Yard sales never cease to amaze me.  People really will buy anything.  And my wife will be happy to sell it to them.  Once, I saw her sell dirt.  Really.  This week, it was a used water bottle festively wrapped with a colorful scarf.  Look, 25 cents is 25 cents.  And somewhere tonight, there is a man feeling great about the incredible deal he found on his new plastic fish tank and authentic Argentinean garb.

I’m also amazed at the generosity of people.  The poster taped to the back of a folding chair read “All proceeds to support mission trips to Uganda and India.”  Because of that poster, we frequently received $1 for a 50 cent kitchen utensil, or $5 for a $1 shirt.  At the end of the day, these heart-felt contributions added up to a three digit blessing for both families involved.

So to the one who now sits upon our tired old couch, to the proud owner of that half-used box of tea bags, and of course to the procurer of the now infamous Fiesta Water Bottle, thank you for helping get us closer to our trips to Uganda and India.  We can’t believe you bought it, but we’re so glad you did.

Recently, I was with a group of guys who were sharing some of their worst DIY disasters. As I  recounted my own misadventures, I tried hard not to sound too pathetic. But, honestly, getting stranded on one’s roof while seized by fits of acrophobic paralysis doesn’t necessarily get you any holes punched in your man card if you know what I mean. (Thanks for talking me down, Darlene. I might still be up there if it weren’t for you.)

Others had similar stories—plumbing turned deep sea diving, electric furnaces exposed as gas-powered imposters, auto repairs that ballooned into something only TARP funds could fix. And like most responsible young men, we placed the blame for our failures squarely where it belonged—on our fathers. They didn’t teach us enough. They didn’t pass down the right genes. We’re talking generational malpractice of epic proportions! But, in the end, we all knew it wasn’t their fault.  After all, stupid is as stupid does. At least that was what Dad said.

So I spent some time thinking about my father and the lessons I have to show for our time together. What did I miss? What did I gain? Who would I be if things had been different? Genetics aside, we are who we are largely out of our experiences and our relationships. And when it comes to my father, I can say there are certainly things that are different because of our journey together, the one we took and the one we never got to take.

Unlike some of my friends, I didn’t have the advantage of growing up with a dad in the house. While I certainly never lacked for any parental guidance, love, or care (thanks, Mom), I did face the reality of chasing after a distant, if not elusive, paternal relationship.

I loved my Dad. I didn’t know him or understand him, but I loved him. Yet, like most sons, I seemed to instinctively need his instruction and approval. Other men were present in my life (most notably my sainted grandfather) and worked hard to provide that male influence for me. But there were still things I felt should come from my dad alone. When I was sixteen, my hope for these things ended when Dad lost a long fight with heart disease.

Obviously, Dad and I didn’t share a close day-to-day bond like some fathers and sons. So his passing, while tragic and difficult, wasn’t necessarily devastating for me. But now, as a father myself, I seem to be missing him the most.

I want so desperately to be a great father, yet I have no road map for raising a son, no practical lessons or experience. And unlike some funny DIY disaster story, this kind of home improvement deserves to be done right. I can’t screw this up.

One friend told of his botched experience installing a light fixture. As it turns out, his type of fixture needed to be installed in reverse order. This is a fact he discovered only after he had nearly completed what should have been a quick job.

“I turned around,” he said, “and there was my wife holding the part I should have installed first, along with the manual. She said, ‘Forget something?’ So, I took it all apart and put it back the right way.”

Wives are good like that. The other day, I was talking with Darlene about Dad. She said, “You know, I watch you with our son, the fun you two have together, the way he clings to you and loves you so much. It’s almost like God is giving you what you never had with your Dad, only in reverse order.”

I know! Right? I was a puddle in the floor. Right there in Bone Fish Grille. I just fanned my face and shouted, “Man, those Bang Bang Shrimp are HOT!” But there was no recovery. She had uncovered a great truth of God’s love and faithfulness in my life, and my cup simply ranneth over.

So when I look back on what I did or didn’t have with my father, whatever lessons I failed to master, it’s almost as if I can see God quietly allowing me to build my life the best way I know how.  And now He’s standing there with a missing piece and the instructions saying, “Forget something?” And I did. I forgot my father—my Heavenly Father.

Could it be that the lessons I thought I had missed I’m actually learning right now? So, I guess I’m going to take it all apart and put it back the right way. The good news is: I’m not alone. I do have a Father, one who loves me and can teach me any lesson I need to learn.

How thankful I am for my wife, for my children, for a mother, and for grandparents who taught me how to love and to be loved. And how thankful I am for a God who seeks to be my Father and walks with me, no matter how big a mess I make of things.

After he said these things, Jesus became visibly upset, and then he told them why. “One of you is going to betray me.” John 13:21

The twelve men were most likely still trying to process what was happening.  Jesus was washing their feet.  He had gone to each of them, one by one, performing the most humble and menial of tasks with the love and care of a Creator for his created.

Now, as He takes His place at the table once again, He says, “So now you’re clean.  But not every one of you.”  Oops. Did he skip one?  Let’s see.  Twelve men, that’s twenty four feet.  No, that’s all of them.  So what did Jesus mean by this?

Here in the middle of this touching act of service, an act that foreshadows the ultimate sacrifice Jesus would soon make, comes a reveal more shocking than anything we’ve seen on “Lost.”

Verse 21 says, “Jesus became visibly upset, and then he told them why. ‘One of you is going to betray me.’” If they had commercials in first century AD, they would have cut to one here.

By now, we know the rest of the story.  Jesus identifies Judas as His betrayer, sending him out to “Do it, and get it over with.”  While the other eleven disciples are still confused, it’s clear to us that Jesus knew as he washed Judas’ feet what was to happen.  Jesus knew what Judas would do.  And still He washed the feet of the man who would soon hand Him over to a brutal and shameful death.

So, when Jesus said earlier, “I have set an example that you should do as I have done for you,” did He also mean washing the feet of the very one who least deserved it?

And if so, what does that mean for us?  What does this tell us about how Jesus treats us?  What does this tell us about how we are to treat one another?

Then Jesus answered, “Will you really lay down your life for me? I tell you the truth, before the rooster crows, you will disown me three times! John 13:38

Movies have a way of transforming us instantly.  We watch a James Bond movie and leave the theatre noticing every detail about everyone around us, ready to jump into action at the first sign of danger.  We watch a war hero selflessly sacrifice his life for the sake of those around him.  Then we leave ready to do the same, certain that we are prepared to answer just such a call.

This was Peter after his last meal with Jesus.  He had been caught up in the drama playing out around him.  “I will lay down my life for you,” he tells Jesus.  But Jesus knows better.  This was no movie.  This was all too real.

“Will you really lay down your life for me?  I tell you the truth, before the rooster crows, you will disown me three times.”

Ouch.  Talk about busting your bubble.  It’s easy to watch from a distance and consider ourselves worthy of participation.  But when we are the main characters, life seems anything but cinematic.  Peter left the theatre ready to risk it all.  But as Jesus predicts, his first test ends miserably as he in fact disowns Jesus not once, not twice, but three times.

What Peter promised was not a bad thing.  The problem was in his motivation.  He was more focused on his own glory than the necessary sacrifice that would have to be made.  Certainly, there are moments in life when we are called to do the right thing, the hard thing.  But those moments are anything but glorious, let along Oscar-winning performances.

In short, we can be in the movie, or we can watch the movie.  But we can’t do both.  The choice is up to each of us.

I was recently asked to prepare three short devotions on John 13.  This is the first.

Then [Jesus] said, “Do you understand what I have done to you? You address me as ‘Teacher’ and ‘Master,’ and rightly so. That is what I am. So if I, the Master and Teacher, washed your feet, you must now wash each other’s feet. I’ve laid down a pattern for you. What I’ve done, you do. John 13: 17

Disciples didn’t go to day spas, and they didn’t wear New Balance.  Most theologians agree on these points.  And since we’re also fairly certain they didn’t drive Mini Coopers, it’s safe to say they walked . . . everywhere.  The unfortunate conclusion of these historical certainties is that disciples had dirty, ugly, smelly feet.

But so did everyone.  It was in the fine print when you signed up to be a Biblical character.   And so upon entering one’s house, most people compensated as would you or I by washing their feet.  And feet being what they are, you can imagine that this was a pretty personal thing.  In fact, to wash another person’s feet was considered so demeaning that the laws forbid a Jewish slave from being forced to do it.  You had to call in the “B” team, the Gentile slaves, for something like that.

So you can imagine what the disciples must have thought in John 13 when Jesus got on his hands and knees and began to wash their feet.  Other than Gentile slaves, this kind of thing was only done by wives for husbands or children for parents, and maybe disciples for teachers.  But it was never done by teachers for disciples.  And yet there Jesus was, kneeling, washing, and teaching all at the same time.

Peter (typical Peter) protests Jesus’ action. But Jesus says, “If I don’t wash you, you can’t be part of what I’m doing.”

That statement goes a little deeper than the bowl of water on the floor.  Jesus was getting ready to endure humiliation that would make washing feet seem like a walk in the park.  But without it, humanity would be lost, and He loved us too much to let that happen.  The tough part for Peter, and perhaps for us, is in realizing that to be a part of what Jesus did and is doing, we too must learn about true love and be willing to humble ourselves enough to serve one another.

“I’ve laid down a pattern for you,” He said. “What I’ve done, you do.”

So the next time someone shows us their dirty, ugly, smelly feet (or any other part of their anatomy for that matter), perhaps we should consider this story.  As Christians, perhaps we should be the first on the scene to do the jobs that must be done but that no one else wants to do.