If Jesus has washed my feet…

By Matthew Woolford

According to John 13:8– 9, “Peter said to him, “You will never wash my feet.” Jesus answered him, “Unless I wash you, you will have no inheritance with me.” Simon Peter said to him, “Master, then not only my feet, but my hands and head as well.”

On March 1, I embarked on a Lenten pilgrimage to St Joseph RC, Vance River; Sacred Heart RC, La Brea; and St Thomas More RC, Fyzabad. Having lived all my life in the northern half of Trinidad, I took delight in the splendour of the southland.

The sun was bright, the sky was blue, the hills were green and rolling, and in a caravan that included over 300 people, we left the Church of the Incarnation, Maloney, to rediscover our faith in places I soon realised I did not want to leave.

At St Joseph, I spent most of the time at ‘Our Lady’s Garden’, which held a simple beauty, though being far from basic.

At St Thomas More, our final stop, we had Mass, and were reminded by Fr Augustine Kintu, parish priest at Our Lady of All Nations, D’Abadie that, invoking calypsonian ‘Blaka Dan’, “… The day sin ‘up and leave’ was a blessing!”

My most polished experience of the day, however, came in La Brea, where in keeping with the Sixth Promise of the Sacred Heart of Jesus to St Margaret Mary, “Sinners will find in my Heart the source and infinite ocean of mercy”, my feet were washed.

This came about through curiosity and a willingness to venture just a little bit further. Seeing the water from the church, I knew a beach had to be nearby. I asked two hospitality attendants about its closeness, and they informed me that I was only a five-minute walk away.

So, with some help from the residents, I negotiated my way to Station Beach, took off my shoes, rolled up my pants, and entered the water. And feeling strength restored through my feet, I washed my hands and head as well. I even put some of the water into my mouth to taste the salt of the sea and of the earth, knowing that it was good, and good for me.

When I returned to the church with my pants wet, a third hospitality attendant commented, jokingly, “Well, you ‘eh’ easy…”

It was perfect preparation to receive the lecture that we were all called to do the work of St Vincent de Paul, and while it may always end in an act of charity, it must always begin with a word of charity.

We were instructed to be kind with our words, as negative comments easily and quickly undress the recipient of his or her dignity. This hit me directly, as I had to admit, despite attempts to deny it, that feeling hurt is human and inescapable, and it applied to me as well.

Many of my interpersonal challenges over the years have stemmed from my lack of emotional intelligence and vocabulary to appropriately articulate to the other person that he or she was hurting me, offending my sense of personal dignity or undermining my desire for decision-making autonomy.

One of the strategies I am now experimenting with is walking away. Absorbing pressure is sometimes required to achieve a greater objective, letting go requires trust and strength, but silence is golden. Not every comment warrants my attention and not every rebuke requires my presence to be escalated to an all-out war.

This pilgrimage also prepared me for the next week of Lenten Mission which I attended at Our Lady of Fatima, Curepe. The theme was Discipleship. Fr Gregg Durham O Carm led us on a journey to the inner life, where deliberate work is required before it is ever manifested in meaningful mission.

Lent is a severely short season, and it appears I have my work cut out for Ordinary Time:

• I must do a more intentional job of carrying my brother’s and sister’s burdens, whomsoever he or she may be. I have often resisted this challenge out of fear that it may take away from the work I wanted to do in my life. But if Jesus has washed my feet, what excuse do I have?
• I must do a more intentional job of praying for others, especially those who have offended me. I have often resisted this challenge thinking I was the one who needed help to do better and not the other person. But if Jesus has washed my feet, what excuse do I have?
• I must do a more intentional job of hearing and not ‘merely listening’ to the needs of my neighbours. I have often resisted opportunities to get involved, thinking that other people’s business was not my own. But if Jesus has washed my feet, what excuse do I have anymore?