Standing in the ancient church – alone and still… with only the dust motes as company, I hear a whisper – a sound beyond words.

It speaks over my noisy protests and anger… above my smug rationalism… It is the call of mystery. 

It mingles with the ache deep within… and I am disturbed by a terrible peace.

And from that peace, a voice speaks, “Come closer.”

But I will not. I cover my ears. 

Barricaded, braced and blinded by the clichés I have chosen, I stumble outside into the sunshine.

But the call pursues me, “Come closer.”

The churchyard is full of drunken headstones talking to each other: 

“We were once alive.” 

Life… surely a miracle. Why have I not seen it before?

A daisy lies crushed and bruised at my feet – where I have walked. 

But it is still beautiful… and obscene in its innocence. 

“Consider the lilies of the field.”

I hold it up to the light.

It is silent… and then softly as the breeze, it speaks of things too wonderful to comprehend.

Here, in my hands, is mystery beyond mystery. 

Here is life… and it’s pointing to something… to someone.

“Come closer.”

“No.”

But I don’t get far – just to the old wooden gate.

A rusted nail has been driven into its post…

A nail… that says nothing.

It undoes me… and I surrender.

(by Nick Hawkes, May, 2021)