#168

The crowd was cheering.

He, too, was smiling—

until suddenly, the smile faded.

He turned around,
against the tide of praise.
He waded through the people,
who were all the more eager
to touch even the hem of His garment.

His eyes were far too distant
from the merry souls nearby,
all eager to sing His name.

There was sadness
in the depths of His eyes.

Finally, after forcing His way
through a forest of reaching arms,
He reached the place He had sought.

"I'm sorry I'm late."

That was the first thing He said.

The people there were surprised.
They were the ones who had welcomed Him first.
They never thought themselves worthy
of being graced by His presence.

Yet there He was.

"Teacher!"

One voice called out,
then another.

Again and again,
they bowed and paid their respects.

Except for one.

The one person
He had come to apologize to.

"I'm sorry I'm late."

He stuttered.

So unlike Who He was.
There was a flaw in His voice.

Broken.
Hurt.
Displeased.
Vulnerable.

Human.

He could undo all of it—
but the pain had already been endured.

He could unwind everything—
yet the memory of it
would forever be etched in His.

"I am late. I'm sorry."

He apologized once more.

His voice weaker,
His gaze unable to meet the eyes
of the man He had hurt most.

The husband reached out to Him.

"It's not your fault.
It's...
there's nothing—
this is the will of Our Lord."

He sensed the bravado in the man's voice.
They were lies. He knew that much.

But He paid them no heed.

For in His presence
stood someone who would hurt
just as much as He would.

He could save her.
He would.

But first,
He had to make the man accept His apology.

"I'm sorry," He said.

That was the fourth time already.

More times than the rooster
would crow for Peter.

"I'm sorry," He said for the fifth time.

Then the sixth.
Then the seventh.

The husband had already said his piece.

But He knew.

He dropped to His knees.

And for the last time,
He apologized.

He knew
He could not change the man's mind
unless a miracle happened.

And He did.

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