And when I rub the marinate into the lamb, blood ponding on plate,
I think of socially acceptable religion, inoffensive theology
and my nostrils fill with the stench of my sin,
and my beating heart hurts for the only God whose wild love
had him tear open a vein and do the repulsive,
become a lamb dragged to the slaughter
for without theoutrageous shedding of blood
there is no cleansing of my gory mess.
O, It Was Necessary
More from Ann.
Posted by Matt