Feet

Dirty feet…
Are not the first thing I think of
When I think of my Lord.

 
No…
When I think of dirty feet
I think of baby toes finding mud for the first time and
Little kid feet making little kid prints on freshly washed floors
I think of work boots and dress shoes after a long day and
Walks on the beach with sand in your toes
I think of runners feet, pounding the pavement, sweating from exertion
And my grandmothers feet, which no longer touch the floor.

 
But dirty feet..
Are not the first thing I think of
When I think of my Lord.

 
When I think of dirty feet…
I think of feet that walk long miles to find water
And feet that run from enemies
I think of feet that hop and jump from play
And feet that no longer exist due to the ravages of war.
I think of feet that carry the wounded
And feet that walk through lifes ruins.

 
Dirty feet…
Are not the first thing I think of
When I think of my Lord.

 
When I think of dirty feet…
I think of the man who washes his feet in the public sink at 35th and Troost
And the woman who follows, with one striped sock and one flip flop.
I think of the feet that carry deceit,
And I think of the feet that carry change.
I think of children who are excited to own a pair of shoes
And I think of children who have so many, they can’t choose.
I think of the feet that walk through this building
And I think of the feet of those who do not.

 
But dirty feet…
Dirty feet
Are not the first thing I think of
When I think of my Lord.

 
Yet, I am brought to pause…
I breath in a prayer
And

 
When I consider
The feet of one who would walk away in denial
Not once, not twice, but three times
I think of my Lord

 
When I consider
The feet of the one who would hide behind a child
Those cowering, dusty feet
I think of my Lord

 
When I consider
The feet of the one who would walk to deliver a kiss
For a sack full of coin and chance at coerced happiness
I think of my Lord

 
And I look at my own
And wonder
When will I walk away
Not once, not twice, but more?

 
I look at my own
And wonder
When have I hidden behind another
Shivering in fear

 
I look at my own
And figure
My feet too, could have walked to kiss
My lover, my friend, my Lord.

 
And yet that night…
Jesus wrapped a towel around his waist
Threw a rag over his shoulder
And washed the feet of denial
Washed the feet of cowerdness
Washed the feet of betrayal.

 
He continued around the room
And washed the feet of anger
Of hate and hurt and disillusionment
He washed the feet of peacelessness
And he washed the feet of injustice.

 
My Lord, washed these dirty, grimy, dusty feet…

 
And when he stood up,
He looked at the feet that he had washed
As the hour drew near
And he knew that these feet…

 
These feet that run and crawl and carry and work and trod
These feet that could shore up and tear down, run with or run against…

 
These feet
Where his feet.

 
And so he says,
To you and to me
Do this, as I have done to you.

 
Love one another.

 
Dirty feet and all.

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