Copying the King

In the quiet shadow of Lent, as the days lengthen toward the cross,
we slow our steps, learning again how to walk behind Jesus.

The room is heavy with expectation. Dust clings to tired feet. This is the night of final words, final meals, final chances to show what God is like.

And then, He rises. Not to teach. Not to command. Not to take His rightful place at the head of the table.

He rises to kneel.

The hands that shaped the stars reach for a towel. The Lord of glory wraps Himself in the clothing of a servant. 

Water pours. Silence deepens. And one by one, feet are washed.

Feet that have followed and faltered. Feet that have run away and will run again. Feet that will soon scatter into the night.

This is cruciformity – a life shaped like the cross before the cross is even raised. Here is power redefined. Here is authority poured out. Here is God on His knees.

Lent asks us to linger here. To stay in the awkwardness. To feel the resistance rise within us: Surely not my feet. Surely not this way.

But this is the way… because his offering did not begin on Golgotha. It began with a towel. With a basin. With love that refuses to dominate and chooses instead to descend.

And He says to us – not as an abstract idea, but as a lived command: “As I have done for you, so you must do for one another.” 

Cruciformity is not admiration. It is imitation. It is choosing the lower place when pride invites us higher. It is serving without applause. It is loving when it costs. It is bending low because God has already bent low for us. 

In this Lenten season, may we learn again the posture of Christ. May our lives take the shape of His humility. May our faith be seen not only in what we believe, but in whose feet we are willing to wash.

This is the way of the cross. This is the shape of love. This is cruciformity.

I look forward to reflecting on this more together this Sunday.
Richard