Spoken Word

An Easter encounter

Uncertain, once again, about the possibility of the mortal speaking on the Immortal’s behalf, I kneel to pray. As I do so, I hear a nervous cough and a please-notice-me kind of shuffle behind me. There is quite a crowd, as it turns out.

There is Moses, the palace runaway too nervous to speak, with his brother-in-law at his elbow.

There is Amos, a shepherd thrust summarily into the limelight to deliver judgement.

Jonah stands there too, a little apart as others wrinkle their noses at the odour of failure and fish.

Peter, looking as awkward as a footballer in his suit, stands beside them – net trailing from his hand.

Paul, doing his best to turn a frown into an encouraging look, and not quite pulling it off.

Ruth who would not flinch, and Mary who said yes are there too. Gideon the hesitant warrior, Samuel the boy prophet, Isaiah the baffled spokesman – a flash-mob of the chosen.

I wait, hoping for a word at least. None is forthcoming – but they all look past me to the place where I am needed next. Somehow I know that when I turn and walk towards it, they will walk behind me – which feels like enough.


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