Not all of you are clean, he said:
A glance that spoke no judgment, though
He saw us to the core.
Instead, with all things under him,
He wrapped a towel around his waist
And knelt before our feet.
But Peter, stubborn to the last,
Declared, Lord, you can’t wash my feet!
The servant was not greater than
The master who knelt down.
If I do not wash your feet, he said,
You have no part in me.
Judas, feet now cleansed but soul
Abstaining still from the feast,
Kept his lintel clean from blood
But smeared it on his hands and heart;
The lamb without a blemish wept
And Judas walked outside.
Not all of you are clean, he said;
The basin shook from Judas’ steps
And while we whispered, Lord, not I?
The Spirit, unseen, passed over us,
Saw the pure, unblemished lamb
And saw our filth made clean.
The Consolations of Writing 