the one about stains

Colored plates held by twisted metal boundaries—
Illustrated religion for those who cannot read
The signs on interstate 40
Announcing potluck dinners and that Jesus Saves.

Ten feet tall, so no one imagines measuring up,
Because they can’t—sinners and saints alike,
All in their pale or pretty garb,
None with intensity so rich it fills a window
And stuns the parishioner into wonder and silence.

The whore with her crown of beauty let down at her Lord’s feet,
The Rock upon which He built His church, even after three denials,
And the real first communion—with a traitor present and accounted for.
They are easily understood lessons, when they are told with Blues,
And Greens and Yellow and Vermilion Orange.

People understand color, they understand stains,
Blots on clean plated glass,
When words do not speak and tone cannot convince. 

So God bless the sinners and the stunned parishioner, him too—
No wonder it’s called Stained Glass.
Only the stained understand.