I asked God to explain himself, but he would not,
Would not even explain why he would not.
In the beginning was the word
But the word was silent.
Once, he used to talk to me
All day about theology.
I thought I knew him well
And spoke well of him to all my friends
I would ascend the pulpit and speak volumes,
Which seemed to wash with them
But cut no ice with me.
I know it all: the Chalcedonian Definition,
The Filioque Clause, Quicunque Vult;
The whole lot comprehensible.
Fides quaerens intellectum:
It was that fides bit which mocked me
And I failed.
I read all the stuff and got the gist,
I was not original in my folly:
The mystics professed their dryness and
The absence of God.
Though I can’t count myself among
These upmarket spiritual connoisseurs.
But, God, I am no atheist.
It’s not even that I want to believe;
Only to know that thou mine unknown beloved
Lovest me