Popping out to check the post box this morning, I was surprised to find a slim volume inside, lying faceup. It was The Gospel of John (with commentary) and I wondered if I was the only recipient of this kind gift, or whether the whole street had been visited. I am yet to find out, though I think I may be it.

Now and then I get little presents like this, a handwritten letter about God, a pamphlet from a church and so forth. I know it drives some folks mad and occasionally I see angry posters on social media, as if a religious tract or its equivalent is somehow an intolerable imposition on their otherwise quiet, unreligious lives. Not to judge of course, but bland advertising material does not get the same exasperated treatment!

Easter is but a few days away and already there are caravans plying their way westward on the highway. People are getting away. Ann and JJ took off for a day or two in Bathurst this morning and countless others will be pointing their cars north and south in this great migration away from the Big Smoke. I wish them all well.

That little volume is on my bedside table and I will start reading tonight. John could be read a thousand times over without weariness or boredom setting in. I am becoming more serious about the faith I foolishly dropped away from a few decades ago. For every step forward there seem to be two back wards, such is the struggle.

I believe it was Martin Luther who said, "Man can only sin."