The God of Great Grace
by Max Lucado
He doesn’t speak. He removes his robe and takes the servant’s wrap off of the wall. Taking the pitcher, he pours the water into the basin. He kneels before them with the basin and sponge and begins to wash. The towel that covers his waist is also the towel that dries their feet.
It’s not right.
Isn’t it enough that these hands will be pierced in the morning? Must they scrub grime tonight? And the disciples … do they deserve to have their feet washed? Their affections have waned; their loyalties have wavered.
Look around the table, Jesus. Out of the twelve, how many will stand with you in Pilate’s court? How many will share with you the Roman whip? And when you fall under the weight of the cross, which disciple will be close enough to spring to your side and carry your burden?
None of them will. Not one. A stranger will be called because no disciple will be near.
Don’t wash their feet, Jesus. Tell them to wash yours.
That’s what we want to say. Why? Because of the injustice? Because we don’t want to see our King behaving as a servant? God on his hands and knees, his hair hanging around his face? Do we object because we don’t want to see God washing feet?
Or do we object because we don’t want to do the same?
John 13:12 says, “When he had finished washing their feet …”
Please note, he finished washing their feet. That means he left no one out. Why is that important? Because that also means he washed the feet of Judas. Jesus washed the feet of his betrayer. He gave his traitor equal attention. In just a few hours Judas’s feet would guide the Roman guard to Jesus. But at this moment they are caressed by Christ.
That’s not to say it was easy for Jesus.
That’s not to say it is easy for you.
That is to say that God will never call you to do what he hasn’t already done.
From A Gentle Thunder
Copyright (W Publishing Group, 1999) Max Lucado