Forgiveness

Father,

It’s Monday.

Mondays can be hard.

And perhaps we complain far too much.

But this morning I come to you confessing sin. Asking you for forgiveness.

Over and over this weekend I have thought about the woman who broke her jar and poured its perfume at your feet…she knew she had much to be forgiven for. She left whole.

Father, I need forgiveness. And I ask for it. Ask that you would wash me. Wash away all the impurities, all the filth, all the grime and residue.

I ask for forgiveness for claiming I have a servant’s heart and then when I am treated like one I balk and bristle. And hubris manifests.

I am so sorry. When I think of you bending down on one knee—willingly, intentionally—and washing your men’s feet my spirit aches because of my own posture. You bent, You the Son of God, bent down and picked up the feet of your disciples and washed them. You didn’t complain. You didn’t bellyache about how their attitudes should have been better. You didn’t point out their flaws and their ugliness. No, you just fleshed out who you really are. You told us you came to serve and not be served and that is exactly what you did.

I am sorry that I say I want to serve and then I bellyache about the lack in someone else. I need your forgiveness. I need your washing of my feet so that I might be clean and begin again this day.

Father, forgive me. I did know what I was doing. And I am sorry.

Amen.