The preacher’s task is wrapped in mystery.
At first it seems straight forward, simple, but
On this familiarity there falls
A veil that covers what was clear before.

Then we are left to wrestle for the heart,
To twist and turn until we’re spinning, lost
Under the many layers of meaning,
And there we’re called to stay until we’re found.

Sometimes epiphany is hard to win.
We fight into the night and drag it out,
With courage bravely born of hope, refusing
To settle for another easy road.

At other times we turn to write but even
Before the pen is in our hands, the words
Become alive, a pulse that drives them fast,
A living stream that flows out of the book.

I’ve spent the decades preaching, and even now I find it an exciting yet elusive art.
(21.11.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Chris Chow on Unsplash