Prayer of the Broken Apostle

When God breathed into the clay,
Within his breath was a covenant.
"You will find me.
Not among the snakes,
Nor among the ticks of your kind.
But among those brave enough to be faithful,
Yet craven enough to hide.
Among those strong enough to seek me,
And yet weak enough to slip from my grasp.
For I come easily to no soul,
And yet readily to all."
It is those who strive,
And those who slip that believe the greatest.
Those that have risen to the pinnacles,
And have fallen from grace,
Who have erred,
Who have been defeated
By their own sword.
These are His chosen.
Angels, we have heard on high,
And have fallen by His command,
And for the sake of all.

Those that speak His word
From understanding.
Understanding not found
Within any pages,
Seek them as your kin,
As they are His.
Bread shared with them
Is the truest sacrament.
And to know one's kin
Is to know oneself.
To know oneself
Is to know Him.
For if God has become
So inhuman,
The worship of him
Has become idolatry.
And so I pray
Not to the health of any Church.
But in thanksgiving for the beaten.
For they shall inherit the Earth.
In apparent weakness, there is strength.
In wounds, scars.
In faith, gravitas.
And in our breath, His word everlasting.
Amen.