Christ, my Lord,
my Supreme, my Master,
my slave on your knees,
wash my feet.
Let me chafe at the wrongness of it,
and wonder at its grace,
eternally confounded.
For my request,
and for my failure to request,
be gracious to me.
At my feet come between me
and my pride and self-hatred.
Bathe me in your mercy,
wash away my judging mind,
baptize me in self-emptying,
cleanse me with forgiveness.
That which I withhold in shame
make beautiful.
Christ, for you
who wash the feet of the despised,
who serve and honor your Beloved,
I accept my place.
In every moment of my day,
for every person I meet:
no greater than my master,
may I kneel.
O Christ my Slave,
my Savior,
wash my feet.
.
.
__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net
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