Often poetry can come to help us at least understand what is taking place. It is a room I enter from which someone has just gone, the vestibule for the arrival of one who has not yet come. I modernise the anachronism of my language, but he is no more here than before. Genes and molecules have no more power to call him up than the incense of the Hebrews at their altars. My equations fail as my words do.
People often think that when they are doubting and confused their faith is weak.
It seems to me that the people who never doubt and seem to have all the answers don't really need faith. Rightly or wrongly they can see where they are headed. I'd like to conclude with a final word about a much neglected virtue and that is the virtue of hope. Of all people Christians are called to be people of hope because of our belief that Jesus is victorious over all the things which prevent human flourishing, the things that we call sin, and ultimately even over death itself. Hope is not the reaction of the fool who wants to live in cloud cuckoo land pretending that all in the garden is rosy.