The world of light and laughter breaks and the sky collapses, spilling darkness. The stars and wind dissolve. The moon burns black. The fundamental earth beneath and the firmament above are inverted.
“Your cousin, John, is dead.”
Jesus buckles, stumbles, pushes the messenger away. Pushes past the disciples and climbs into the boat. Alone. And the sea carries him away to a lonely place.
But the village, not privy to the bad news delivered, follows on foot, racing along the shore to meet him on the other side. He steps ashore and they are there – calling, crying, cawing, clawing, galling. They brought to him all the intrusive demands born of desperation.
And he sees them through his tears. He sees them with broken pity. Passion is pain and compassion is a shared grief. He heals their sick and calms their fears. Touching. Holding. Weeping. Soothing. Blessing.
The invisible sun settles itself toward evening and the disciples say, “This is a lonely place and you want to be alone. Now it’s late and time has slipped with the sun. Why don’t you send these people away?”
Jesus sits down among them on the whispering grass and sighs. “No,” he says. He lies down and closes his eyes. “Let them stay. Let them stay.”
(Matthew 14:13-16)
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