Hosanna

Blessed is he who comes in the name of the lord, hosanna in the highest

Stained glass windows, marble statues, gold encrusted cups line the table,  soft light that drapes across stone walls like the priest's robes that touch the floor and my knees pray the pews were just a little more padded but at least I can finally sit down for the sermon
The priest glances over half moon glasses and he says to begin:

"You are unworthy. you will never be enough to deserve god's love, but you are called anyway. Isn't it amazing that he would still love someone like you."

Hosanna, hosanna, hosanna, hosanna, hosanna, in the highest

And this is what they taught in Sunday school,
the teacher drew a circle to represent my soul on the white board and drew marks across it, over and over until it was black, this is what you can't help but do to yourself she said
you are flawed because of those who came before you but
but Jesus died for you even though you are  a sinner,
at the core of your being deficient, inadequate,
unworthy,
such a god must be great.
Such a god must deserve your worship.

Blessed is he who comes in the name of the lord, hosanna in the highest

And yes father, we've all done wrong, I've collected bucketfuls of mistakes, pain that drove me places I didn't plan on going, days that I wish I could take back, and I've said a few prayers for someone else to carry my regrets for a while.
But for the child at the end of her rope, who's been told she's unworthy by so many people she finally believes it, holding a razor to her arms, nailing her own palms and feet into wood, hoping her own blood is enough to appease this feeling eating her insides - forgive me Jesus, I don't know how much of a disciple I am but I don't remember you telling us that we should be ashamed of ourselves.

And for this child, when will I hear a priest sing, scream, you were made worthy, you are worthy, you are worth everything that you can breathe in,
even though you've built yourself a crown of thorns that says this is the end, that you will never feel anything but this puncture wound to your heart, but there is love,
in every new blood cell,
raw and regenerating,
resurrecting in the marrow of your bones, Child, you are asking for forgiveness that you no one can give you but yourself.

So Father, forgive me,
I'm pretty sure this is what Jesus would have told us,
that the universe began with a burst of light somewhere down the line and child, you are here. You are here.  Don't doubt the way the earth carries your weight with every step, the way the river washes your feet, the way the wind whispers this is love, the way the wood of the tree branches reaches to meet the palms of your hands and you deserve this.  Honey, this, is your hosanna in the highest, your hallelujah, this is what saves you, from the flames in your stomach and this is not the end.
No, this is the echo of your own lungs gasping for air again, yelling in your ears saying
You, to the core of your being, are nothing less than resurrecting,
than light, than truth,
Hosanna in the highest
You child, within your bones,
Are always being made anew.