Javier Oswaldo Rios Calcedo
Jesus said, "I am humble and meek, learn from me,"
Darkness crept over the crowded city as shadows danced upon the roof tops and meandered through the roads. What a week it had been walking the roads with Jesus, talking to the broken, the sad, the accusing, the curious--that stream of humanity that always grasped for a part of Jesus' day.
And yet, Jesus, knowing that He had cast the stars into their place, that He existed for eternity past in splendor of light and perfect fellowship with the Father, where myriads of angels bowed before him and worshipped,
and also knowing He was soon going to be subjected to hysterical crowds, violent soldiers, aggressive, poisonous jeers and beating, and finally a terrifying death,
willingly, generously, intentionally, knelt down on the rough sandy carpet, girded himself with a towel, and gently and lovingly wiped the dust off of his beloved friends dirty, stinky feet, all the while speaking in soothing tones, teaching one last bit of wisdom,
"In this world you will have tribulation, but take courage,"
"I will send a helper who will be with you always and He will bring to mind all that I have told you."
"Love one another,"
"I am the light of the world. Believe in me."
Always his heart and words were focussed on his beloved band of friends. Always, He was thinking of how to prepare them, to strengthen them.
Not even in His death, did he focus on His own needs.
"I am humble and meek, learn from me," He said.
All of this for those who could not have known the sacrifice, the depth of choices to humble Himself, or the vast generosity that was being expended from a heart overflowing with love focussed on them. Only maturity would bring gratefulness.
And so, in pondering, I must ask myself, does my heart remain humble as I wash feet, serve a meal? Are my words life-giving and generous, serving to strengthen in my home, with my heart, like the heart of Jesus always on those he served? Do I bow willingly in the dust and stink of my own life because He was so willing to spend His life in giving, serving, loving without thought of Himself, even in His death?
And so, as I come to this night, the night of remembering Him, my heart is overwhelmed with His humility, His focus, His total self-giving without expecting anything in return, and my heart is bowed down with deep gratefulness that this is the God who has called me to serve--never asking anything of me that He did not so willingly do and model so that I would understand the heart and the how of living in such a way.