He Who Would Be Chief Among You

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    And He rose from supper,
    Poured water in a basin,
    And washed the disciples’ feet.
    Those hands, hardened by the heat
    Of a desert sun, comfortable with cutting trees
    And turning them to tables in Joseph’s shop—
    Those hands that with a wave could stop
    The troubled sea, could touch a leper clean,
    Or triumphantly turn death away
    From the loved daughter on Jairus’ couch—
    Those hands that could gesture
    The heavens open—
    Poured water in a basin,
    And washed the disciples’ feet.
    The lesson lay unlearned,
    But to a few—
    Who trust the paradox
    And hear the call:
    He who would be chief among you
    Let him be the servant of all.