Lent has a way of exposing us,
of paring away our protective layers
until we stand, all bare and prickly,
to await the coming condemnation.
Masks and all protective coloration
peel off in the relentless pounding
of shoulds, what-ifs, and might-have-beens.
And what is left,
O Holy One,
When we stand stripped before your liquid altar,
fallen brothers at our feet,
pale bones gleaming
in the harsh light of truth?
What stark redemptive beauty
will spring from this barren landscape
of self-disgust?
* * *
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