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Maundy Thursday. Almost two weeks ago, I was asked to tell my father that he is to be one of the twelve 'apostles' in tonights washing of the feet in mass. What I didn't know was that each apostle is to bring another person to join them (guess who). That left me scrambling for a quick shower to get to church asap.
Fast forward to the mass -- homily to be exact. The priest's talk revolved around the mandate (hence, Maundy) that Christ left us, which is to love each other. I was struck when he talked about how we should love one another, and not only look out for ourselves. I was rebuked by the Lord no less. I examined my Lent this year and found only conceit and narrow-mindedness, repressed anger and wounded pride. I almost cried from the way I acted towards others and the chances that I had missed to create new memories with the people I cherish. And in that moment, all angst melted. Just in time for Holy Week.
Now as if that wasn't enough, I got another lesson. Remember the washing of the feet thingy? Well the companions of the apostles were supposed to get their feet cleaned (ritualistically) as well. The apostles were supposed to do that after their feet had been cleaned by the priest. Looking at what's happening to the apostles before me, I saw the usual: a bit of water, some soap, little rinsing, a dab of a towel.
Lol if that was all it was.
When it was my father's turn to wash my feet (well, foot. Ritualistic remember?), he showed me there was a tiny bit of detail that I didn't see.
He kissed my foot.
Knowing that he will kiss the foot of his companion, my father chose me. Not my mom, not my sister, not my brother. Me.
The twin of the divine slap just came, and I am grateful for the experience it brought.
I'm more than grateful to my father, feeling the love and respect that he has towards me.
And know I feel like crying. Happily.
