Advent Confession

Verses recently written, but in my thoughts set some twenty years ago, and (of course) at the beginning of Advent.

I have always wanted it all to be true,

and have always been afraid it might not be.

So here I am, on the last Saturday in November,

standing under a sad sky, halfway down the field,

looking up at the half tumbled dry stone wall,

the mess of posts and fence wire,

the busy lane and then the church beyond,

darkly brooding as ever, atop its little hill.

I am on my way home from a good brisk walk with the dog,

but now I shall have to get on with things.

Too far to see, but the church notice board bears my name,

and perhaps I ought to feel a little more sure 

about what it is I am selling.

Anyway, here I stand, quite newly arrived here,

and with the new liturgical year about to begin,

the Advent candle ring dressed and in place,

the altar and pulpit draped with purple cloth.

It has been a long journey to get to this place,

a long time spent wrestling with fears and uncertainties.

I seem to have so many questions that lack an easy answer,

that keep me awake on nights, interrupt my prayerful thoughts -

and yet I find also there is always the sense of God,

not present exactly, not in clear focus,

I cannot claim any blinding light or sounding voice, descending dove . . .

just the sense, and it is still there today -

of someone who does not let go of me, who is constantly catching my sleeve,

who despite it all goes on tugging me into saying yes.