Jen's Footwashing journal
God and the 1st Renaissance Faire
On the morning of the first day, one of our "disciples" came to me
and told me that a man was furious about our passing out scrolls and
he was going to report us. It was decided I should go to the director
of the faire and discuss it with him. I went to faire headquarters,
showed the director a scroll and he smiled and gave us permission. On
my way out, a man burst by me, our scroll in hand, looking like he was
ready to explode in rage and headed straight for the director. I kept
walking, but the directorís assistant chased me down, (I loved being
hailed as "Foot Washer, Foot Washer!") and said we could not hand out
scrolls except at our booth. This was a hard blow as many from my
church had signed up to pass out scrolls.
The next morning, the same angry man, "The Barbarian," a man of
some importance at the faire, came to us to talk about God. He would
not let me wash his feet, but he was congenial, had a flask of wine,
and sat down in the booth to tell me his reasons for disbelieving in
God. Eventually it came out that his girlfriend had died just 3 weeks
There were moments when I could see "the look" Iíd come to
recognize in almost all the people Iíd witnessed to. After breaking
down New Age walls, people would stare wide eyed and frozen at me as
they recognized that there was an absolute Truth. Frozen in fear at
the hope and recognition of a Holy God who loves and died for them.
That look was wavering on the Barbarianís face, and he kept reaching
back for his now empty arguments and defenses. Before I knew what was
happening, I placed my hand over his, bowed my head and began praying
out loud that the Father would open the Barbarianís eyes, ears and
heart to Him this day. Words flowed out of me without my thinking, as
I sat amazed that this man of pride was allowing me to pray over him
and listening to myself as if someone else was speaking, as He was.
When I opened my eyes, the Barbarian was sitting with his head bowed,
eyes closed, and said Amen. He left, and this man that is some kind of
roving watchdog of the faire, was not seen for the rest of the day
that I could see.
A woman stood outside of the booth, looking in hungrily, I noticed
there was something different about her right away. It took a lot of
coaxing to get her to come in and sit down in the shade, and she came
insisting she did not want her feet washed. We talked for a while, but
I was overwhelmed by a need to wash her feet. There had been a few
that did not wish their feet washed and I didnít push, I didnít feel
an urgency, but I could not help but insist to this one, it was so
strong. I took her first boot off over meek protests and my heart
skipped a beat as I saw the sores all over her feet. I wondered if it
could be AIDS.
In the flash of an instant, I looked down at my hands, recognizing
Godís answer to my previous prayers, that my hands be free of cuts or
My hands struck me as the most beautiful I had ever seen
them, nails longer than ever, none of the usual cracking to the side
of fingernails, throughout the last minute rush of the building of the footwashing booth, not one scratch, not one blemish, I saw Godís
strength in my hands, it was as though God was speaking to me that
my hands were invincible, and I dove into the washing without
hesitation and began to minister to her about God.
I looked up at her eyes and saw they were tearing up, this
beautiful child of God, who had been so worried about someone seeing
and reacting to her feet, was being touched by the Holy Spirit. I knew
to be quiet a moment, I knew that some song playing in the background
by Margaret Becker was ministering to her as well. I oiled and
massaged her feet for at least half an hour, sharing the Good News,
that Jesus Christ loved her, that He had a passion for her, that He
died for her that He could have a relationship with her. She had a face
I will never forget. When she left she looked shaken, hopeful and
shaken, holding her scroll she was gone.
Many people come back to
tell me they received a healing, but sadly, I never saw Kate again.
Hopefully someday I will in heaven.
Cont'd on page
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