Obsessed by a fairy tale, we spend our lives searching for a magic door and a lost kingdom of peace. Eugene O’Neill

Obsessed by a fairytale? Is that true? Are we Christians presenting a message that is a real and as relevant as a fairytale? Like the Celts, do we hope for a return to the former Land of Summer? Or dream of the long-lost city of Atlantis? Or long for a coming Golden Age?

How do we share our vision, our hope? Perhaps it does sound to others as believable as a fairytale—something you would wish was true, but is as likely as meeting a leprechaun.

I walked out into the flawless beauty of a spring morning in England. Down the lanes into the dark-earthed fields, beside the fresh green of new-leaved trees, past yellow flowers shining like stars in the thorn hedges. I breathed in the perfection of all I saw, wanting to say ‘thank you’ again and again. Out of the corner of my eye I caught a quick movement among the grass. I went over to the roadside and looked. A beautiful bird peeked out at me from under a clump of weeds: bright yellow head and chest that made think of canaries, chestnut-brown back, tail trimmed neatly in white. He looked so bright and smart that I smiled. Then I noticed one of his wings drooping awkwardly—it didn’t look broken, only sprained. He started calling frantically, frightened of me, this monster, and tried to get away.