Washing Feet Thoughts on Holy Thursday 2016

A Holy Thursday

(marybeth)   

Slipping off my sandals, I peel away a bit of skin.

A bit of death

between the toes 

insists on sticking.

I reach to grab it

noticing then 

the thickness

of my nails,

the shadows of gray,

evidence of fungal life.

I shudder at the thought 

of a parasite

growing in the folds

of my feet. 

And more,

the shame,

the wonder and blame

of feet unsightly

in his gaze.

The neglect and busyness 

of my life

is reflected here,

a reason for rejection

and fear

apparent here,

on this big toe

bent with time.

I wonder how to hide

the damages,

the ugliness.

It is too late. 

He is before me

and within me,

around and 

through me,

sensing my shame,

bowing low,

knees to stone,

taking my feet in his hands,

Oh God, caressing my sole!

Heat rises in my checks.

He is pouring the water,

a flow of soft light. 

The God in his hands,

stroking, holding tight.

I want to hide 

from this ablution

but this water 

cleans inside,

and every defense

submitted,

every pride given 

to the peace

and the purpose 

of the night.

A badgering thought,

I am not worthy.

I want to reverse

everything,

bathe His feet,

caress His toes,

kneel low in the Presence

and glow of generosity.

Without a word,

he makes me understand

this demonstration is a gift,

a lesson in servantship,

leadership that bows Its head

and genuflects 

recognizing the ones 

that belong to us.

I belong to Him

and feel the conversion,

my unworthiness becoming 

a steward to His Greatness,

my reluctance becoming

the Will of God

that sons of men

may turn within

and find a fountain there.

I feel His Love.

I feel anointed,

apostled and appointed

to forgive the foul.

But who am I to believe

that I could set men free?

Finally he rises,

the tallest of angels (!)

with a

a bowl,

a towel 

and a kiss.

Prompting me to minister,

wide eyes reveal His bliss.

I hear Him say,

Lead this way, 

This is a path of strength.