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The Pastor

Days and months go by

And he is barely noticed

This quiet farmer of souls devoted to the quiet growing

Of his flock. He doesn’t amass garlands of praise

And he has never written a book

Or spoken at a conference of his peers - he lives hidden,

Unknown to many, not even an enigma.

He’s all very ordinary. But his delight is to act as a host

To allow The God to be the grace-filled Guest

In each life he meets - in supermarket queues,

Or at hospital beds, or in the sanctuary of homes.

And when he leads his family of faith

With the sacred words “Let us worship God”,

He covets their hearts made holy and their imaginations

Soaring in the transcendent, and he aches to see

Their humanity transformed.

He regrets his inabilities and hates his sin:

There is only one real evident sadness in life-

Not to be a saint.

The pastor watches and prays and reads God’s Word

And nothing much happens, save the silent growing

Of souls immersed in the lively love of the Trinity.

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