Thousand: Three Hundred Fifty

inquire. “I am the God, a Lord, Your Jesus Christ.” They look at me, uncomprehending. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I am the Lord, Your God, Jesus Christ. Did I get it right that time?” “Where’s your costume?” “I’m supposed to have a costume?” “The Messiah has a costume.” “What’s it look like?” “It’s sort of red, a dark color,” says a native. “More brown,” another interjects. “Silver stripes on the sleeve?” “The shoulder.” “Isn’t the shoulder the sleeve?” “A hat.” “I thought it was a crown.” “Thorns? You know, like a crown of thorns.” “Those aren’t done.” “With the blood