Sitting in the church porch, today’s Gospel slowly reading.
On a bench nearby a cyclist rests awhile.
A couple water a grave commemorating.
The tired cyclist mops his brow, eats some bread, after a ride across wold and long mile.
Their eyes were opened and they recognised Him but He had vanished from their sight.
Looking up from app, the cyclist who had been there is vanished as if he never had been.
But we had said hello. He was real, we had talked, but he has gone now, risen like a lost kite.
Something prevented them from recognising Him. Had he really been.
Would I know, would I recognise, that passing breathing cyclist again.
Would I recognise Jesus passing by. Is he gone now as if he never had been seen.
But the cyclist was here, real, now over distant hills he rides, or down some shady lane.
Can I not trust that what was real is still real? Had my sight been so little keen?
Then they told their story of what had happened on the road.
Will we also have the courage to proclaim, though we cannot see, the signs that we are told.