cloaks

I've been told you take the broken and reconstruct them, but in contrast take the strongest man and break him down til there's nothing but flesh and utter humility.

I hear that you bless the prostitutes, the tax collectors, and the unclean; that you take the most miserable, most pathetic, most unworthy waste of life and you love them. I hear that the blind crawl to your feet to see again, and that the dying are lifted to their feet by grabbing on to your cloak...
that they drag themselves through crowded streets, exposing their every imperfection to grab hold of you, so that they may be fit to see you, fixed by you.
and you healed them.
I'm afraid to do such things only because i feel i wont be able to let go.
to clasp on to my life's hope and purpose would be the most amazing and horrifying thing i would ever experience.
to have faith in such power that proves that there is something good in this hopeless place, and then have that power be proven valid... my elation would be unmeasurable.

but that was then. you used to walk the streets. You'd teach, impress and save... it was so easy. You are no longer tangible. We can't grab onto your cloak... right?

but then... what's a cloak? fabric to cover something better than itself.

if your cloak is out of the question, then I'll grab onto you.

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and pray I'll be to afraid to let go.