Five Marks of Mission

Epitome of humble service, found 
with towel and basin, squatting down the line; 
an upper room for now that’s holy ground, 
commemorated too in bread and wine. 
Corrupted trials and mocking purple cloak, 
the jibes descend to cruel malignity, 
til depths are plumbed in hammer, nails and yoke, 
though each is borne with royal dignity. 
Impaled upon that cross in searing pain, 
his shoulders bearing all our worldly vice, 
he pleads forgiveness that will wipe our stain 
and give us grace to enter paradise. 
Five wounds were wrapped within a winding sheet - 
the final marks of mission - now complete.