Suppose you had journeyed to find a lost treasure. Suppose you had followed the maps and paths you knew. Suppose you had seen some landmarks and other signs which pointed your way. Suppose you had endured confusion, hardship, fears and pain to make the trip. Suppose you had started and stopped on the trip a few times. Suppose you had spent some time wandering rather than traveling. Suppose you came, at last, to a door set in a mountain and knew that what you wanted was behind that door.

Would you try to open it?

Suppose you tugged on the door handle and it wouldn't open. Suppose the following poem was set in a brass plate near that door.

Poem

Here is the door,
the door to your life;
not to be opened by hammer or knife,
not to opened by hand print or key,
not to be opened at all but by Thee.

Call out the name which will open the door,
of course you should know it,
you've been here before.
Of course you should know it,
it's plain as can be.
It's hidden out front.
It's hidden for Thee.

Try El, or Jehovah,
Lord God, Adonai.
Try Savior, Redeemer,
perhaps El Shaddai.

Still closed?
Have you listened
for the sound of God's name?
Inscribed
it has glistened
so broad is God's fame.

Still closed?
in frustration?
in anguish?
in pain?
Still closed?
Will you open your mouth once again?

Will you say the name rightly?
Will you call it out nightly?
Will you speak so politely?
in hope?
Or in vain?

The door-keeper listens.
The door-keeper speaks.
You are the door
and the name which she seeks.

You do have the name on the tip of your tongue.
But it must be spoken
and it must be sung.

He must hear everything which you would say.
She must be touched in the most special way.

He She and They Them,
the doors and the keys,
the mirrors and speakers and more than you please
are at stake in the word you are aching to speak,
are at stake in your touching this moment, this week.

Try Peace or try Wholeness.
Shalom, Goodness, Trust,
Try Savior, Creator.
Do you know that you must?

It is written in scripture
and spoken in prayers,
but your word is your word
and everyone cares
that you speak it, or shout it, or cry out aloud,
but none else will know it
or see through the cloud.

You are unique, connected,
and you do know the way.
You are lost.
You are common.
You are black, white, and gray.

You are able to open the door to your life,
to treasure, to freedom, to husband, to wife,
to children, to parents, to friends, and to ticks,
and to snails, eagles, barnacles, bright stones, and sticks.

Ah!
But the name,
Yes the name,
which will open the door;
your heart is quick-timing,
you've been here before.
Will you reach in and find it?
Will you open your hands?
Will you notice it coming now,
whisper, command?

In the silence,
the glance,
the old name half remembered,
the trauma,
the death,
or a childhood dismembered,
in miles far away,
and in years yet to come,
the Name is arising,
you shall not be left dumb.

But can this be your time and
can this be your place?
Can this be your instant?
Can this be your space?

Is there dark enough? Light enough?
Me enough? You enough?
Of course, and of course, and of course, and of course.

Ah!
The name...

Written by: Pat Conover
Slightly edited: 2006