Unclean
V. Unclean
While Adam and Eve wore
their God-sewn apparel,
Eden was behind them.
They walked eastward
in covered shame—
clothed by mercy,
but driven from perfection.
And outside the garden,
everything twisted.
Two sons—
one murdering the other.
Meals made with anxious labor.
Life warped from the start.
Joy mixed with sorrow.
Love mixed with pain.
Work mixed with thorns.
And shame became an inheritance.
Passed down like a family name.
Handed from generation to generation.
Not left in Eden,
but carried into every home,
every table, every room,
every heart.
Clothed—
yes.
But now contaminated.
Image marred.
Relationship lost.
Common now, not holy.
Unclean now, not clean.
Not just embarrassed.
Defiled.
Not just burdened.
Stained.
Not just hurting.
Unfit for the holy realm of God.
Cleanse yourself of filth and blood.
Bring the sacrifice.
Spend the cost.
Feel the lesson.
You are poor and wretched,
weak and wounded,
bruised and broken by the fall.
And the law keeps saying to you:
Unfit.
Untouchable.
UNCLEAN.
Until at last the soul cries out:
Purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean.
Wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.
