This actually was a new word for me, although the concept is not. Pedilavium is defined as “The ceremony of footwashing performed on Maundy Thursday in memory of Christ’s action before the Last Supper.”

It is the practice of many congregations to choose 12 people, representing the 12 disciples, to have their feet washed. At the Lutheran Church of Honolulu, where I was organist for 35 years, it was frequently the members of the church council whose feet got washed. Other times, it was just representatives of the congregation — and once, I was chosen to be one of those whose foot (that’s right, only one foot) got washed. So I dutifully took off only one organ shoe while the other got water poured over it. You really couldn’t call it “washing” because there was no soap, just clean water and a clean towel.

In The Christian Century magazine, I read with great interest the article called “The strange, humbling ritual of foot washing: It makes me uncomfortable. That’s by design.” I especially could resonate to this passage:

Almost everyone has feet, yet feet have an uncanny quality. After decades now of being involved in foot washing, I have noticed that people frequently apologize for their feet, if they are willing to expose them at all. People tend to find their own feet unsightly: knobs, calluses, bunions, corns, misshapen toes, warts. Most of us keep our feet covered most of the time. To have our feet exposed, washed, even touched by a stranger in the context of church is an act of great vulnerability. It seems like a bad idea to many people. What was Jesus thinking?

If you haven’t guessed it by now, I was one of twelve people chosen by Father Paul Lillie at St. Mark’s Episcopal to have my feet washed this year — and that was last night. To tell you the truth, I felt more nervous about it than playing any of the music, and I even told some of the choir members it was like being naked in front of the whole congregation! And I was told both feet would be “washed.”

Mercifully …

At St. Mark’s each “washee” was in a single pew by themselves, so you didn’t see anybody’s else’s feet. This was in great contrast to LCH where all the “washees” sat next to each other in a single pew.

There was a clean towel at the end of each pew so we were assured that no germs would be spread.

But — oooh, the water was cold!!!

In the Christian Century article I cited before, at St. George Episcopal Church in Leadville, Colorado, the ritual of footwashing is much more extensive:

On Maundy Thursday, we encourage people to leave their shoes at the door. We carry big tubs of warm water into the sanctuary. In washing feet we use handmade soaps, and we offer to apply lotion at the end. We walk an odd line between a ritual foot washing and a pedicure. Foot washing is essential to our theology of hospitality and incarnation; it is a concrete way that we live out our mission to “seek and serve Christ in all persons.”

Very often the offer of foot washing is refused. People don’t want to have their feet washed because it’s awkward, it’s weird, and it makes the recipient feel vulnerable. But when people do accept the task of washing one another’s feet, a strange and beautiful magic unfolds.

Wow, footwashing as a kind of pedicure — that’s wild!

For 35 years, I played Bach’s “O Lamm Gottes unschüldig” as the prelude at Maundy Thursday, and last night was the first time I played it in 12 years — since it’s been that long since I retired from the Lutheran Church of Honolulu! It went moderately well but I miscalculated the timing of it by almost a whole minute, starting the service 50 seconds late instead of on the dot. Sorry ’bout that!

I also was asked to play an organ improvisation after the intonation to the Gloria, something I had done for years at the Easter Vigil, but never at Maundy Thursday. I decided to play Bach’s “Lobt Gott, ihr Christen, allzugleich, BWV 609” from the Orgelbüchlein at this point last night, and for the Easter Vigil tomorrow, I will be playing an excerpt from Bach’s “Prelude in G major, BWV 568.”

This is the last time the organ will be heard until the Easter Proclamation at the Easter Vigil. At the Lutheran Church I used to make a grand spectacle of closing and locking the organ doors, which were visible to everyone. At St. Mark’s, the organ console is hidden — but I turned off the organ anyway after playing the Bach “Lobt Gott.”

In case you want to hear what BWV 609 sounds like, click here.

Last night, “Lobt Gott” was followed immediately by the a cappella Gloria from the “Short Communion Service in the Phrygian Mode” by Charles Wood.

So today, Good Friday, is a day of rest for me, before the onslaught of Easter and my four services.