The preacher is the potter. We, the clay.
The strong fingers kneed us as we need them.
They hollow us out. That is how we pray.
They fire us up. We are braver then.
The preacher is the potter. We, the clay.
All this to make of us useful flagons,
that we may learn to hold communion wine.
For as we imbibe the sacramental potions,
a well-made vessel can become a shrine.
The preacher is the potter. We, the clay.