and carry it around with us.
Remember when you did this?
Remember when you said that?
Remember what kind of man you were?
Remember how badly you failed?
God remembers the forgiven sinner. We keep remembering the dirty feet.
And this is where John 13 becomes very personal.
Because Jesus washes your feet every day.
Every grace you receive that you did not earn is Jesus washing your feet. Every morning you wake up after yesterday’s failures is Jesus washing your feet. Every opportunity He gives you to begin again is Jesus washing your feet. Every confession is Christ once again cleansing what we have soiled. And in the Eucharist something even more astonishing happens: the Lord who knelt before His disciples does not merely wash us. He gives Himself to us.
And He knows.
He knows the thing you don’t talk about.
He knows the person you haven’t forgiven.
He knows the promise you made and broke.
He knows the confession you are embarrassed to make again.
He knows the words you wish you could take back.
He knows the thoughts you would be ashamed for anyone else to hear.
He knows where your feet have been.
And still He kneels.
So perhaps before we rush to the lesson that we must wash one another’s feet, we need to learn the lesson Peter had to learn first.
We have to let Jesus wash ours.
Maybe Christianity begins not with our willingness to wash someone else’s feet but with the humility to admit that ours are dirty.
Don’t pull your feet away.
Don’t tell Him you are unworthy. He already knows.
Don’t tell Him you will come back when you are better. You need Him in order to become better.
And above all, don’t look at what you have done and decide that it is greater than His mercy. Judas walked down that road. Peter wept, turned around and eventually became the man to whom Jesus would say, “Feed my sheep.”
Both men failed Him.
Both men had their feet washed.
One walked into despair.
The other came home.
So when Jesus kneels before you again—and He will—remember Peter.
Look down at those hands.
And let Him wash your feet.
Because Jesus washes your feet every day.
