If I, therefore, the master and teacher, have washed your feet, you ought to wash one another’s feet.
Today was so busy, Lord. Help me to know what was important. Our deacon’s love for your Body, his awe at the Mystery of the Eucharist, always brings me to tears. I think some saint said that if we truly appreciated it, we would die of joy. Help me to realize how much you love me. I cannot grasp it.
Again and again you have told us that you come to serve us, as well as to save us. In the washing of the feet, you show us. It was customary for guests who walked in sandals on dusty roads to have their feet washed, but it was the slave, not the host who performed this act of hospitality. Your, our master, become our slave and you order us to do the same. Whose feet can I wash today?
How often I become indignant when I feel that others are being used, but if they choose to serve, I should learn from them. We weren’t made to be self-sufficient. How could we possibly suffice for ourselves when you created us for love? We depend on you for every breath. What need have we of human respect when you respect us enough to sustain us and to give your life for our salvation? Our dignity is in accepting your love until it overflows from us to our neighbor. That is all that matters. Use me, Lord. Thy will be done.