You are about to betray me,
causing me the greatest pain and anguish anyone in the universe has ever felt,
and yet I rise from my place at the table,
take off my outer robe,
tie a towel around my waist and kneel before you,
to wash your feet dirty from the streets and valleys of your sojourning.
I am your Lord, and yet not you or any of my followers have offered to wash mine.
We have come the same distance together, walked the same paths,
but my needs you don’t consider.
I place your foot over the basin and begin
wiping away your stains so your walk can begin renewed.
I know what you are about to do — the betrayal that will come later in the night,
how alone I will feel, abandoned by me dearest friends,
forsaken by my Father,
my heart breaking when you finally do it — what’s been coming all along:
turning me over to my enemies so I can be taunted, spit on, beaten, and put to death.
I see all this as I take your clean foot out of the basin,
dry it with a towel, and begin scrubbing the other.
There is much dirt and grime as we’ve been all over the city this day,
as Passover nears and joy for the occasion builds,
I want you spotless for our last meal.
You’ve been stealing all along and plotting my end,
and I see you kissing me in the torchlight as you hand me over to them,
and run into the night as they lead me away.
Your feet are clean, now, my dear friend.
Knowing all that I know, I chose to kneel before you,
giving you one last and perfect example of my love.
And you miss it completely.
“What you are planning to do, go do it now,” I will soon say.
And you’ll head back into the streets to go summon evil.
Your feet with gather their first dirt after the cleansing I gave them,
and I will still pray you won’t be blemished.