“Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery”- or so the saying goes. We imitate what we like. Often, especially as adolescents, we copy what others do- even when they do stupid things- because we want to be included. Hence the classic comment from exasperated mothers, “Well, if Billy Bob jumped off a cliff would you do it, too?” The expected response to this rhetorical question is “no,” but most of the time, the true answer is “yes.” “Yes, I will do a stupid thing if it makes me look cool.” At this point, we moms cast our eyes to heaven and pray that God will protect the clueless until they get one.
Sometimes though, imitation works in our favor, a fact I observed in an elementary art class last week. The teacher was explaining the day’s project when a student started fiddling with her long black hair. Eyes on the instructor, the little girl lifted and turned her hair French twist style, attempting to match the teacher’s. I’m not sure whether the child was even conscious of her fleeting, absent-minded impulse, but it made a profound impression on me. It told me that the teacher was doing something right. In this case, admiration would lead to learning.
If we like a person enough, we can even learn what doesn’t interest us. I took three years of high school German from a delightful teacher we called “Frau Clements” when what I really needed, as an aspiring science major, was Latin. The problem with Latin was the sourpuss septuagenarian iron maiden who taught it. Ironically, the medical vocabulary course required later in my college days was taught by–you guessed it– a septuagenarian iron maiden. You might say that I shot myself in the foot by avoiding high school Latin because it made college harder. But Kay Clements was worth that extra trouble because she made my life richer. Apart from Deutsch, she taught me that we need to have enthusiasm before we can impart it, and that caring can create enthusiasm where interest is lacking. It’s been 53 years since I sat in her class and I can still sing the German drinking song we learned there. But she taught us serious life lessons, too. One of them was a warning about carelessly judging people. “Not every German,” she said quietly, “was a Nazi.” Six words, spoken so softly, yet even now, I can hear them in my mind. Like the art teacher, she made an impression.
Closeted together in time, we influence each other. We might pretend to be solitary sailors on this ship called “life,” but there’s an enormous passenger list. It makes sense to help fellow travelers, because the journey can be rough. Jesus made no bones about it:
So when Jesus had washed their feet and put his outer clothing back on, he took his place at the table again and said to them, “Do you understand what I have done for you? You call me ‘Teacher’ and ‘Lord,’ and do so correctly, for that is what I am. If I then, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you too ought to wash one another’s feet. For I have given you an example—you should do just as I have done for you. I tell you the solemn truth, the slave is not greater than his master, nor is the one who is sent as a messenger greater than the one who sent him. If you understand these things, you will be blessed if you do them.” John 13:12-1
There is nothing inherently holy about ritualistically washing the feet of other church members. I don’t think Jesus intended to instantiate humility through congregational pedicures. However it is very significant that the Son of God knelt before men and cleaned their dirty feet before He died. It was an act of service and a call to service His friends never forgot. For the rest of their lives, they imitated Him and it changed the world.
Of course, Jesus did more than just clean men up. In one sense, He makes all who believe brand spanking new. But once we have this kernel of newness within, we must begin to look closely at the One we love, and imitate what we see. That is when people around us sit up and take notice. Even little girls in art classes. . .
