Baby feet: tiny toes, smooth skin, jerky movements. There’s something innocent and pure about baby feet. In the minutes after birth and first bath, those wiggly toes beg to be touched. All ten, perfect.
Jesus had baby feet. I imagine Mary holding those feet to her face and breathing in fresh baby smell. I imagine Joseph tickling those soles and laughing at Jesus’ smile.
Those baby feet were the feet of which Paul would say: “God placed all things under his feet, and appointed him to be head over everything for the church.” (Ephesians 1:22)
Those feet that stand over everything? They had to learn to walk, one in front of the other. They had to be washed. They had to be bandaged when a stone cut deep, or a thorn found its way through tender flesh.
And what’s so amazing? Christmas feet become Good Friday feet. Sweet, small feet, grow into calloused, well-traveled feet, and those feet get nailed to a cross. Pierced through for me. And Good Friday feet become Easter feet. Feet that walk a man from his tomb into glory.
These are the feet that stand on everything. EVERYTHING. You’re wounds. You’re forgotten dreams. You’re enemies. They’re under his feet. Nothing that has happened or will happen can escape the wide scope of his authority. Nothing that seems out of control can roll out from under his feet.
Tidings of comfort and joy, Friends. Because these feet have come for you. The toes that wiggled were pierced for you.