I watched him make his way outside and through the crowd. As he moved, the people stepped back to give him room. Many held out their hands to him and he touched as many of the hands as he could. He came to the edge of Galilee, the crowd following him and pressing him. He looked wan, weary and for a moment, slightly confused. Nearby lay a small boat. Loosening it from its mooring he stepped into it and pushed. The boat scudded out into the water leaving the crowd standing on the shore. Some thought he would leave them. I did myself. He often resorted to solitude and I thought he would take the oars and row out into the water, there to sit and be alone. Instead, he took a single oar and put it into the water as you would put in a pole to move you up a river. The boat went a few feet out and stopped. There was no current. The lake was as glass. He sat down on a thwart and began to speak to the people. The peaceful scene quieted the people. No one spoke so that the voice of Jesus carried well out into the press.

“A farmer,” he said, “A farmer went out to plant his fields. As he was scattering the seed, some fell along a nearby path, and the birds came and consumed the seed.” Jesus seemed preoccupied as he spoke.

My father is with my Father. My family is grieving and I cannot be with them. Why, Father? Why?

“Some fell on rocky places, where it did not have much soil. The seed sprang up quickly, because the soil was shallow. But when the sun came up, the plants were scorched, and they withered because they had no root.”

“You have gone too far this time, Jesus,” James had said. “Our mother is suffering, our sisters, and we are not there”

The boat rocked gently as Jesus shifted his weight. James had left and gone with the family back to Nazareth, . . . but I remain here . . . with these . . . these sheep. Oh, my Father, help her to understand.

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