When the crowds appeared Jesus went away, either up into the mountain or out onto the lake. What about the crowd was so frightening? Perhaps that he might welcome them for being a crowd, for their crowd's response to a message each must ratify as an individual; maybe it was fear that he might someday be seeking them, judging what he would offer by the size of the crowd who might cheer. Maybe he went away because he did not know what to say to crowds and could speak only to those who had already followed. Maybe Jesus needed to be apart from them so that he could listen, rather than always have to speak.
Crowds are only crowds, no matter their size or enthusiasm. They have a single need or curiosity, and asked to shout, sing, or cry out with one voice they will gladly do so. But then they go home. When they do -- when they stop being a crowd -- they have greater value. Maybe then they could listen, and hear. It is maybe then that Jesus will begin seeking them.
My father was a writer. He wrote all of his life, inflicting upon many of us his novels, plays, articles, essays, and self-help books. Some were marvelous; some merely well-intentioned. But of all the things he wrote, his journal is his legacy: by turns wise and bewildering, it neared 1,100 type-written pages when he died in 2010. Although perused many times, this is the first time it will be read - cover to cover, page after page.
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