In Jerusalem’s shadowed upper room,
Where Passover’s slain lamb and blood-marked door
Still whispered of the angel’s dread perfume,
The Master knelt—though heaven’s King of yore.

He laid aside His garments, took the basin bright,
And wrapped a linen cloth about His frame,
Then poured the water, cool as Jordan’s night,
To cleanse the dust from feet worn by the flame

Of desert roads and Galilean wave,
The tax-man’s sandals scarred by Roman dust,
And one disciple’s step already grave—
Yet Jesus stooped to serve them as He must.

His hands that calmed the storm and raised the dead
Now cradled heels with tenderness profound,
Like mother’s touch upon a weary head,
In lamplight’s glow where holy love abound.

Peter protested loud with fervent cry,
“Lord, never shall You wash these feet of mine!”
But gentle answer came from heaven’s sky:
“If not, thou hast no part, no share divine.”

Then yielded he: “Lord, wash my hands and head!”
The Savior smiled beneath the golden light,
Knowing the path of love that lay ahead—
The full extent He’d show before the night.

He took the bread, unleavened, pierced, and striped,
Gave thanks, and broke it with hands yet unscarred:
“This is My body, given for your life.”
The cup of crimson wine He then prepared:

“My blood of new covenant, shed for sin’s release,
For many, for remission full and free.”
The elements passed round in solemn peace,
While grace flowed deeper than the swelling sea.

“A new command I give,” His voice rang clear,
Like thunder clothed in mercy’s softest tone,
“That you love one another, as I have loved here—
By serving, stooping, bleeding for your own.”

Not Sinai’s stone, but love that bends the knee,
That lays down life for friend and enemy.

Outside, Gethsemane’s olives gleamed in moon,
Their silver leaves soon pierced by torch and blade.
Inside, the air bore myrrh and coming doom,
With scent of broken bread and wine displayed.

We stand there still, you and I, in that dim place,
Our feet dust-laden from the world’s long road,
Hearts prone to wander, seeking His embrace,
Yet called to serve as He, our Servant, showed.

The basin waits. The linen waits as well.
The bread and cup He offers once again.
Come, kneel. Come, eat. Come, drink. Come, do His will.
And love as He loved—to the uttermost pain.

For this the night He was betrayed, yet loved
Us to the end, the God who stooped so low—
Washing, feeding, commanding from above,
The Lamb, the Man, the King we kneel to know.

Behold Him here: the Servant-King who reigns
By cross and mercy, in unfailing grace.