Four days in New Mexico. With the luxury of a borrowed car, I drove north from Albuquerque to Espanola on an afternoon saturated with sun. The landscape on every side made me gasp. In the distance blue and white mountains seemed to recede as I sped on. In the foreground, fantastic hills and mesas of every shape in red, tan and ochre. "In his hand are the caverns of the earth, and the hills are his also. . . . his hands have molded the dry land" (Ps.95). Tumbleweed bounced across the highway. Some places were so desolate, I was amazed to see clusters of houses in the dry clefts, not a tree anywhere. I wondered how people could bear to live there, despite the grandeur all around. I wondered if the holy land looked like this two thousand years ago. One’s sandals would certainly get dusty. Foot-washing would be as comforting as a cool drink of water, in a place so dry. I thought of John’s gospel from just a few days ago. "Now there was a great deal of grass in the place; so they sat down, about five thousand in all" (6:10). I never noticed what a rich detail that is, about the grass. That probably was not something Jesus and his crew encountered every day, a hospitable grassy place for a picnic. And from His abundance, Jesus made it happen. Wow.