Gabriel was walking along a path in the English countryside. The words “and then?” repeating inside his head.

The church was alone, cool, and open.

So far away, in the depths of the countryside, there was no chance now of Mass. But he picked up the Book of Common Prayer and read slowly through the words of evening prayer, saying silently the words of the priest and aloud the words of the congregation.

Here then was a sublime and mighty poetical English. No outward fury or entrenched belief in some mystical presence, only the word.

The Magnificat, the Nunc Dimittis came and went and finally the Collects, an ocean lapping quietly in his presence and he sat still and felt a great peace.