I’ve lost track of keys, phones, children, but not yet forgotten about me. Despite some practice intended to counteract it, I always remember my self. Self would like to know: how are we going to get all those things I want? And how are we going to steer this story to my happy end?
“What about me?” says self. What are we going to do about me?
Don’t you forget about me.
Maybe the condition of self is a lack of trust. Self is only a problem if I come to believe self is my solution. There is a way of finding I have everything I need, and am headed where I’m supposed to go.
Jesus knew the Father had given everything into his hands and that he had come from God and was returning to God.
O, self of little faith.
And were I to remember such a wonderful thing, what would I do with all that freedom? from self-doubt? from self-pity? from self-seeking?
What would I find?
So he got up from the table and took off his robes. Picking up a linen towel, he tied it around his waist. Then he poured water into a washbasin and began to wash the disciples’ feet
These two verses always strike me as a statement of such unmatched human freedom, followed by an act of such divine love. I forget those two concepts are so intimately linked.