Did it tickle? Was the water warm?
Was it relaxing, easing away the stress of the day?
Were they looking down in embarrassment?
Did anyone else wonder whether to say anything?
Did anyone else want to stop him?
It was so demeaning, so unbecoming, so degrading, so smelly,
None of them wanted to do it.
He definitely shouldn’t have been doing it.
Yet there he was, baptising their feet.
His feet had been anointed by that woman and they had been indignant.
Now he knelt in front of them, doing the menial servant-job.
The next day as they watched from afar as the nails were driven into his feet did any of them wish they had taken their turn to wash them for him?