We claim to see Jesus, do we really?
In the face of a woman beaten, in
The face of the lost ones, in the face
Of the sinful we would rather condemn
And forget, never really touching or
Seeing, recognition lost because we
Think he is only in the perfect plastic
That can crumble and be just as
Broken as his body was on the cross
Can we truly see beyond the end
Of what we think is real, or can we
See him in the broken, shattered remains,
In the crumbs of bread, in what is
Forgotten, in the less thought of,
In what doesn't meet our expectations
Or will it all fall short of steadfastly
Searching through all faces and
End only in judgment