The Disappointing Jesus

"It is finished."

John stared, unblinking, at the figure hanging on the cross.

"Shit."

John's hands clenched into fists. His jaw tightened. He screwed up his eyes. He could feel the anger coming back.

Finished? Why the thunder is it finished? Is this it? As in, really it? It all comes to a head here? What the...

"John?"

John blinked. He looked down at the woman who had said his name. She took a step towards him, and collapsed into him, sobbing. John wrapped his arms around her, but continued to stare at the cross.

C'mon. Enough. This is where you do your magic, right? Look up, grin, flash a wink, and command those hordes of angels. Stop this being dead. Stop it.

But he kept on hanging there. Unrelenting. Unmoved. Undone.

How could he? How could he say all those things? Then go and die? What a useless Saviour. John looked away for the first time, to realise the woman was still sobbing. And what about her, he thought. What about all the promises? You lied. You told her that you were different. You told us... no, you told everyone you were different. And now, look at you. You're dying the death of a common criminal.

The woman pulled away. She took one last look at the bloodied cross, and slowly walked down the hill

He was angry. He was disappointed. He was let down. He was without a Saviour.

John turned away. It was finished.