Jesus gazes into the endless horizon, his eyes reflecting the fading light. His hands rest on his knees, trembling ever so slightly, as he contemplates the barren ocean before him. Once, this place teemed with life, but now the silence is overwhelming. Tears gather in his eyes, and for the first time in countless ages, he allows himself to mourn openly.
Peter, Andrew, James, and John haul their nets, laughter mingling with the rush of water. Jesus approaches, his voice carrying over the waves. "Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men," he says, inspiring hope and purpose. The fishermen leave their catch, drawn by a promise of a new kind of abundance.
Jesus[/@ch_1]’s shoulder, and a soft voice resonates with wisdom and sorrow.]
Mary, his younger sister, kneels beside him. "We were following your teachings, and there are far more poor people now," she murmurs, counting imaginary fish in the sand. "What have you taught to these greedy men?" Jesus weeps, his tears mingling with the tide. The ocean, once a symbol of divine provision, has become a mirror for human excess.
Jesus recalls the times he visited hospitals, prisons, schools, and churches—always present, always watching. He remembers the union of fishermen, the rebellion against unjust laws, and the joy of sharing simple meals. Yet here, at the edge of the ocean, he feels the weight of misinterpretation—a generosity twisted into greed.
Jesus[/@ch_1] kneels, shoulders shaking, his tears falling into the water as if hoping to restore what has been lost.]
"People cannot farm fish or replenish the stocks. They have clearly abused my teachings for their own benefit. My teachings were to feed the poor, not the greedy!" The empty ocean offers no answer. Mary remains at his side, her presence a quiet balm, as they count the invisible fish together.
Jesus rises slowly, his tears spent, his gaze steady. Mary stands with him, resolute and gentle. Together, they vow to teach again—this time with clearer boundaries, urging compassion and stewardship. The lesson is simple but profound: use only for your needs, and cherish what remains. Upon the edge of the ocean, a new revelation is born.
