Yes, I am jumping on the poetry bandwagon. Good poetry is one of my favorite things to read on others' blogs.
His Dusty Hands
There it stood, near the door,
and if you did not wash just so
you were “not holy” evermore.
A basin of chains.
In He walked, glanced that way,
did not stop to rinse away
the road-dust before He ate.
Ignoring the chains.
The host is shocked, breathing fast:
How could a Teacher walk right past
the holy basin of chains?
Dusty hands yet are clean:
He does not need to wash a thing,
He Himself is purity.
Demonstrating that He can
still please God, though shocking man,
without the ceremonial stand.
Loosing the people’s chains.