The Foot Washing Maggie Tapert

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It was Saturday morning. Day two. The women sat in the circle but their energy was wild and unsettled. These Quibecoise had a kind of inner craziness which was quite confusing. They had risen early this morning in good spirits and immediately begun singing songs in French. I soon realized there was a great deal of emotion in their songs; expressing things I did not know about, things I could not begin to understand. Their loves, their disappointments, their longings even their patriotism was deeply woven through the verses and the melodies. But on this particular morning, the women were loud, giddy and rambunctious like a bunch of school boys. Oh god, I thought to myself, how will I ever get them ready for this morning's ritual.

Foot washing.  They had done it many times before my translator was quick to tell me. It was no longer special she said and suggested that I think up something sexier. I was convinced that a foot washing ritual was the perfect way to bring the women's group together with the men. It would give the men a chance to go fully into their female side and do nothing but receive and it would give the women an opportunity to experience giving generously without thought of return. Sure it would bring up all kinds of feminist issues. Sure it would make some women angry and  fearful. Some women could feel annoyed even abused. Good. That is what happens in seminars. It was perfect. But here they were, 25 women hootin' and hollerin'and singing football cheers on this sunny Saturday morning. What was I to do? What energy should I call in? A short prayer: Oh Goddess, show me what to do with these wild women. Give me the words that will open their hearts to whatever teaching is in store for them.

Instantly a picture of Mary Magdelena flashed on my inner screen. I saw her hunched over with her hair hanging down all wavy and soft and shimmering as she knelt at the feet of Christ. That is it. Thank you Goddess. I called out to the women and asked them to quiet down and get ready for a guided meditation. The room grew silent. We began to follow the breath and let go of activity and thought.  As I began to speak, I felt my face grow hot and my body became electrically charged. I knew that Spirit was with me. The words began to flow out of me. They took over my vocal cords, my tongue, my throat to communicate the picture that I saw in my head.

She was lovely. She was silent. She washed his feet with the tears that flowed from her eyes. She didn't hold back. She let her tears and her love flow. And he received them. She didn't hurry. She took care touching and kissing those feet. It was a sacred anointing. Then with the tenderness of a lover, she dried his feet with her long silken hair. He watched in silence. Receiving. She took from her robes a flask which was hung on a silken cord around her neck. She poured out a heavenly scented oil, a drop at a time and caressed it into his precious skin. The feet of the Beloved. Words were unnecessary, her hands and heart said it all. This is what the ritual is about, I told the women. In this very humble act, is the potential for a very deep loving. Take Mary Magdelena with you. Keep her in your heart as you perform this loving purifying ritual. The women wept. The very same women who had been singing football cheers just ten minutes before.

The women washed the feet of the men and I never witnessed a more profoundly beautiful and moving ritual. Several men were moved to tears. One man told me later; never, never had he felt so acknowledged, so fully accepted, so completely loved.  As he pushed the tears from his eyes, he looked away in some embarrassment and in a rough voice repeated, 'never'.


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