The story goes that from that time many of his disciples went back, and walked with him no more. Sounds familiar as I am often sheared by words from the gentle lamb of God. In those moments he is too much. There, I said it. God is too much. So I turn back and sit with myself as his words steep in my brain’s blood. Should I rush chicken-little back into service I am useful but tasteless. But when I can still enough for a long, long time I am stained darker with the brash to rise and follow again.