The Continuous Font

I arise

dripping wet

with the water of life,

the after birth of my new birth.

And I come to the table

the feast you have prepared,

bread of grace

washed down by wine of joy,

hands folded to hold salvation.

And I go

still soaked

with the water of creation, the Red Sea, the Jordan

to wipe the tears from my sister’s eyes

to hold my brother’s hand

and to feed his hungry children

to raise my fist

with a righteous no,

to love, to serve, to rejoice.

And when I return to your table

I see I am not alone.

Many saints

soaking wet

drenched to the bone.

And a voice blows pass your people

and we know that all is well,

“You are washed,

being washed still,

someday you will be cleansed.”


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