I just found this lurking on my old files in my computer. I cannot remember where I picked it up from, or who wrote it. But it is certainly worth sharing on the day that we remember Jesus washing his disciples' feet.
Sometimes, thank God, the foolish things of this life befuddle our conventional wisdom. The simplest things pull the rug from under the feet of those of us who like to stand proud.
Sometimes the poor show us what it means to be rich. Sometimes the voiceless shout their piece through deafening silence. Sometimes David beats Goliath. Sometimes we find ourselves touched by the untouchable.
The upside-down, inside-out kingdom of God flickers and flashes into life before us. We snatch fleeting glimpses of the now-but-not-yet land to which we belong – caught, as we are, between a world that is passing and a world that is to come.
But we can’t always see for looking – searching for faith as we do among the big names and big Christian gatherings, when, sometimes, the Message prefers to arrive in still smaller voices, through whispers and echoes from the places and people we’re least expecting.
Prepare the way of the Lord, the prophets cried. But even they can’t have been fully prepared for a Saviour who washed the feet of those who would follow in his footsteps, or a God whose star-flinging hands were splintered on a wooden cross.
Sometimes the poor show us what it means to be rich. Sometimes the voiceless shout their piece through deafening silence. Sometimes David beats Goliath. Sometimes we find ourselves touched by the untouchable.
The upside-down, inside-out kingdom of God flickers and flashes into life before us. We snatch fleeting glimpses of the now-but-not-yet land to which we belong – caught, as we are, between a world that is passing and a world that is to come.
But we can’t always see for looking – searching for faith as we do among the big names and big Christian gatherings, when, sometimes, the Message prefers to arrive in still smaller voices, through whispers and echoes from the places and people we’re least expecting.
Prepare the way of the Lord, the prophets cried. But even they can’t have been fully prepared for a Saviour who washed the feet of those who would follow in his footsteps, or a God whose star-flinging hands were splintered on a wooden cross.
