There’s always mystery on Main Street, and one day the miracle occurred. You look into the mirror. You don’t say, "Who am I?" No, a Voice asks, "Who are you?" You don’t say, "I needn’t be here." No, the Voice says, "It is inevitable that you are here." Try it, and see. You are meant to be here. Then trouble begins. Who meant your life? "My parents," you say. Oh no, parents don’t create life: they only transmit life. We shouldn’t speak about "my children." They are not ours: they are God’s, every one of them unique even to the fingerprint. Then why doesn’t God speak to us? Why is there no audible Voice? Mystery on Main Street!

I.

Thus our doubt of God. Skepticism is rife in our time. That’s not strange: if we grab at things, making the earth hollow with graves and red with blood, we shall…