What I have passed on to my son
is often unclear to me.

I just know
that I had the grace to ensure
the package I passed on
is not the one I received

and that the extent to which
it will be unpacked and utilised
is not mine to determine.

That choice was part of the package.

My dear Theophilus, I want to stress
that this gospel story is ever-present, continuous
and it’s by no means strenuous
to draw a straight true line
from the angelic choir’s ‘unto us’
through to the empty cross,

and yes, past the fall of Judas
to the day the lot fell to Matthias
and whilst Matt may have on occasion
felt a little out of place
and like us, have sometimes undergone
the syndrome that’s imposter-ous,
nevertheless, with the disciples he received Christ’s promise
of a collective Pentecostal renaissance

And so,
no, it’s not presumptuous for you, for us
to stand with Matthias and the rest
of the disciples of Christ Jesus,
to receive this same promise
and for Christ to continue
the same reconciling mission through us,
because my dear Theophilus,
we are, you are the one and present-continuous,
Spirit-filled church

... that is not important.

You’ve spent your time
– so much of our time -
on something that is not important.
And what’s more, you already knew that.
And still you went on
in the hope that it might redeem itself.

We both know what’s important
and what’s not.
We know what is worth our time,
our attention, our tears,
our sleepless nights.
We know what is worth our pain
and what is not.

And yet,
you have near exhausted your time
and, by extension, our time
on something that will never reimburse us.
Something that has cheapened you – us -
and has reduced us to this.

I need to know -
will you fight for something that is important?
And are we important to you?

Is there a villain in every story?
Or do we insert one?
Does that make the story easier to tell?

Is there a hero?
And does it have to be you?
Or could you be the villain?

Is there an end to every story?
Or do we create one?
Does that make the story easier to tell?

Is there a new start?
And does it have to be yours?
Or could you be the ending?

And why does it seem to matter?

It’s before nine.  I have another chilled hour
before the Swallow cafe opens for cooked breakfast
and a day before the family funeral.

The sky is clear to the east, but further north
there’s pre-spun wool resting lightly on the hills,
heavy with possibility and miles from home.