If Christ descends to the dead, to those most damned “who in former times did not obey, when God waited patiently in the days of Noah,” and “broke in pieces” the prison gates of hell, who are we to rebuild them?

“He did not open the bars of iron, but cut them asunder, in order that the guard becomes powerless. Where there is neither door, nor lock, there whoever enters will not be guarded. So, if Christ breaks in pieces, who else can repair it?” (Chrysostom - Homily on Cemetery & Cross)

“Today our Lord goes around all the places of Hades;today he ‘broke in pieces the doors of bronze and cut asunder the bars of iron.’ Note the exactness of expression. He did not say ‘opened the gates of bronze,’ but ‘broke in pieces the gates of bronze,’ in order that the whole prison become useless

Holy Saturday reminds us that Jesus is an abolitionist of cosmic proportions.

Jesus can’t wash the feet of the person who won’t sit at the table with his queer friends who are already there.

Jesus can’t wash the feet of the cop who lands another blow against his jaw.

What Jesus says to them: “Forgive them, Father, for they know not what they do.”

Jesus can’t wash the feet of an ICE agent who has him handcuffed in the back of his car.

Jesus can’t wash the feet of a President who wouldn’t so much as glance at what he would surely view as a “loser mentality.”

Jesus can’t wash the feet of the pastor who won’t take off his $1,500 sneakers.

So, I don’t think it’s helpful to depict Jesus doing these things, not because Jesus wouldn’t be willing to, but because the recipients are demonstrably unwilling to receive them.

He comes to town amidst the crowds, unassuming, unhoused, posted up in a small flat with his friends eating and drinking and tending to their weary bodies.

If you aren’t there, if you’re somewhere else, you’ll miss it.

The message of Maundy Thursday is that if you spend your days in the halls of power, if you submit yourself to the governing authorities’ claims of divine authority over life and death, if you serve as a vessel of its violence, you will miss the man from Galilee.

Jesus does not wash everyone’s feet because not everyone is at the table.

Some are gathering to prepare to arrest him.

Others are writing laws to keep him on the other side of the border.

Some just won’t go to that part of town.

I agree with Day and the overall intention behind depicting Jesus’ act of service in ways that confront our own prejudices and hardness of heart. But it’s not the most fitting message for Maundy Thursday, because the reality is that Jesus does not wash everyone’s feet.

The message is designed to confront the individual prejudices we hold in our own minds. It reminds me of this amazing Dorothy Day quote: “I really only love God as much as I love the person I love the least.”

Reflections often portray Jesus in imaginative contemporary settings, washing the feet of figures often chosen for their socially and politically contentious identities: trans women, cops, Trump, unhoused persons, people of other faiths, and so on.

Today is Maundy Thursday when the Church commemorates the event during the Last Supper, recorded in John 13, where Jesus washes his disciples feet.