Wednesday, January 18, 2012

Bringing the basin

Been talking with friends this week about foot washing. Each one who has participated in it has a significant and emotional memory connected to the event. Words like humility, service, worship, and love were repeated. Tenderness was evident in their hearts. J saw the daily opportunities to serve one another as a higher application of Jesus' intent than a ceremony. L struck a deep chord with me as she reflected, "I knew how Peter felt when he tried to refuse to let Jesus wash his feet, and I realized how much pride we have to release in order to admit our needs and let others help us." 

Foot washing seems to be another side of the coin of confession, a picture of humbly cleaning another's soul.  Confession is bringing something from the darkness into the light, or acknowledging harm I've done, seeking forgiveness, and moving to repair it. Could foot washing be allowing another person close enough access to my life to help me clean up, to take care of an area that is hard for me to see or reach by myself? Can my spouse or my friend have the freedom to cleanse a part of me that I have not washed myself? An area of my body or of my soul? Or am I insulted by the thought? Do I, like Peter, recoil from the approach of one who would touch me that way?

We were not in a theological debate. We were talking about the heart, which is where Jesus seems to do His daily work, touching each one at their point of need and applying the theology as only He can.

Please, God, open my eyes, my ears, my heart, to the truths You were communicating in this tender act of Jesus in His last days.

Tuesday, January 17, 2012

Of pots and pans and the essence of a friend

I have Teflon Brain. Seems like nothing sticks to it anymore! I've been aware of that more and more in recent years and have come to accept it as a fact of life. This morning, on a walk with my dear friend Elane, a new element appeared in my personal cookware. My brain may be Teflon, but my soul is iron. As in cast iron skillet.

If you don't have one, you know that Grandma does and she cooks everything it. It's a heavy bugger! And it rusts if you don't take care of it. But if she uses it a lot, no doubt she does take care of it. She probably doesn't use soap on it, but scrubs it a bit and maybe sets it on the still-warm burner to finish drying.

What keeps things from sticking to it? It's certainly not Teflon! She'll tell you it's the seasoning. Not a spice from the cabinet above, but the accumulation of good residue over the years of use. It's the fat from frying chicken in it, the rendering of bacon and beef, bit by bit, day by day. She always removed the surface stuff and even scoured it, but knew that the benefit of leaving some of the fat, the oil, the essence to penetrate and fill the tiny negative spaces of the surface of the pan. 

A brand new cast iron pan is a real pain. But one that has history, well, it's a treasure of a tool.

As my friend and I talked through the nitty-gritty of daily life this morning, her essence was filling and enriching my pan. My soul has been seasoned by her richness and my substance has gained value to the discerning Master Chef.