On the hill is God’s man, with a white beard and hoary locks of history. He is chipping away at firewood , without taking his eyes away from the wood even for a second. His wood-ax catches the stick in mid-air.His white beard becomes part of sunlight, a flash of morning light through the tree branches. He must be from a distant sun-land , on a brief visit to the hills for cutting wood.
His wood is now sticks ready for their fire. He enters God’s house to light a flame for Him. And for us so we can see the flame in God’s eyes.And drink a palmful of God’s water with a sacred sounding slurp.
There is another God in the dark cave. He flickers as a lamp at the end of the cave. Between Him and us was an abiding darkness, unfathomable love to our eyes.Our eyes try to swim in the darkness but without a gliding torch we drown in it.
A helpful teenager brings a torch. The old man in hoary locks must have broken his silence.