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.