If I ever compile a book of sermons, I may just title it: “In Line at Wawa.” Some of my best homily inspirations come from here.
Case in point: the convenience store on Route 40 in Elkton last week. Let’s just say it’s not your typical suburban Wawa. It’s a bit gritty. The company probably wouldn’t film a commercial here for their latest smoothie.
And yet, it’s exactly here where Jesus would be …
In fact, it is here where I saw Christ’s presence in a way that deeply touched my heart, and reminded me what this sacred time of Triduum is really all about.
Two customers in front of me that afternoon stood a young man, well-dressed and clearly on his way to somewhere else. In his hand was a cup of coffee, a soft pretzel and a breakfast sandwich he had picked up from the warmers by the register.
As he was inching closer to the cashier, the teen behind him – who spent his time in line making that annoying noise with the plastic straw in his soft drink cup that could try the patience of a saint – lost control of said container, spilling its 24-ounce contents all over himself as well as the gentleman in front of him. Both were drenched with blue-ish Gatorade.
The teen started to sob – ‘wail’ would be more appropriate, actually – which surprised all of us in the store. He started to hit himself in the head (rather hard) while rocking back-and-forth. If I were to guess, he probably would have been diagnosed somewhere on the autism spectrum.
Meanwhile, the gentleman in front of him – the one who received the brunt of the soft drink shower – turned to face him. You could feel the entire store hold its collective breath.
In that moment, he took off his jacket that was somewhat wet and, crouching down a bit to face the sobbing teen – said to him, “Hey buddy, it’s okay. You’ll be alright.” Then, taking his own jacket, he used it to soak up some of the Gatorade from the hands and hoodie of the kid who caused the entire scene in the first place.
The man with somewhere else to go – himself the victim of another’s carelessness – became the comforter and caretaker of another in need of mercy – and some cleaning-up.
In some way, it would be fair to say that all of us in line that afternoon at Wawa witnessed a modern- day living-out of the washing of the feet moment – an act of love so genuine and pure that it takes your breath away when it happens … and it reminds us of our call as Christian disciples.
To think that one of Jesus’ final acts before he embraced the Cross was to put on an apron and wash feet.
God got down on his knees and took the outwardly-dirtiest part of the human body – a job reserved for the lowest slave of that culture and time – and washed them himself.
My God – who are we to receive such treatment? No wonder Peter cried-out with a response of incredulity when his Rabbi-Savior turned their world completely upside down with such a gesture of love and humility. Who would do such a shocking thing?
A God in love, that’s Who:
A God in love who came to cleanse hearts and souls from the stains of sin that keep them chained to hatred and bitterness.
A God in love who reminds us that humility is the only way to become fully alive and fully ourselves.
A God in love who used the foot-washing gesture to then lead his beloved disciples – all of us – to the Table where we are fed by the very love that washed dirty feet.
Because in the end, when all is said and done – it’s not really about the feet.
It’s about serving the broken-hearted. The lost and lonely. The frightened who mask their fear with anger. It’s about holding another’s pain and honoring their loss. Feet-washing is about picking-up another’s cross of suffering and saying, “I got you. I’m right here.”
Feet-washing is loving the least. Feet-washing is loving the ones who literally and figuratively spill their mess on you and forgiving them when it happens.
Easy to do? No.
But it can be done – when we come to the Table and feed on the One who shows us how to love and forgive in grace-filled freedom. We can’t foot-wash without feasting here at the banquet table. We can’t show true mercy unless we first consume the Forgiver whose final words from the Cross were ones that echoed throughout time and space: “Forgive them, Abba. They know not what they do.”
When we feed on Christ, we become other Christs for the world … and thus, the challenge he himself offered to us: “As I have done, so you must do.”
Why this celebration of the Last Supper is so incredibly sacred and moving and whatever other words we use to try to capture its essence is due to the very fact that the core of our existence comes down to this moment in time:
Christ, the Son of God who is both God and man, invited us to continue his sacred ministry of cross- carrying and foot-washing through the transformation that comes at the Eucharistic Table.
Just as the normal Passover elements of bread and wine are transformed, so are our hearts and lives when we receive Him here … and then go forth into the world to be his presence wherever we may find ourselves.
Even at the Route 40 Wawa.
As the young man finished calming the Gatorade teen behind him in line – and letting the boy use the jacket to wipe his face – he told the teen to go get another drink, that he would pay for it. “It’s all good, bud. It was an accident. You’ll be okay, and I will be, too.”
As the teen ran back to the soda fountain, the cashier looked at the older man with astonishment: “You were so kind and patient with him,” she said. “Is that your son?”
“No,” said the man, as he held his sopping-wet jacket across his arm. “I never met the boy before just now.”