I called to him 'Lord, Lord, where are you going?' But he kept walking toward the Temple, and then he began to run. I'd only seen him run one other time, for Lazarus. That story is told now in a strange manner, that Jesus hesitated, dawdled even for two more days while his friend was sick. But I was there, I saw his fury. He was being hobbled by the Father, he knew it, I sensed it, we all did. So for two days he strained against the reins, obedient, but still straining.
Then without warning, his words: 'I'm going to him.' He took off walking toward Bethany, and we followed. He paced with urgency the better part of a mile, shoulders squared, upright, not a word. Then his posture deepened, he leaned forward, and began to run. It was as if he'd been told 'now!' We struggled to keep up, such was his unbridled swiftness. Then Mary was there, falling at his feet, weeping. I saw him begin to shake violently, and then he wept. Jesus wept. The weeping madman ran on to the tomb, crying desire: 'No! No, Lazarus!' I witnessed in that moment the depths of his enmity with the old sorrow. He had come that men might live.
His body sunk into that same posture as he ran toward the Temple after the Hosanas!, like he'd been told 'now!' We ran and followed, breathless. As he stepped inside he began to shake, and then he wept once more. Jesus wept again and howled 'No! No! This should not be!' As if replaying a scene, the unhobbled God ran from corner to corner damning the merchants' world: 'No! This shall be a gentle place!' We simply stood and watched. With Jesus' words the prey suddenly appeared, the lonely ones, the lost and wounded ones, those hindered until then. The Lord spoke 'there is still time' and then he healed them, all of them, and they lived.