When Washing Feet Isn't Cheesy

Lights are low (if we're really taking this seriously, candles are involved) and shoes are coming off. We're probably cross-legged on a cabin floor at a retreat center, but we may be itching in Sunday school dresses or sitting tall in the plastic chairs of the youth group room. Soft giggling and uncomfortable snickering harmonize with unhurried guitar chords. The buckets come out. It's that night. We're washing each other's feet.

Because Jesus said to, y'know?

And because the adults think it's fun to make our awkward teenage selves feel even more uncomfortable with our bodies. (Mmhmm, we saw you laughing in the back.)

And because we are bodies, and we need these images, these sacraments. They invite us deep into the reality of purifying water and cleansing Spirit and kneeling-down humility.

But behind the crossed legs, giggles, and guitar is an utterly subversive narrative. A Jewish carpenter-teacher steps away from the table to wrap a towel around himself and get intimate with dirty feet.

I've got my hands on my knees, and I'm poised to step out of my chair. I'm taking a deep breath and pushing myself up. But the towel isn't around my waist yet. Because, y'all, this is hard for me. It's embarrassing to uncover the ways my misconceptions and prejudices have kept me from serving my sisters and brothers with humility. It's bewildering to transition from standing and teaching to kneeling and listening. My cheeks grow warm and I twist my hair around my fingers and I can't maintain eye contact because all of a sudden I'm friends with people who are shattering the boxes I've believed in.

But like I said, I think my hands are on my knees.

I think that for me, right now, that looks like spending 2013 reading only books from women, people of color, and the LGBT community because God and the gospel seem to come into focus in the midst of diversity. It looks like speaking out when my friends are called or treated like "dirty whores," "violent Muslims," "Bible-hating feminists," or even "close-minded fundamentalists." It looks like eating on $2.41 a day as part of living in solidarity with my neighbors. (Though I gotta admit that since my wonderful roommates still let me bake all the time, it's hardly even a thing. Haha. Love you people. :) ) It looks like living in a neighborhood where eating on $2.41 a day is part of solidarity, because before all this foot washing can happen, I've got to get to know some more of the "one another's."

And I trust that in the middle of my embarrassment and bewilderment and growing, the Spirit is breathing new life into my lungs and pouring clean water over my filthy, redeemed feet.

Come and See

Once upon a time, there was a happy family with a mom, a dad, and two little girls. They all lived together in the sunshiney state of Florida.  

(Just pretend Emily is in this picture! Also, pretend that it's in Florida.)

But then, one day, one of the little girls realized she wasn't so little anymore. She decided she would move to a new city where she would live with new roommates (who REALLY like to floss their teeth, apparently)...

...and make new friends (some of whom like to suck on unreasonably large pieces of hot dog... see those chubby cheeks?).

They would eat chili dogs together.

And potato chips. The wavy kind.

And 1158 would become a place for people--quirky, honest, opinionated, inspiring, gentle people-- to gather for awkward, hilarious, uncomfortable, and sometimes beautiful moments. 

It's hard to say if everyone would live life happily ever after. But one thing is for sure. They wouldn't live life alone.

Nobody Got Time

White girl, nineteen, has quick answers to questions of how to load a dishwasher and heal a heart.

Ain't nobody got time for that.

Sunday school girl, there every week, talks more about the grammatical significance of the conjuctions than about the jealously tearing her apart.

Ain't nobody got time for that.

College girl, aching to teach, too busy fitting the world into her mind to let the wide expanses of green and blue and brown and gray woo and win and lay waste to her.

Ain't nobody got time for that.

New girl, unfamiliar with the streets that twist and narrow, unfamiliar with the syrupy Southern words that melt into each other and race away. Forgets plans. Assumes too much. Comes over without calling. Tells instead of asking. Projects her insecurities. Realizes what she's doing. Apologizes. Apologizes again. And comes back.

Mmhmm, come on over and rest your feet a minute.