Guilt

Just remembered I never posted this on Saturday.

John 20:19-31
[A drama in two voices]

To congregation:

The light in this room is really bad. It is crowded smells of too many bodies, too little ventilation, and the scent of silent human misery. … It’s perfect.

The man at Table 3 is not a regular, but I've seen him before. … Oh, yes, he’s not usually here by himself... he usually hangs around with a handful of other guys, but tonight he is here by himself, looking for numbness in the bottom of a cup.

I guess his friends won't be joining him, so I’ll make my way over to him.  …

“Keep your hands to yourself, Josh!” “Not now, Matt!” 

"Mind if I sit down?"

"Suit yourself.”

"What are you having?"

"Something wet, in a cup.”

"What a coincidence -- me too."

“Zach, (motions to invisible bartender) bring me something. … Thanks.”

"So, you look like a man who could use some company."

"They tried to make me feel guilty. They told me I was wrong, and they tried to make me feel guilty."

"I understand," (reaching out, touching his hand.)

"Believe me, plenty of people have tried to make me feel guilty over the years."

"You don't want to feel guilty, do you?"

I refuse to have anything to do with that kind -- they're more trouble than they're worth.

"You know how they say you should never miss a meeting?" he asked.

"Sure, I guess I’ve heard someone say it, once -- but my meetings are generally pretty short and don't happen if I’m not there.”

"They aren't kidding. Miss one meeting and suddenly you're the bad guy. Everybody's got it in for you. They tell me that I don't believe -- that I don't have faith. They tell me that I don't understand what the Master was teaching us. They try to make me feel like I'm not one of them now -- like I'm not quite as good."

"That's not right!"

"They're my brothers! They're my brothers. How can they do that to me?"

"Family can be the worst. With you one minute and against you the next."

“They all ran -- we all ran -- when they arrested him. They arrested him, they beat him, and they put him in front of some phony court and not one of us stayed by his side. Even his favorite, Peter -- when somebody asked him if he was a student of the Master, he denied knowing him! Right there, in front of God and everybody, he lied and said he didn't know him."

"Hard to believe, but some people are like that. Just looking out for themselves."

"I spent the rest of that night holding Peter's head while he wept. Do they remember that? And when they took the Master out and hung him on a cross, young James was the only one there. Where were the rest of them? Where were they when I was talking to the Arimathean, to convince him to lay the Master to rest in his tomb, since the Master's family tomb was in Galilee? Where were they all?"

"Hiding?"

"Exactly!"  

To congregation:

I can tell this isn’t going anywhere. My eyes begin to wander, traveling around the room to pick out other likely customers. … (pause)

I sigh to myself, turn my attention back to him, and I am startled to find that he is staring at me intently. I realize he asked me a question, and I think frantically, trying to remember what he'd said while I wasn't listening.

Something-something-something-dead... something-something-something-guilt... suddenly the words materialized, and I felt a chill.

"Your brothers, your friends, they're telling you this man came back from the dead?"

"Yes -- that he appeared to them a week ago, as though he'd not been laid in the grave just days before, and they expect me to just believe them! I don't know what they take me for, what kind of gullible fool, but I'm not. I'm not some country bumpkin impressed with ghost stories. I'm one of them -- back in Galilee, when the Master found us --"
To congregation:

I stop listening again.

Back in Galilee, when the Master found us...

I am transported back in time, suddenly, to a moment not that long ago when my life had hung in the balance. It was one of those moments carved in rock in my memory, unshakable and unforgettable, no matter how hard I tried. A man, a quiet man, tracing words and symbols in the dirt... a soft voice that could cut through stone and hard hearts with equal ease, with the unmistakable burr of Galilee to it.

"This man, this Master of yours -- he was Galilean?"

"Yes, yes he was, of course. Didn't I say?"

"I don't think so -- but I remember him anyway. I think I know your teacher. We had... an encounter, once."

"No... I'm sorry, but no, he would not have -- (pause, remembers) You are the woman the Pharisees brought before him -- the adulteress. … He saved you, kept them from stoning you. ... I'm pretty sure Jesus told you to go and sin no more."

"He did. But I soon realized that he may as well have said, 'Go and eat no more.' When you sin... when all you know is sin, and it keeps you alive... what recourse do you have? ...  So he was the man executed last week -- the false prophet?"

"The teacher. The Master. We thought maybe the Messiah. But he was no false prophet. You didn't see the wonders I saw, hear him teach the way I heard."
"Oh, I heard. And I tried. But here I am. … Now your friends are telling you he's not dead, but alive?"

"That he has come back. He was dead, no doubt about that. The Arimathean told me there was no doubt that he was dead. But they say he's come back and lives again. As though I would believe such a thing! I don't know whether they're mad, drunk, or just tormenting me."

"But if he could come back --"

"He can't. Dead is dead."

"But if he could -- if he could leave this life behind, and come back with a new life, somehow... if he could turn away from what had happened, and start new... maybe there would be hope for the rest of us. Maybe it would mean the rest of us could somehow die and leave our old lives behind, and come back new."

"They're wrong, I tell you! It can't happen."

"But if it did... wouldn't it be a wonderful thing?"

"It would. It would be a miracle of the highest order. And I suppose it would mean all those things you said. But let's be realistic. Let's be practical."

"Yes, let's be practical. Your friends claim he comes to them. You claim he doesn't --"

"Can't."

"-- can't. So there are two possibilities, and you can prove which is correct. Go to your friends and wait for him to come. If he does, you prove that it's this teacher... this risen teacher. Look for the wounds in his hands and feet. Nobody lives through that. If he has them, and he's walking among you -- you'll know who's telling the truth."

"It seems like a fool's errand."

 "Look, my customers tell me they have money, but I don't accept their word. Before anything happens, I need to see coins. Proof. It sets my mind at ease. Proof -- one way or the other -- is what you need to set your mind at ease. Because no matter what you say, there's a part of you that wants to believe your Master returned."

"I do. You're right, I do."

"Then I'll tell you a secret. I want to believe too. Prove it to both of us... prove it, and maybe both of us can move on to something better."

To congregation:

We talked for a little longer, and I drank his wine -- I needed it. After a while he stood up and said he needed to go meet with his friends... it was the meeting they had set for the evening of the first day of the week. When he left, he walked with purpose he had not had when I first saw him, and my heart stirred.

And now I wait, and I wonder... will he get his proof? Will I get mine? Is it really possible to die to an old life and come back to a new one? I wonder...

In the mean time, what are you having...?

  

[Adapted from Guilt, by Keith Hewitt; StoryShare, April 27, 2014, issue. Copyright 2014 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio. Used by permission.]