Holy Thursday

Back in Miami when we were going to St Timothy's, I received a call from someone at the Church asking me if I would be one of the twelve people whose feet Father would wash. It was to be done at an early evening prayer service. I agreed to be one of the twelve. It was held at five o-clock and Pat said she would not go, she was fixing dinner. All the kids had something to do at Miller Park so I went alone. We twelve were seated in straight back chairs in the front of the pews. There was a short prayer service after which Father Gigante came to wash our feet. Father Gigante was a rather gruff person, not what you would call "warm". He seemed always serious and this caused many young people to form a dislike for him. We were asked to remove one shoe and sock. Then father Gigante, using a pillow on which to kneel, came by with a pitcher and basin, kneeled down and washed our feet. This was done by pouring water on the top of the foot and catching the water in the basin. He was given individual paper towels by the server, and then wiped and dried the foot. The towel was given to the person whose foot he had washed. I noted that he made no effort to dry between the toes, merely drying what was easy to get at. When he was finished with one person, he was helped up by a server, another server would move the cushion to the next person, and father Gigante would kneel down before that person and wash a foot. He was in his sixties and needed all the help he could get. The person next to me whispered: "Hey, I thought he was going to wash our feet, one is not enough." I remember thinking: this is all symbolic, don't get so technical, but I said nothing. I was impressed that the stern image that father Gigante projected to the parishioners, at this ceremony, was laid aside and he became merely a humble parish priest doing his duty.