Holy Thursday--Taking off My Shoes

Holy Thursday—Taking Off My Shoes

For about a year now, I’ve been attending weight watchers meetings. It’s my latest attempt at getting my weight down to where I’d like it to be, and the closest thing I have right now to a church. Once a week, I gather with some good-natured strangers, we share some hopes and struggles, wish each other well.

Some weeks after joining, I identified my “goal weight.” In addition, I identified a “weigh-in outfit,” so that my progress toward my goal weight would be consistently measured. So, every Friday or Saturday I put on my black sweats, a t-shirt (I figure these all weigh about the same), a red sweatshirt and tennis shoes, and step onto the scale. Last summer, I carried that damn sweatshirt with me, so as not to seem to make progress that I hadn’t really earned.

I made pretty steady progress, until October, where I bottomed at 2 pounds over goal. Since then my weight has climbed and dipped, but never touched that magic number, at which I have decided that my weight would be okay. Here I think I need to mention that I have never, in my life—except for a few weeks after a major car accident—thought my weight was okay.

I think I’ve got a little block about it. When I really think about it, I get a little startled at the thought of all the psychic energy that might just be kicked loose—all that effort to condemn myself, all the screwing up of nerve to stroll out in public pretending to a confidence I didn’t have. I can’t imagine thinking I’m okay. I glimpse it as some huge and empty ballroom in my spirit, finally cleared of all the crap I’ve told myself about myself for far too long.

I can’t imagine thinking I’m okay. And that is why, I think, I’m keeping myself from getting there.

And that is why, this Holy Thursday, I’ve decided to take off my shoes.

Most folks at weight watchers slip off their shoes before they step onto the scale. Not me—I figured, what’s the difference? shoes all the time or never—and I added a smidge to my goal weight, to include those tennis shoes. But I’ve had it with the stalling, with the pacing back and forth outside the door of self-acceptance, and I realize that taking off my shoes would pretty likely get me to hit goal this week. And I decided I am ready.

And what has this to do with Holy Thursday?

Tonight’s the night that Jesus started letting go. First, he let go of status—stripping down to wash the feet of his disciples. Then he relinquished loyalty—acknowledging that Judas would betray, Peter would deny him, and all the rest would run. Before another evening fell, he’d lose his freedom, his followers, his faith, and then his life.

And all of it begins with taking off some shoes.

I’ve always admired the fleshiness of Christianity—these people and these stories are nitty-gritty real. I’ve also come to cherish Christianity’s unflinching recognition that not much of this is easy, not much of this is kind. Every holy kindness is set against a backdrop of great suffering—Ruth and Naomi cling together in a society in which unmarried women just might starve; Veronica wipes Jesus’ face as he is crawling, broken, to his death; Joseph of Arimathea takes the tortured body down.

But there are these holy kindnesses—earlier this week, if you follow how the gospels are doled out, Mary took the feet of Jesus in her hands, anointed them with oil. Today, Jesus holds the feet of his disciples, rinses off the grit. I imagine some of them will never feel his touch again. He asks them to remember him, assures them things will turn out right.

A psychic I once visited suggested that I wore big shoes to help myself stay “grounded.” I imagine the sense memory of Jesus’ hands upon their feet might just have kept apostles in their seats at that long table, might have stilled their urge to run as they began to glimpse just what was coming.

Which all sounds more dramatic than me down at the strip mall, taking off my shoes and stepping on the scale and beginning to imagine I’m okay. In addition to the charge of grandiosity, I’m open to the charge that I am cheating, with the taking off of shoes.

But, this Holy Thursday, I am thinking—maybe it’s a kindness, to let myself off of the hook. To drop my strict and self-imposed rules, and let myself succeed. I’m thinking maybe it is time for me to stand on my own feet, to claim this body as it is, and get on with what’s coming next.