Jesus knew his hour had come. He knew he would be tortured and crucified. He knew that two of his chosen would fail him, one by betraying him, the other by denying him. He knew the rest would abandon him. The tension within Jesus must have communicated itself to his apostles. They must have sensed the dread and the fear that lay heavily on him, dread and fear that would later that evening force the blood through his pores until it stained the ground about him. Furthermore, the evil Judas intended surely infected the atmosphere of the room with obscene foreboding, with sinister premonition.
Jesus stood up. All looked at him. Conversation ceased. What would he say? Would he try to ease the heaviness that burdened the room? Would he urge loyalty no matter what threats might be hurled at them? Would he talk about their dreams, their hopes, their aspirations? Jesus said nothing. He removed his outer garment, tied a towel about his waist, picked up a jug of water and a bowl. He went down on his knees, washed the feet of each of his disciples. He washed them, as would a slave or a servant.
The apostles were appalled. Not simply because their Lord and Master knelt before them like a slave to wash their feet. Their reaction was because they knew that Jesus’ gesture would change the life they had hoped to live with him. They had hoped to rule with Jesus. This was not how they wanted to understand “rule” or “power.” So Jesus made it explicitly clear to them: “If I wash your feet,” he said, “you should wash one another’s feet.”
He continued the meal, giving himself to them not only as a slave or servant. He gave himself totally to them, to be their food, their strength. Finally, from this room he walked out to his death, that through his death he might give them life.