Ah John, what did you expect? I came into your lives to change them, yes, but it is still life that I came to . . . .
Life of the hard things . . . the scary go-bump-in-the-night things . . . the this-can’t-be-right things . . .
I expected no less . . . you, it seems, expected so much more . . .
Sorry to disappoint, lad, but you see
this, then, is how it had to be . . .
Had to be . . . not in the sense of script-already-written predestining divine plotting – nay –
had to be in the sense of how could it be otherwise . . .
should I join you in the trenches of it all . . .
in the love and hurt and wonder of it all . . .
in the thus has it ever been querying questioning asking demanding of it all . . .
This, lad, is what I came for . . .
You did not know that God is a mud-wrestler by nature?
They will sing of you, boy of mine . . . the one who stood the Jordan’s banks . . . the wilderness walker . . . the whisperer of nothing and shouter of everything . . . the impatient one . . . my beloved herald . . . go tell John, they will sing . . . and to him, the told and telling one, would I say . . . go ask Jacob – about mud and wrestling and things that go bump in the night . . .
For then, lad, then, shall you know and understand
then shall you cease your shouting and rest into the singing of me
echoing down the halls of time itself
then shall you, dear boy, be comforted . . .