I too have been taught to praise the Lord. But today I am struck dumb, dumb like the dog on his chain behind the water tank, dumb like this chicken pecking in the dust beside the willow wreaths the Zen students made.  Where is God’s covenant with His people when the bodies of our children lie broken at the side of the road?

I have looked here, I have looked there, and I found no mercy. Where did you go my Lord, I asked, why did you turn from us when we needed you so? And there was no reply – only the wind sweeping across the veld. My beloved friends, there is no answer, there is no certainty, there is only foolishness and the stony ground. So be it then; I am a fool, I know nothing, I am nothing. I am fokol !

But old Fokol wants to tell you a story. This morning I wanted to put aside my wretchedness, to greet cousin Dirk and pay my condolences. I had such nice words ready for him and such verses from scripture, but when I went to him, I could only weep like a baby. I cried and cried and wiped the snot with the sleeve of my suit and stood there in front of him, my arms hanging down, my head sunk low.

My friends, it was then that I felt him take my hands in his, and when I lifted my face again I looked into eyes so deep, into such a well of silence, into such a kindness, that it was he who was comforting me — the one who had been laid low with unspeakable loss was comforting the one who had lost nothing. Here was a love for which there was no words.

And in the depth of those eyes and the touch of that hand, my friends, all my understanding was swallowed up. For now, I could see all the way to the bottom. I saw the pain and joy of this world. I saw babies and grandparents, and young people courting. I saw the aardvark destroying the anthilI to feed her children. I saw what we sometimes call life and what we sometimes call death, and that which we sometimes call wrath or vengeance, sometimes mercy and forgiveness.

There was laughter there too, and loneliness, the stars, sun and moon – miles and miles of fences. And in this vast nothingness I saw the people gathering at the hospital that Sunday morning after the accident, driving in their overalls from the farms, riding in on horseback, Oom Eddie hiking from the other side of Venterstad, policemen in their uniforms, Ms Margie in her white hair, weeping, and the precious precious kindness of nurses.