i feel something of the tenderness of Medieval paintings of the deposition in these lovely blue and purple days of Lent.   Clearly, bizarre as it might sound, uncountable multitudes before me have also found  an intense relationship with Jesus in prayer so compelling and beautiful and meaningful that questions like ’could this all be an illusion?’ or ‘does God exist?’ become irrelevant, as one might hear from afar children squabbling loudly in the house next door, or as an adventurer setting out into the unknown might look uncomprehendingly at sensible men with good jobs and bank balances, who  say to him ‘a waste of time if you ask me’.   For the adventurer setting out to find God beyond the grave as he might set out to discover el Dorado feels he has no choice.  For he knows that if he fails to respond to this  entrancing fascination with the might –not-after-all-exist he will otherwise spend his life in the shallows, and, in any case,  the quest itself is already generating so compellingly the emotions of exhilarating discovery that he seeks, he has already, he feels,  begun to find it, and you can’t unfind what you have found. 

 

 

 

 

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