Last year while preaching at a choir camp in Urambo parish (area) Tanzania, the Holy Spirit inspired me to wash the feet of those present. I thought it was to show them that I had not come as a muzungu (white man) to be given the best chicken, soft drinks and place to sleep but rather to serve them as Jesus did.
...The Holy Spirit had another agenda. I learned just how deeply God served me.
In America no matter how hard I try I always wash North American feet on Maundy Thursday. They are nice feet. At times someone wears fuzzy socks or nylons, either of which only leads to slight embarrassment.
Our feet do not walk unshod through chicken and cow manure. They do not spend their entire lives without shoes or socks walking in dust for mile after mile after mile. They do not have half-inch-thick callouses on the entire sole, nor are they prone to fungus, bacterial and other diseases which can make the owner gravely ill and in some countries die.
They do not walk barefoot in places North Americans would not want to walk barefoot.
And as I washed the many feet of those who came to me and felt the grit and years of use God broke my heart, for my heart was as hard and as dirty as the feet I was washing when He offered up His life for me. The first feet I washed were those of a little sick albino girl. Last summer there was a rumor that albino's were lucky and some were being killed and sold to witch doctors for money. These are the feet Jesus came to wash. These are the feet he called us to wash.
I has changed my life.
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