I have this picture in my mind of the man Jesus, sitting with the woman at the well, hot and tired. Speaking with a woman shunned by polite society, showing her a respect no other man ever had. And revealing to her, first, the secrets of the Kingdom of God.
The man Jesus, as delighted by his disciples' fire as he was baffled by their dullness, asking two as they approached, "What do you want me to do for you?" Teaching them to serve and trust. The first shall be last.
The man Jesus, unintimidated by any power on Earth, unafraid of any man or argument, never backing down. Showing mercy even to the Pharisee - his enemy - who would come to him at night, alone, and ask his questions in earnest.
The man Jesus, who saw one woman's preoccupation with order while her sister soaked in the moment, and said, "Your sister has chosen the better thing."
In the middle of Passover week, in the middle of a political firestorm, in the midst of religious corruption, in the middle of the crowds. He was the eye of the storm. The force of peace in the center.
I see him there. And I look around me and I think, "Where is Jesus, here, in all of this mess?"
Driving home tonight, a basket of coffee and dump trucks beside me, with eggs and crafts to deliver tomorrow. Flowers to plant, appointments to keep. Fevers to nurse, curls to comb, shirts to press. I make my preparations too.
But in the middle of all the talk and controversies, all the plans and painted eggs, may I sit long enough to just wait for the calm.
May I, too, see Jesus this week.