They sang of joy and wonder, of love and mercy, their praises cast to the rafters.
When they were finished they turned off the lights and hurried to the back door to avoid his gaze. He did not recognise his reflection; eyes dark-rimmed, hair matted, stubble six days old.
Above him the rain swirled under the eaves and slanted down through the big wooden cross. On the seventh day he tried to sing along with them. But the words wouldn’t come.