Have we forgotten the baseness of the cross?
Often highly regarded, exalted atop our places of worship, painted upon our battle shields.

Have we disregarded the humility, the humiliation of God's suffering?
Body, naked, hanging, struggling, excruciatingly to inhale, again.

Yet, is it Christ's pain that should be our focus?
Or the scandal of humility that is God enfleshed?
Does the pain heal? Or does God's choosing the terror of nerve endings?
Do the drops of blood magically save? Or is it God's choosing of a life that's so easily liquidated?

Perhaps the humility of God is the actual power of salvation.

Yet the version of Christ-likeness I live continues to revel in those occasions when my feet get washed.