Jesus Hernandez was a bricklayer. The Jesus you’re thinking of was a carpenter, although both are admirable professions. This Jesus lived alone in a nice house in the San Fernando Valley. He lived alone because he had “anger issues” and his wife was long gone.
His business was thriving. There was enough work right there in the Valley to Keep on Pilin’ like his sweaty T-shirt said. With a nice house in sunny California, a great business, and the wife not but a fading memory, Jesus was happy, his anger apparently conquered. But then…Donald Trump.
At first it was just a twinge he felt every time the media blasted “…and they’re going to pay for it!” But eventually that twinge turned into full-blown rage, and one morning, his neighbors were awakened to the sound of a truck delivering two pallets of bricks to Jesus’s front yard. A week later, he had constructed a wall, about waist high, across the front of his property. The neighbors hardly noticed. They lived in the Valley.
This eased his ire for a bit, and he even put some flowers on top of the wall to ease his conscience too. But words played on in his head. Rapists, murderers, drug-dealers. This would require more bricks–many more bricks.
Eventually his anger drove him to completely wall himself in, but you already knew that. And you probably assumed the day came when Jesus got hurt and needed help, but nobody could get in, and Jesus died a slow and anger-filled death. Don’t be like this Jesus.