Not by Scrubbing
A Poem
They pick up rags,
scrubbing at stains that never come out,
thinking holiness is bleach
and grace comes bottled.
They line up their lives like dirty laundry,
folding sins into neat stacks,
as if Jesus only enters
once the room is swept.
But He isn’t waiting outside.
He’s already on His knees in the mess,
hands deep in the grime,
blood mixing with the water.
It’s not the sinner who cleans to follow
it’s the Savior who cleans as you follow.
You walk with Him,
step for step,
and He works the filth out.
Not to make you worthy,
but because He already said you were.