Seve Ballesteros, the golfer has died. There were wonderful pictures of him on television, a kind of God, good looking, smiling, doing the most amazing shots, winning, then rarely but movingly shown of him in hospital at the end, desperately weak, a huge horrible tumour on the side of his bald head.

It comes to us all, however strong.

That night, pleasantly exhausted, after a nine-mile walk from Market Rasen, I thought again of these mysteries.

I still don’t believe utterly, but where do all our notions of a mighty cosmos lead us? Just to an inflexible pitiless and unknowing machine governed by the laws of physics. But at least religion brings us art, beauty, hope, and ultimately – if we are lucky – belief.

Do I believe that Jesus walked the earth, died and subsequently showed himself to his friends? Yes, I think I do. But do I believe that he made personally these billions of stars? That I do not know, but I will go trying to believe and assume belief.

But secondly, exhausted, I felt again even more strongly, especially after watching the fate of Ballesteros, the difference between body and spirit.

That the body was slipping away, a useless envelope, much posted and soiled, but the letter inside, the inner message remained as yet barely read.