By Juat Heng, a fellow recipient of the Theological Education Fund, who seeks to bless us with this creative story from the perspective of Jesus’ feet

Master has had a long day. As usual, everyone was begging him to heal them or their daughter or their servant. I am aching all over and finally, we can get some rest. We arrive at Simon’s house for dinner. He greets us and ushers us straight to the dining area. Wait… isn’t he supposed to get his servant to wash me? That’s what any good host would do for their honoured guests and surely, Master deserves the honour. Hmm… never mind, I just want to rest.

Master reclines on the couch, stretching his legs out to give me a well-deserved break. Ahhhh….Nice….

Suddenly, there’s a commotion. People gasp and start talking in hushed tones. I stretch out and see a woman entering the house; she’s moving purposefully towards Master. I hear Simon’s guests talking but I cannot make out what they’re saying. I only hear words like sinful, prostitute, immoral. Is she that infamous prostitute in town, I wonder? Before I know it, she’s kneeling before Master. She picks me up – gently, tenderly, lovingly. Then she starts to cry. She must be in deep sorrow for her tears fall relentlessly on me until I’m dripping wet all over. 

At first, I squirm. I’ve never experienced anything like this before. But as I feel her soft, loving hands, I yield to them. Then, I feel something even softer gently caressing me all over. Oh, it’s her hair. Long, lovely luxurious hair affectionately brushing away the dirt and dust from me – cleaning every toe, every crevice in between my toes, my soles, my heels. 

As if this is not enough, she starts to kiss me! All over! The touch of her soft loving lips was sheer heaven. Then she does the most shocking thing. She opens a bottle of perfume (I know it’s perfume because it smells heavenly) and immediately, the fragrance drifts through and permeates the whole house. Even the guests stop jeering as they take in the glorious scent. Slowly, she pours the perfume on me, and massages me. I’ve never felt so grand.

Master must mean everything to this woman. I savour every moment of her astounding demonstration of love for Master, knowing she is doing something very important for that historic day to come.

That day finally comes.

Master is on his way to the place they call Golgotha. The crowds lining the dusty street on both sides taunt Master, mocking and hurling abuses at Him. But some, especially women, are crying and wailing.

Master had got a brutal beating earlier, his bloodied back torn to shreds by the soldier’s cruel whippings. I tread one step at a time as the heavy wooden beam Master is carrying weighs Him down. I try my best to hold Master up but he buckles and collapses to the ground.

Master is so exhausted from the excruciating pain on his bloodied body that He stays on the ground for a while to catch His breath. Then, with one determined heave, He pulls Himself up and I stand firm to hold him.

We reach the place where Master is going to be crucified. I know what they’re going to do to me and I’ve been preparing for this forever. As the soldiers position the sharp nail on me, I steel myself. Then it happens. The hammer comes down heavily on the nail, driving it deep into me.

The first blow is so shocking that for a while, I don’t feel anything. Then I feel the searing pain tear through me, wave after wave. Again and again the hammer hits, till I’m bonded to the wooden beam.

For hours I lie with Master on the cross. I hear the jeers and wails from the crowd below; they’re like a persistent bad dream as I drift in and out of consciousness. Then finally, the moment comes.

Master gathers whatever little strength he has left and lets out a loud painful cry, “My God, My God why have You forsaken Me?” He draws a sharp breath, his last on this earth that he’s walked on for 33 years. Darkness falls on us like a blanket gently covering us, and the noise of the crowd below slowly fades to a blissful silence.

All is still. Master’s work is done. I am honoured to have served Master, to be His beautiful feet that have carried Him everywhere to bring the good news of His Father’s love to mankind. It is finished but it is not the end.

I know a wonderful secret and oh, what a wonderful secret it is. Master is dead but He’s alive! In 3 days’ time, I’m going to wiggle my toes and carry Him up again. Oh, I can’t wait, but for now, I’m tired and it still hurts – you know, from the sharp nails that they pounded into me. I shall have a good, well-deserved rest.

Oh wait, I have another wonderful secret. In the days, months, years and centuries to come, my fellow feet everywhere in the world will carry their masters to every corner of the world to bring this good news too. As Master’s servant Isaiah said a long time ago, “How beautiful on the mountains are the feet of those who bring good news… who proclaim salvation.”

I am proud and honoured to be Master’s beautiful feet. We are his beautiful feet too.

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🙏 Pray for the feet of those who bring good news near and afar.

👣 Consider your walk with Master. Where is He leading you?