This week, many Christian traditions begin Holy Week, a series of daily ways to connect to the story of Jesus’s last week before he was arrested and killed by the Roman Empire. It begins with Palm Sunday, which recalls his final journey into the city of Jerusalem. Jesus created a strategic, politically symbolic entry that echoed ancient prophecies and thwarted expectations. He healed and preached, got into good trouble, taught and shared food, and in a poignant moment depicted in John 13, he showed his friends about the importance of caring for each other by washing their feet. Many traditions remember that occasion as a regular sacrament or part of worship, while others recall it this week in a special liturgy and day on the church calendar called Maundy Thursday. The word “Maundy” is derived from the Latin phrase “mandatum novum” or “new commandment,” as Jesus told his friends, “I give you a new commandment, that you love one another.” When our parish gathers this Thursday evening for worship, we won’t just remember the story. We will be washing each others feet as part of our worship. For many people—this priest included—the idea of washing another person’s feet in church can be uncomfortable. We might hang back or skip this service, try to strategically sit next to our friend or family member so that at least we know the feet we’re washing! For others—this priest included—the discomfort lies in the idea of having our feet washed by someone else, permitting this kind of care and touch. In church! It’s fortunate that we are not alone in those feelings, as Peter expressed horror that Jesus would wash his feet. “Surely not!” he exclaimed, and I imagine he wasn’t the only person around that table pulling back his toes. But the prickly feeling, the uncertainty about this whole idea, is exactly what Jesus wanted to communicate. Caring for people around us, their dirty, warty, wrinkle selves, just as they are, is a prickly and uncertain undertaking. Washing literal or metaphorical feet is not even a desirable undertaking, and is often unrewarded. How can we wrap our hearts and minds around the idea that Jesus did this, and then told us to follow suit? Where do we find the courage to overcome the prickly, the uncertain, and both show and receive care in the most vulnerable and unimpressive ways? Well, John’s gospel includes the key. “Jesus, knowing that the Father had given all things into his hands, and that he had come from God and was going to God, got up from the table, took off his outer robe, and tied a towel around himself.” Jesus could take a deep breath, look around the room, and decide to wash feet because he knew that God had given him all, God was his source, and God was his destination. Everything else unfolding in Holy Week was grounded in the deep certainty and security of this identity. How could any one moment, any vulnerability or humility, be louder than the voice of God who said at Jesus’s baptism, “This is my beloved child”? How could discomfort in wondering what others might think ever exceed the significance of what God thought? Jesus’s dignity and foundation in divine love offered the power to take on a less powerful position; his assuredness that he was deeply loved allowed him to freely offer and receive loving care with those around him. This Thursday if you find yourself washing feet, if you stumble into an uncomfortable opportunity to serve or receive the gift of another’s service, remember that you, too, are a beloved child of God. When you find yourself hesitating with the prickly vulnerability, the uncertainty of what it might feel or mean to care or be cared for, remember this: you have come from God and you are going to God. May you live grounded and secure in that love, able to give and receive loving care with those around you.