This is a Desert Place

His cousin John got decapitated by a disgusting slug-king. Jesus just heard about it, and He wants to be alone.

The people are annoying. They won't give Him space. God, I hate the crowd right now. Why are we so suffocating, so desperate?

Why do we need Him?

I can just see it now: the numbing cloud of shock settling over His head; the throb of tears lodged somewhere deep inside His chest - we, in our barefooted blindness, crave His company as He craves solitude. What disgust He must feel as He slowly realizes that, once again, we've tracked Him down. Oh Father, He breathes, Don't let them say anything. I can't handle their ignorance right now. Maybe, just maybe, we'll get a clue what's going on, seeing things the way He does. Maybe we'll comfort Him for once.

I doubt it. You all must feel as ashamed as I do, but you obviously can't help approaching Him, either. What miserable failures we are. I don't like us, and I am one of us. We must make Him sick.

He's walking out now.

"And Jesus went forth, and saw a great multitude, and was moved with compassion toward them, and He healed their sick."

You beautiful You.