Preached at Faith Lutheran Church in Three Lakes, WI.
Psalm 116: 1-2, 12-19
1 Corinthians 11:23-26
John 13:1-17, 31b-35
Back in 2003, I was part of a program out of the Lutheran School of Theology at Chicago for high schoolers who wanted to more intentionally delve into their faith. It was a three week program. The first week and the last week were spent at the seminary, living in the residence buildings, and either doing classwork or other activities.
The middle week, however, was spent in Mexico City. It was my first time ever being out of the country. I knew enough Spanish that, if I got lost, I wouldn’t die in a gutter, but I was by no means fluent. I was thrust into a new world, a new culture, a new society, that while recognizable in some aspects, was very foreign to me.
On top of that, we as a group were being asked some challenging questions, and having some really deep discussions that weren’t easy to have. And on top of that, we were going out into some of the poorer areas of Mexico City to do service projects.
Split into three groups, my group headed out to spend time at an orphanage, just sitting, playing with, talking with the little children who lived there. I’m an introvert, so throw me into a room full of kids I don’t know, speaking a language I don’t know, in a culture I don’t know, and, well… let’s just say that I was very, very uncomfortable.
I had the same experience five years later as I traveled to Costa Rica with my Liberation Theology class at Capital University. I’ll never forget visiting the Iglesia Luterana Costarricense, the Lutheran Costa Rican Church. The church got its start in one of the poorest sections of San Jose. As we toured the old stomping grounds, we passed through a section of cinder block houses that were the new government-sponsored housing. But beyond that, where the church started, we left cinder block behind.
The houses there were little more than sheets of corrugated aluminum slapped together for shelter. Raw sewage ran through channels down the hillside. Electricity barely functioned here, even though down in the valley, the sprawling city of San Jose gleamed in the sun. In the midst of such poverty, desperation, well… let’s just say that I was very, very uncomfortable.
I had the same experience four years later on my internship. First Lutheran Church in Muskegon, MI is one of the churches that hosts Family Promise, an organization that relies on churches to provide a week of shelter for homeless families, as no homeless shelter in the area lets families stay together: men go to one, women to go to another. The host church is responsible for providing meals for the families, who are then taken by van to job interviews, and the like. The most important meal is dinner, and the churches are encouraged to have people eat with the folks, play games with the kids, and keep the parents company.
Again, throw me in a room with a bunch of people I don’t know, including kids, people who’s current life situation was very different from my own… well, let’s just say that I was very, very uncomfortable.
I had the same experience the first time one of my friends confessed to me that, if I were gay, he would want to date me. At the time, I had no idea how to react to that; I didn’t even know many women who wanted to date me, let alone any men, and I’m not really sure how I responded. I can say though, that I was very, very uncomfortable.
It almost makes what Jesus does in the Gospel according to John seem… quaint.
Now I don’t know about you, but the whole footwashing thing has never made me uncomfortable. Feet don’t gross me out just because they’re feet, and the idea of pouring a little water over dirty feet and wiping them dry doesn’t bother me. Maybe I’m just a weirdo who’s not grossed out by such things, but I know that for many people, this story is what nightmares are made of.
It was no less awkward and uncomfortable for some of Jesus’s disciples, like Peter, who has a penchant for running his mouth when he should be quiet. Peter’s uncomfortable for all sorts of valid reasons. Maybe his feet are ugly; at the very least, we know they’re dirty. Washing feet was the work of a servant, and Jesus is no servant: he’s the Teacher, the Master. This work is beneath him—there’s a reason it’s relegated to servants, they should be the ones dealing with dirty work. Maybe Jesus stripping off his outer robe made Peter feel uncomfortable, I don’t know. What I do know is that, well… Peter is very, very uncomfortable. So uncomfortable that, at first, he refuses to let Jesus wash his feet.
It’s not the first time a follower of Christ has been confronted with something uncomfortable, and it won’t be the last. What we are called to do is very, very uncomfortable.
We are called to treat those we consider enemies as we would our friends; even people like Assad.
We are called to extend the very fullness of hospitality to people, including the poor and the homeless, even if we secretly or not-so-secretly believe that they’re scamming us or are responsible for their own condition.
We are called to feed the hungry, even if we know they’re going to go to the food pantry in the next town over and get more food.
We are called to love our LGBTQ+ neighbors, even if their love and sexual expression makes us uncomfortable; and not some superficial “I love you, but…” love, we’re called to actually and fully love them.
We are called to challenge the idolatry of our society that puts money, flags, political ideology and military might above all things, justifying all sorts of atrocities in the name of security and profit; even when we benefit from that idolatry.
We are called to check our own privilege as, for the most part, heterosexual cisgender white Wisconsinites, to recognize the ways in which we contribute to unjust systems that keep minority populations under oppression, and to speak up for and work for change.
We are called to proclaim the good news of Jesus Christ, which is all of the above and more, to a world that instead feeds on fear and complacency, refusing to heed God’s will for creation; even when we are the fearful, ignorant, complacent ones.
And it will make us very, very uncomfortable.
And yet, Jesus does something uncomfortable: he washes his disciples’ feet. And he tells them, “So if I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet. For I have set you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you.” And also, “I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. By this, everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.”
On my trip to Mexico City, I learned something about poverty, and I learned something about humanity. I was pushed out of my comfort zone to experience life in a way I never knew. And I came home better for it. And I hope we left those little children a little better for it, too.
In Costa Rica, I visited a church that was born in and out of extreme poverty. And through them, I learned and saw what it was like to live the radical good news that Jesus taught and preached, from people who had no hangups about eating with the poor, or the sick, or the dirty; people I realized I’d been avoiding.
Spending the evenings with the Family Promise folks made me realize that I had so many preconceived notions about poverty and homelessness in the United States, and that those preconceptions were harmful. They influenced my actions in ways that hurt real human beings on a personal scale. Spending time with them opened my eyes to my own privilege.
Even hearing from my friend that he would date me if I were gay made me realize my views on sexuality were uninformed, that my views hurt people, and that I needed to do some soul-searching and introspection for myself and who I am.
Each and every time, it was uncomfortable. But each and every time, the experience opened me up to the working of the Gospel, to the movement of the Holy Spirit. Each one was an experience of love, the same kind of uncomfortable love that Jesus showed his disciples in washing their feet.
The same kind of love he showed them in the garden later that night, when he went willingly with the guards to protect his disciples.
The same kind of love he showed the following night when he was willing to die, a scapegoat, a state-sponsored sacrifice, so that he could demonstrate God’s willingness to break the cycle of hate and violence that has so consumed us as human beings.
We are called into uncomfortable situations because in those situations, we find God. We find God who has been there the whole time, showing unconditional love to the people in those situations and challenging those outside them to really see the people affected by them. God is not comfortable—anyone who’s told you otherwise was outright lying—because God never lets discomfort get in the way of acts of self-giving, sacrificial love.
Just as God enters uncomfortable situations to make divine love known, so too are we called to do the same. Though us, God is experienced and known, just as God is experienced and known though those whom we encounter. Because it is in the most uncomfortable places and situations that we experience love.