You Cracked Pot

Let’s say, you were made of clay
A pot fashioned, master potter, prized collection.
Let’s say your model, long before you rolled off the line, fell into the hands of another.
A less concerned holder of the mold, careless and evil.

And your model, long before you were born, had a crack put into the side.
Let’s say.
And year after year as the mold gave birth to your predecessors, the crack came along for the ride.
Precision-made, hand-crafted, exquisite design, intended for glory, greatness.
Yet fatally flawed, unable to perform its function, broken at the core, at the design level, not by the designer, but by one who came after it.

All the way down to you.
So when Jesus came, promising to make you new, to make you whole, you believed him.
And the initial surge, the plunge, the experience of the power led you to believe the crack was gone.
But you were wrong, weren’t you? After the honeymoon is over, only to discover that the crack remains, breaking you, rearing your inner destruction, your fatal flaw.

So is Jesus a liar? Powerless? Inadequate? Hardly.
Jesus lay on a tree, a death of gruesome crucifixion, vivid enough to engage in conversation with your crack.
And at the foot of his post, row upon row, lay cracked pots, not all clean and pristine, but cracked.

Full of blood. Blood pumped from the heart of the person crucified, the source of which profound love stands immense and immovable.
And the cracked pots at the foot of the cross, with blood all over them, stop focusing on their flaw, but on the liquid love that colours their clay. With the blood present, the crack no longer matters, covered, destined to end another day.

You cracked pot: Discouraged because the brokenness did not go away?
Take heart, notice the blood of Christ all over you,
And know one day,
The crack will go away.
So much so, that today, it is as if it is not even here.

Take heart. It is a brand new day.