There’s an essay by C. S. Lewis that I have, ever since I first read it as a teenager, always remembered at some of the more frustrating moments of my life, moments especially of interpersonal aggravation.
Jesus had just been saying some mysterious things about the final advent of the Son of Man—a time when we will desire to see him, but will not be able, a time of false signs, scoffers, and the indifferent.