Come and See

by Thomas A. Robinson. Copyright 2025. All rights reserved.

Philip said it first—quietly,
as if wonder required no force.
“Come and see” [John 1:46].

To Nathanael beneath the fig tree,
to the Greeks with careful questions,
to all who asked more than they dared believe.

From the city where stone once unsuccessfully sealed a tomb,
he walked east,
past borders and maps,
until the hills of Phrygia
received his last breath.

No gospel records the words he spoke there.
What remains is this:
the hill remembers.
The stones lean inward.
A silence deeper than ruin lingers.

I stood there—
feet on earth that had cradled his bones,
morning sun rising clean and unshaded,
a faint breeze threading through colonnades,
light pooling on broken marble
as if memory had weight.

The Martyrium still watches,
a broken circle of presence.
The tomb nearby lies patient,
as if waiting for another question.

No crowds.
No miracles.
Only the ache of what was given
and the hush of what remains.

And still the words come:
”Come and see.”
Not just then, but now.
Not only for them, but for us.

Come and see
what witness looks like
when no one is watching.

Come and see
how faith walks forward
even when the story nears its end.

Come and see
how the blood of the apostles
soaks not just stone,
but time.