The lights were dim as she entered the sanctuary, carrying a bucket of
warm water and a rag. These few moments
alone at the altar were hers to quietly and reverently be both Mary and Martha
at once. Kneeling on the cold tile, she
dipped her hands into the water and rung out the rag. Wiping the floor, cleaning away the
footprints of activity, the dust of being, the salty drops of tears and
perspiration, she thought “Will you let me be your servant?”
Images rushed in of altars from bygone days. Who cleaned the floor after the sacrifice? Was the stone blood-soaked? Even now, the question remains, what can I
sacrifice for you, God? What am I
willing to give? And through my
sacrifice, what will I receive? Looking
up, the answer: the empty cross hangs
above the altar. A constant reminder of
what is to come, it hangs, empty, waiting as we wait for the birth of the
One.
The water cools as the tile is transformed. Scuff marks and wax drips and splatters where
consecrated wine splashed are removed.
The baby is coming. Let us make
ready this birthing place.
In a posture of penitence and prayer these moments of washing provide
the cadence to listen and the rhythm to pay attention. Breathing in and out prayers of confession
and prayers of petition: a private moment for reflection. Focusing on the task at hand, albeit
methodical, the washer is a washed in the holy of the space, of the moment, of
the time with God.
Come, o come Emmanuel.