by Claire McKeever-Burgett
Here we are on this Holy Thursday, protesting within—
“Not my feet,” “Not this night,” “Not by that person,” “I am
not worthy,” “This is just plain weird.”
Some of us are eager to touch the water, run to the well,
Still others of us are timid, shy, not fully comfortable with
the cleansing, loving, hopeful touch of another.
Here we are on the edge of the basin, in the midst of the downpour,
wandering in the desert, looking for a drink.
We find ourselves dirty, smelly, calloused, bruised. Our feet
are tired, sore, worn out, lost and broken.
Here we are gathered around a table, sharing a meal,
hearing the words of Jesus and taking them to heart.
Won’t you help us, Child of the Holy? Won’t you join us, yet again,
in the midst of our confusion; in the midst of our fear?
Won’t you take our feet, as ugly as they are, and make them
whole and thus, holy, again?
Your voice beckons us, “Come, wade in the water. Come, love
one another. Come, do as I did.”
And so we obey. And so we come. And so we listen. And so
we cleanse. And so we love. All so we can embody the love
and care of you, Holy Jesus, on this Thursday of Holy Week.
[Silence.]
Amen.
Permission is granted for use in corporate setting. Copyright © 2014 The Upper Room.
Claire McKeever-Burgett serves on the staff of The Upper Room in Nashville, TN. An ordained Alliance of Baptist pastor, she writes often at pastorpoet.com.
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