I am, I am a spotted lamb
Created by the Great I Am
Unworthy for the altar
Blemished and unseemly.
A slave to my humanity
Given to vanity 
And self-righteousness.
Soiled and stained 
By my intentional sin
I bathe with soap and bathtub gin.
Wire brush in hand,
My feeble bid at purity
Lost in my obscurity
I remain rejected
By human prophets
Careless clerics
And soulless priests.

At the table,
Symbols of community,
Bread for body, broke.
Wine for blood, yoked.
Balanced elements of confusion
Out of arms reach.
No seat for me,
Only obscurity.
Unworthy is the spotted lamb.
Picture Peter
Plucking patience,
Disguised as a towel,
From the hand of Christ
To wash his own filthy feet.
And just like me,
He fails.
I capitulate
As I situate myself
And beg Christ to purify 
That which I cannot.
His hand, His towel, His grace.

It takes a heart clinching.
Soul singeing
Shower of sparks and fire,
Flood of blood
Immersion in the belly of the furnace,
Stoked with the grace of God
And his passion for imperfection,
To ease the pain
And remove the stain.
There…
At the foot of the cross,
The hammer of God
And the anvil of Christ
Bring new life
To spotted lambs everywhere,
Remade as worthy
In the Creator’s eyes,
And affirming us a place at the table.