Washing Feet - Two poems

Washing Feet

The Lord of glory, nearing ugly death,
Gathered his band of still-proud disciples
In a borrowed upper room.
The room had been cleansed
    Of all yeast,
    Of all defilement,
But the disciples themselves still needed cleansing.
They all had dirty feet.
    One had a dirty heart
    That was never to be cleansed.
They'd removed their sandals as they entered,
But their feet were grimy, smelly, unclean
    From the dirt of the streets
    Now crowded with thousands of pilgrims.
Who would wash the feet?
Each disciple wondered,
But thought such work beneath him:
Surely, I'm not the lowest.
Then Jesus, the Master,
Stooped to wash the feet;
Knelt to serve
Those who didn't deserve
Such love.



Washing Feet - A Disciple's Reaction

If I were more humble,
I would not grumble
At washing some feet.
No, I'd find it sweet.
I'd want to be serving
Those who're deserving
Such simple attention.
I'd serve without mention.
Lord, help me in killing
Pride that is filling
Life up with me
Instead of with Thee.

...Whoever would be first among you must be slave of all.
--Mark 10:44, ESV