I firmly believe that, although there is no proof that God exists (and neither is there proof that He doesn’t), yet still, if we look at life with open hearts and minds, we can see signs – sacraments – of His presence.  Indeed, the reality of suffering and death, and the very lack of justice in our world is itself a pointer to a deeper promise…



Myriad are the ills

That befall the sons of men;

Most, though by no means all,

The results of tenacious sin.


In this, the only world we know,

Many wrongs will never be made right,

And good folk are fated to die,

Without any resolution to their plight.


Undeserved death for many

Comes so sudden, like a thief:

Their loved ones left bereft,

In a hopeless gloom of grief.


Innocent blood cries out

To a God who seems not to care;

Leaving decent folk to question:

Is He really there?


There seems no justice,

No, none at all, and evil

Appears to hold all the aces:

Its ripples spreading triumphal.


An accident of birth,

Places one in royal plenty,

Whereas for another new life,

The cupboard is cruelly empty.


If this life we live now,

Is all we will ever know,

Then justice is a joke,

And the future?  It’s a no.


Yet good folk look with hope,

And many sacrifice their all:

Is there an inner sense that

Somehow it’s worth it after all?


The human heart craves joy,

And not just for the moment now.

Perhaps a loving God,

Will yet make good His vow?