The Cleansing Lententide
Lent brings catharsis, but not the kind expected,
not the purging from the bowels of sin
and plunging out the cloaca of hell,
a quick evacuation into the secret heavenlies
of Jesus. Lent is slow—a scrubbing of layers
that cling with claws. You’ve worn them so long
they’ve become a second, a third, a fourth skin—
protection against the flesh living beneath them;
flesh of freedom from the shielding shame,
living and vital, flesh and bone like Jesus
took from the womb of Mary, called “good” by God
from the beginning of goodness that still remains,
if only you could crack the skins and let it out;
despite the pain each fault line gives.
Lent bring catharsis—the groaning of mourning
the
death of your shameful skins.
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