Scarlet Robe Creations

Twelve. Those who walked in sandals, tattered, over dust and stone. A betrayer among them. A denier as well. One would die by his own hand, spilling his ransom like blood. Another would weep when the rooster crowed, and a time of emptiness was ushered in. Ten who stood in a room, afraid of every shadow, yet to witness the failure of death to gain victory, unsure in their hearts what the women had seen. One, absent, whose doubt caused him to touch, to impale his fingers in the wounds, before embracing faith. Twelve. Those who had tossed nets where they were directed, into an empty sea. Those who collected twelve baskets of bread and fish, after five loaves and two fish had nourished the masses. Those who had seen the blind see, the lame walk, sores heal, a prostitute sob. copyright 2025 - Donald P James Jr https://www.amazon.com/stores/Donald-P.-James-Jr./author

Ordination' by Nicolas Poussin, 1630s They came from various walks of life. They followed. There were eight, nine, ten, and then there were twelve. "Did you hear him?" Asked one bystander. "Did you listen?" Asked another. "He speaks of wheat and weeds," said a third. They move from town to town, the eight, nine, ten, and twelve. They draw others to them always to follow, as they follow. "I ate fish," said one who dined. "There was plenty," said another. "It might have been a miracle," said a third. Some rebuke, those with power to lose. They criticize the one who stands as a shepherd before the eight, nine, ten, and twelve. The one says He is good. He says His flesh is bread. He says He will spill out His wine. He carries a beam of wood without followers. Yesterday there were twelve, ten, nine, eight. Now there is one, and His mother. "I heard he raised up a dead friend," said one with a sword. "He made clai...