A New Play, Easter-Pentecost 2015

A word about this script. The original impetus for it was a script we found online, "Easter to Pentecost", consisting of scripture readings and monologues. The monologues were extremely re-contextualized, as if the biblical personages were totally immersed in 20th/21st-century American jargon--indeed, practically as if the events themselves had happened in modern America. For a number of reasons, our attempt to translate/interpret/adapt that into Russian for presentation in a Ukrainian Baptist church proved simply impossible. But what did happen was, the attempt produced what is actually a brand new play. 

Of the nine monologues in this play, only two are by biblical characters who are in that other script: Mary Magdalene and Cleopas. Of those two, only the Mary Magdalene monologue bears any resemblance to that of the other script, though the reworking is nevertheless quite profound both in matter and style. As for Cleopas, I didn't even read the "Cleopas" monologue in the other one, beyond taking note that there was a Cleopas monologue there. 

Suffice to say, apart from Mary Magdalene, the other eight monologues in this play are "from scratch", apart from the obvious fact that they are based on the biblically related events. 

Finally, I will add that I boldly and enthusiastically committed the following bit of "plagiarism": for the last monologue in this play, Marina decides to take the character "Judith," whom she played in our last play, "The Day of Quietness", and develop her further. Inasmuch as I wrote "The Day of Quietness," this was a bit of "plagiarism" I quite delighted in committing. It adds an extra dose of verisimilitude, as our audience here will remember that play, and that Marina played that role. It assists the illusion that Marina really is choosing spontaneously to pull something from an experience that we have all shared in real life. 

And with all that said, here we go....

Play,  2015: “From an Empty Tomb to an Indwelt Church”

Setting: We are at the home of Yulia and her daughter “Nika” (Veronika). In all there are nine of us having a party to celebrate the recent successful performance of a play in church.

(As the lights go up, we see an empty living room onstage, and from offstage we hear the sound of people talking and laughing, along with the noises of cups and spoons clinking, in the dining area. We also hear a dog, Laffi, bark. Then we hear Yulia raise her voice above the general noise…)

Yulia: Who would like some more cake? There is plenty left. Don’t be shy. Brothers?

(While Yulia is talking there are spontaneous, natural responses, expressing that everybody is full and couldn’t possibly eat another bite.)

Yulia: Well then, may I suggest, friends, that we move to the living room where we will be more comfortable? (Sounds of general assent, also of chairs being pushed back from the table and people starting to move; as the following lines are spoken, a low hum of general chatter continues; another yip is heard from the dog, too) Please take your cups with you. We can bring the cookies, too. Nika, will you light the candles on the coffee table?

Yan: I’ll take the cookies.

Yulia: Thanks!

(The cast enters from the “dining room”, we hear another bark just as the cast is appearing on stage. Nika lights a couple of candles on the living room coffee table. Everybody finds a place to sit. Yan sets the cookies on the table. As Ken takes a seat, we hear barking again and Ken reacts as if the dog “Laffi” is jumping up on his lap.)

Yulia: Laffi, no! Sorry, Ken! Nika, get Laffi away—

Nika: Laffi-i-i-i, naughty! What’s the matter with you? Don’t you know Ken is allergic to dogs? (Nika is saying this as she pantomimes scooping Laffi into her arms, carrying her out of the living room into the dining room; Nika shuts the door to the “dining room” and Laffi gives a final bark.)

Yulia: So sorry—

Ken: (chuckling) It’s fine, no problem. Dogs love me, because they somehow know I’m allergic to them. I think it entertains them to make me sneeze.

Marina: And not just sneeze but lose your voice altogether.

Ken: That’s true: when I have a bad reaction, I can’t even talk.

Volodya: It’s a good thing there were no dogs in our play, or you wouldn’t have been able to talk on stage!

Valya: Oh my, you sure don’t need dogs for that! Remember when I forgot my line? I froze and stopped talking. It was petrifying! It seemed like an eternity before I was able to make something up—

Ira: It only seemed like an eternity, Valya. In fact, it was only for a second and nobody even noticed it—

Valya: All of you noticed it!

Marina: Well, of course we noticed, because we know the whole script, but that’s not the point. The point is, the audience didn’t know—

Silvia: Exactly. You improvised beautifully. You stayed in your role, and the scene kept going without even a hitch. It was just right.

Valya: But… I don’t know… somehow it seems wrong. I mean, to make up your lines instead of saying what the playwright really wrote—

Yan: But what else are you gonna do when you’re on stage and can’t remember your line? You have to improvise! Otherwise, you’ll just stand there saying nothing, staring at the audience! 

Yulia: And that really would be frightful.

Nika: And comical!

(Everybody laughs)

Volodya: All in all, the play went wonderfully. I think it was very effective.

Ira: Yes, a lot of people came up to me afterwards to say how much it touched them.  

(General chit-chat in agreement: “Yes, to me, too”, “Praise the Lord”, “Everybody liked it”, “People are asking when the next one will be”. Yan interrupts the general chatter…)

Yan: And I want to thank our hostesses Yulia and Nika for opening up their home to us so we could  celebrate our successful performance!

(Everybody agrees, some spontaneous applause)

Valya: And for such a magnificent supper!

(Again, spontaneous expressions of agreement, applause)

Yan: (noticing that Ken is staring off pensively) Ken, where are you? You look like you’ve gone into another world.

Ken: Hm? Oh! Uh, no, not really, I… was just thinking about the question of improvisation. It’s true: every actor, even the greatest actors in the world, must be ready to improvise on stage, because anything can happen, and you have to be ready to compensate—like, to cover if somebody forgets their lines, or if you forget your own! It’s part of the art.

Valya: But it’s still frightening.

Ken: Sure, but… it’s fun, too! Listen! I want to suggest a game, an improvisation game. (Some “buzz” in reaction) Here’s how it works: One of us reads a passage in the Bible—let’s say, about an event between the Resurrection and the Day of Pentecost—and then picks somebody else who has to spontaneously improvise a monologue, as if they’re a person who was involved in that biblical event. What do you think?

(Mixed expressions: two or three people are interested, two or three are intimidated, two or three are so-so, but finally, after some “come on”s and “why not?”s, everybody agrees. Ken continues)  

Ken: Okay, then. Who wants to be-e-e… (as if he’s going to say “first”, but he surprises everybody by saying…) last? (Many raise their hands, but Marina raises her hand the fastest.) Okay, I saw Marina’s hand first. So, Marina, you’ll do your monologue last. Therefore, you’ll be the first to choose a Bible passage—remember, between the Resurrection and Pentecost!—read it, and then pick the person who has to do an immediate, spontaneous monologue! Here’s a Bible. You can begin.

(Marina takes the Bible Ken hands her, browses for a second, finds a place she likes, and reads  Mark 16:1-8. She gives the group a quick scan and chooses Sylvia, hands her the Bible, Sylvia looks at the passage for a second, puts the Bible down, walks up to the microphone and music stand [which has the actors’ monologues on it] just in front of the stage, as the lights onstage, in the “living room,” go down, and she addresses her monologue directly to the audience. Onstage the other actors freeze and continue looking at the place where Sylvia was standing, as if she’s still there. )

Sylvia: My name is Mary. No, I’m not that Mary, the mother of Jesus. I’m also not Mary Magdalene. You may call me Mary the mother of James. I’m one of those who went to the tomb--on that miraculous morning!--to fulfill a debt of love to our Lord, to perform the little it was in our power to do: a final act of devotion to Him. I couldn't imagine how I’d go on living after that, but I forced myself not to think about what would come…'after', only about what we were going to the tomb for. 

The sun had just risen and shone red on the hills and trees above us. But the path we walked was still gloomy, and we made our way carefully so as not to stumble. To me it seemed that the gloom came from our very souls, that our grief was darkening everything around us. 

Yet despite myself I couldn't help noticing the light of a new day above us, and… it was beautiful. Something inside urged me, "Look up! His mercies are new every morning!" I looked up. The light was surely glorious. But my heart resisted: "No, not this morning. Not now. Nothing will ever be new again….”  

The thought had barely taken shape when Salome asked, "Who will roll away the stone?" That shook me out of my thoughts, as if I’d been sleeping. As for Mary Magdalene, it annoyed her, as if Salome shouldn't have asked. But I admitted to myself bitterly that we had come for nothing; it would be impossible to get into the tomb.  I could feel the final hopelessness swallowing me up forever. 

Then we came round a bend, with Mary Magdalene in front. I heard her gasp with astonishment, but I didn’t know why. Then Salome, right in front of me, dropped the jar of ointment. I watched with horror as it shattered on the ground. I was about to shout at her in rage when I looked up and… I froze in shock. 

In front of us was the tomb--open! No one else in sight: no guard, nobody. Just that terrible cave, open as if waiting for a burial that hadn't happened yet. As if the horror we had just gone though was only a bad dream and now we were awake! 

Without a word we rushed into the tomb. Now I’m amazed at our recklessness, but at that moment nothing mattered except to find out what had happened. 

And again we were stunned, and frozen with fear and confusion. Right there in front of us…. well, what wasn’t there in front of us: the body of the Lord wasn't there—it wasn't there! But there was a man there. No, not a man, an angel of God. This angel told us that Jesus the Nazarene had risen. He pointed to the place where they had put his body, but we already saw perfectly well that He wasn't there. The angel said more: about the disciples, about Peter, about Galilee, but I was incapable of taking it in. I was overwhelmed with panic; I ran away. Salome wasn’t far behind me. As for Mary Magdalene, she was running with us but then--I didn't notice exactly when--she wasn't there anymore. 

I think… she went back...there. 

(Sylvia returns to the spot in the "living room" where she was standing before, the stage lights go on again and everybody else un-freezes, expressing a warm, positive response to her monologue, as if she had been standing there all along as she delivered it. With perhaps a word of direction from Ken, Sylvia takes the Bible, leafs through it a moment, finds a place, and reads John 20:1-8. Then she picks Nika. Nika takes the Bible, looks at the passage for a moment, then goes to the microphone, as the stage lights come down.)

Nika: When I got there, the stone was rolled away; there were no guards, no one. And the Lord’s body was gone. For just a moment, I could almost imagine all this hadn’t happened. Almost. But not quite. I was beside myself with horror. I didn’t know what else to do, so I rushed back to the disciples at the upper room. When I told them what I’d seen, they didn’t believe me. I can’t blame them: they saw what a state I was in; they thought I was imagining things. But I knew what I had seen, and when I insisted furiously that I had been at the tomb and it was open— and empty—finally Peter couldn’t stop himself: he suddenly took off to see for himself. John immediately went after him. I don’t know whether John believed me, but I’m sure he wanted to believe… and I think he wanted to be with Peter, too, in case they met danger on the road. I couldn’t possibly remain behind.

When we got there, everything was just as when I’d left. Peter and John both went into the tomb, which stunned me. When they came out, Peter looked torn apart and confused. But in John’s face I saw something different, and it shook me to my soul. It was like John was… starting to understand something, something that couldn’t be. I… no, I wasn’t ready….   

We stood there a short time, then they left. I was so bewildered and frightened, I hardly noticed that they left. Why would anyone take the body of the Lord? How? What happened to the Roman guards? Who rolled the stone away? I couldn’t control myself—I collapsed in tears, convulsed with grief.

And then came a voice. I hardly heard him at first through my cries of anguish, and through my tears I saw only the outline of a man—I thought he must be the keeper of the garden. He asked why I was crying. How could he not know? How could anyone not know? Words came flying out of me like a violent storm, full of fury and rage and…all in an instant, the Man stilled the storm… with a single word: “Mary”.

The whole world vanished; a new world appeared in His eyes. “My Lord! My Master!”, I cried. It was Jesus—alive! Risen!  

When He said my name, and His eyes met mine, I was reborn. Nothing can ever overcome me again: now I live in the deathless world of His invincible love. And He knows me by name: “Mary”.  

I could have stayed with Him there forever; I wanted to! But the Lord told me to go and tell the others, tell them He was risen! And that He would come to them soon. How hard it was to leave that place, where the Lord’s life radiated and shone! Yet I felt His life and power going  with me, full of heavenly glory, as I left, with joy, to tell the disciples what had happened: the impossible had happened! “The Lord has risen! He is alive!”

They didn’t believe me.  No, they needed to see, as I had….

(As before, and continuing this way between all the monologues, the one who has just performed a monologue returns to the stage, the “living room” lights go on again, the rest of the cast “un-freeze” and respond warmly, the one who has just done a monologue takes the Bible, picks a passage, reads it and then picks the next person to do a monologue, who takes the Bible, ponders the passage for a moment and proceeds to the microphone. So this time, Nika chooses and reads Luke 24:13-18, then picks Yan to do the monologue…)    

Yan: I am Cleopas. You’ve already heard what happened on that astounding day, that great day of Heaven’s victory!  I won’t pretend that you don’t know precisely Who it was that joined us on our way to Emmaus. It was Jesus.  Risen! No, we didn’t know it then. For miles and miles we didn’t know. The truth didn't dawn on us until, finally, we sat down to break bread… until He broke the bread…. 

Did the Lord want us to realize sooner? I… I don’t know…. 

But we know now! And now I understand why, for all those miles, while we listened to this compelling stranger’s riveting words, my heart burned with a new hope. Yes—I will say it: even to my horror  I began to feel new hope. A fresh joy surged through me in body and soul. I was appalled that I could feel such things—at such a time, when all of us who loved the Lord were shattered, devastated beyond recovery. "How can I be so unfaithful," I thought, "that my soul is bursting to sing, like it did when we walked with the Lord through Galilee and Judea, just like the days when the power of His life radiated and vibrated in the air around us? What’s wrong with me?! I have already lost the Light of the World, my life’s treasure. And now, am I doomed even to lose my grief—my last connection to Him? Is this to be my final, unspeakable betrayal of Him?”  

Such were the thoughts flying wildly through my mind, even while that glorious voice   invaded my spirit, penetrated my soul with stunning freedom. The “stranger’s” voice broke through into places that, I thought, had slammed shut forever when the Lord breathed his last on the cross. The “stranger’s” words were summoning the light of Heaven into a heart that had already surrendered to the darkness of despair. And I resisted. Why should I yield to hope again, when there could be no hope? It wasn't fair! 

I remember when I was a little boy. Sometimes, when I was upset and crying, my father, instead of  coddling me in pity, would do something to make me smile and then laugh. I always resisted. I wanted to cry and be miserable! It would annoy me… at first… when he’d do that, because I knew exactly what he was up to. I’d think, "It's not fair! I have a right to cry!" So I’d try harder to cry and show just how upset I was. But, of course, the very effort to cry and look sad would suddenly seem comical. And then my eyes would meet my father’s eyes…  and we'd burst into laughter together. And I wasn't annoyed at him anymore. Because when I looked into his eyes, they radiated love. 

That day, on the road to Emmaus, the Father's eyes were peering into my soul, full of love, through the veiled face of Jesus. And His joyful voice was whispering to my spirit, "What, don't you know Me?"

If only I hadn't resisted, if only I had listened to what my deepest heart was telling me, I'd have given up my precious right to misery. I'd have recognized the Lord … so much sooner!

But how hard it is for the dead to return to life.

Yes, we were dead in our grief and despair. I think the Lord needed that long road to Emmaus to lead our souls back, on the long road from death to life. And he did, truly, lead us back!  

When we reached Emmaus, my whole being was throbbing with a knowledge just beyond my grasp and understanding;  my spirit was scrambling to clutch and seize this inexplicable, this impossible new coming of Joy, of Life.

The..."stranger"...Jesus...turned as if to go away, and that was the limit of my endurance. I stammered desperately: "Please don't leave us!" I was in tears. 

His eyes met mine. 

He smiled. 

Love beamed  from his eyes. 

We went into the house. 

He broke the bread. 

And... my whole world was born again. 

(Yan reads Matthew 27:51-53, chooses Valya…)

Valya: My name is Rebecca. My husband Adonijah is a Pharisee. I have always been proud of him. Many don’t understand who the Pharisees are and what important work they do—yes, and have been doing ever since the captivity of our people in Babylon! My nation forgets so quickly about the unfaithfulness of our ancestors, who turned to idols again and again, betraying the Lord and His holy covenant! Finally, God punished Israel with destruction by pagan invaders and a terrible exile in a foreign land, among an unclean, unholy people. When God in His inexpressible mercy brought us back to the promised land, Israel never again returned to idolatry. Why—because the people became so faithful in heart? No! Because consecrated men, the Pharisees, labored ceaselessly to purify the heart of our nation, to defend God’s law and protect it from the least defilement! That is why we never went back to those abominable sins, from the days before the exile. The Pharisees are the guardians of holiness and faithfulness in the nation—and look how many hundreds of years they have succeeded in their high calling! The nation is always unstable in heart, and on the verge of betraying the Lord God again; this is why the work of the Pharisees can never stop or slacken. Yes, I am proud of my husband. His father was a Pharisee, and his grandfather, and all of his fathers since the time of the exile!

We cannot betray our fathers who kept faith, at such a high price, with the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. No… we cannot betray them….

But now they—they themselves, our fathers—have announced to us… our great sin… against God’s Messiah.

We didn’t know… we didn’t understand….

Jesus the Nazarene was preaching throughout the land, for three years. At first we thought that, like so many others, he would quickly come to nothing and vanish. But with every week, and then with every day, new reports came of the miraculous works this Jesus was performing: he gave sight to the blind, made the crippled whole, and… yes, so they told us, he brought the dead back to life. I was sure it must all be a lie—it’s impossible! My husband and I waited for this Jesus to be exposed, discredited. But like a mighty wave, the Nazarene advanced on Jerusalem, with his growing, frightful power and dangerous words. My husband feared the whole nation would go after him—and what would happen then to our holy covenant with God, that our fathers consecrated their lives to protect?  What? At all costs, we had to crush the Nazarene and save God’s nation.

Yes, I did… know… that the Pharisees, and the Sanhedrin, plotted to destroy Jesus by treachery, that they used false accusers against him. Even my beloved husband had a part in this. But we had to worry about the greater good! What other choice did we have?

I won’t repeat what happened to Jesus. It’s too terrible. You know.  

When I heard they had condemned the Nazarene to die, I felt pity for him, but I believed it was the only way out. Mustn’t we save God’s Law and His holy temple from destruction?

And then—

Oh, how could we have been so blind?! We were blinded by the lies of our own hearts, lost in an illusion!

There were earthquakes. The Temple veil was torn, from top to bottom. The darkness of Death covered the city, the whole world, like a… like a shroud. And then… on the first day of the week, the Nazarene, the one they call Jesus the Messiah, rose from the dead.

Yes, it’s true. I know it now. My husband knows. It was told to us by… by our fathers. That was the most dreadful of all….  

Graves were opened—by the hand of the living God. Holy men and women appeared to us, alive, shining with heaven’s holiness and glory. They proclaimed the Resurrection of the Messiah Jesus, and the Redemption of sins in His blood!

My husband Adonijah’s grandfather, Eliakim, a Pharisee who radiated the kindness of the Lord, died many years ago. He was one of them—he appeared to us. We fell to the ground in terror, and he announced our unspeakable sin… against the Lord’s Son and Christ. And yet, before he disappeared, he held out his hands in love and commanded us to repent and believe.

The whole city was in an uproar. The authorities only managed to bring the people under control by the severest measures. But… they couldn’t make us forget what we saw, and heard.

Almost a month has passed since these things happened. My husband and I don’t know the way forward. We are afraid, yet… there is hope, too.  Shouldn’t we hope, after what we have heard? Why repent and believe, if it is too late for us? Will the risen Messiah show himself? If His blood has taken away the sin of the world, will it cover our great sin as well? We want to find His disciples, to beg forgiveness, to make peace with the Messiah Jesus.

I hope it is not too late…. 

(Valya reads Matthew 28:17-18, chooses Yulia…)

Yulia: I admit I was one of those who doubted....

As we approached the appointed place, we hardly knew what  to think or what to dare hope for. Of course I wanted to believe that, there, where we had been told to meet Him, we would see the risen Lord Jesus! But… I didn't want to believe it if it wasn't true….

It seems to me only one thing is worse than losing the most precious thing in life. What’s worse is to believe you’ve found it again when it’s not so, when you’ve only succumbed to a lie, an illusion. That, I wasn't  about to do!

I’ve always been that way. In childhood I was called stubborn. But if "stubborn"  means hard-hearted and uncaring, then they judged me unfairly. My “stubbornness” was always a fierce attachment to what’s real and true. Even as a small child I could tell that grown-ups played foolish games: they’d say one thing but mean another; they’d pretend not to notice what everybody noticed; the strong would hurt the weak and pretend it never happened… while those who were hurt tried to hide how much it hurt. These “games” repelled me, for as long as I can remember, and I would never go along. And so they called me stubborn. And I’ve paid a high price in life for my “stubbornness.”

But forgive me--I haven’t even introduced myself. My name is Hadassah. All my life I have lived in Nazareth. 

Jesus’ mother Mary and I grew up next to each other and became friends at the earliest age. We had the best kind of friendship: we confided our childish secrets and dreams to each other, and cherished each other with our whole heart. Our parents were perplexed by our friendship: “Hadassah is so stubborn and Mary is so shy,” they would say, “How do they get along?” How wrong they were, how blind…. In fact, Mary understood I had a tender and easily wounded heart. And I knew that Mary had a deep soul, strong, and faithful to the end. With her, I always felt safe and free to be myself. I knew she could never play the grown-ups’ foolish games with me. We loved each other like real, flesh-and-blood sisters.

For women, childhood flies by in a moment. At only 14 or 15 years of age, a girl can be given in marriage. This is not easy. For me it was especially hard—because I refused! I won’t tell you about all of it now. I’ll just say that, finally, they couldn’t force me. I won. But as a result my family was disgraced, and I became like a leper; no one would have anything to do with me. At least my family didn’t throw me out; but I became little more than a slave in my own home—a servant girl. Such was the fruit of my “stubbornness.”

The only person who kept faith with me was Mary. She refused to shun me. You see why she is so precious to me?

Then came the time for Mary’s betrothal. Everything in her case was the opposite of mine. The match was a happy one. Mary and Joseph were truly in love. Was I envious? Never! I could only rejoice for my dearest friend.  

But how fast everything can change--in an instant. Suddenly something was wrong, terribly wrong; I could feel turmoil among our families: there was whispering, my parents shaking their heads gravely. But no one would tell me anything. Even Mary wouldn’t tell me… but I believed her when she said that she couldn’t, and that she still loved me as always. She asked me to be patient. For her, I would do anything.

And then—she was gone. Practically before I realized it, Mary and Joseph were in Bethlehem, where she gave birth to Jesus….

For almost four years I didn’t see them. Reports and rumors about them would reach Nazareth sometimes—mysterious things, confusing and frightening, sometimes things too… strange even to think about.  I never stopped worrying and longing to see Mary.

Then, astoundingly, they simply appeared again, in Nazareth, and settled down, as if they had never left. My soul overflowed with joy!  

And my joy wasn’t disappointed. Mary embraced me as her true friend—I can’t express my  happiness! And… very soon, I began to learn what had really happened….

I, whom they always called stubborn—I believed from the very beginning—as soon as my own, my beloved Mary finally told me… everything. I am nobody in our society, worth less than a patch of earth or a wooden cart. But this is my boast and my pride: I have lived in the reflection of Messiah’s glory! Before my very eyes the Son of David grew from a child into manhood! I have lived in the glow of His grace. Because of Jesus, I know I’m a child of Heaven.

And that is why… when they told me—after the horror of His death in Jerusalem—that Jesus had risen from the dead, and that He would meet us in Galilee… I couldn’t bring myself to believe, not with my whole heart, until I saw Him. My grief, and my love for the Lord, would never let joy in again until I could see Him. For love I doubted. It had to be real. Yes, even when we saw Him from a distance, though my heart burst with hope, I was afraid to believe—to believe the most wonderful thing that could ever, ever be.  

And then… Jesus drew near.

And I… I was born again. Doubt vanished like morning haze when beams of love reached my eyes from His. I knew I had come home—never again to be “nobody” but forever a cherished daughter of the Lord, the Savior, Christ Jesus.

Yes, as I told you, my heart is easily wounded. But now I belong to the One Who carried my grief and healed my wounds, and I will never doubt Him! And I mean that… (with a smile) “stubbornly”. 

(After Yulia has finished her monologue and returned to the stage, and the rest of the cast express their appreciation, Nika breaks through the “fourth wall” and directly addresses the audience, inviting them, in a manner of speaking, to join the party, i.e., by having some refreshments with the cast during a 15-20 minute intermission. The audience should be served the same kinds of refreshments, like tea and cookies, that the cast has in the “living room” on stage; some audience members might even go and sit with cast members on stage. As the intermission concludes, everyone returns to their places. The “fourth wall” is re-established, as the cast return to the world of the celebration party at Yulia and Nika’s place, where Yulia has just performed her monologue. Yulia picks up the Bible, reads Acts 1:8-11, and chooses Ken to do the next monologue.) 

Ken: I am a servant of the Most High God. My delight and honor is to ceaselessly fulfill the will of the Eternal and Holy One, and to forever praise His Name with song. To us, the heavenly angels of the One God, has been bestowed the unspeakable joy of contemplating His unfathomable presence forever. He created us out of His overflowing beneficence and merciful condescension. Glory to Him! He is the very life of love and He is living light, the Beginning and the End, the First and the Last, the Source and Consummation of all! 

The ways of the Most High are glorious and unknowable, and they are life and joy to us! We exist to realize what He ordains, and this is His gift to us. Glory to Him!

But how much greater what the Heavenly Father has bestowed on Adam’s children. We—who do not belong to Adam’s race—we ponder with awe and fear, with perplexity and astonishment, and though we can never comprehend we praise the Living God for the perfection of His wisdom, and the triumph of His grace. Glory to Him! 

Forever shall we serve the Most High God, and forever shall we serve Man, for the Living Word of the Father has become Son of Man. Who can penetrate this wonder? Oh, Adam’s race! The Creator of heaven’s angels has cleaved to you in the supreme self-giving—yes, the self-giving of God! We have guarded, we have appeared, we have announced and proclaimed—such is our precious part in this priceless redemption—but to us it is not given to enter the union of the Eternal One and His creation. And for this, too, glory to Him! For all things glory!

On that day of majesty and triumph, when the Risen Lamb of God, Jesus the Christ of God, returned to the Father, having won eternal redemption, having created a new world in Himself, I was one of heaven’s servants summoned to be heralds of future things to the Lord’s apostles.  As the Son of Glory ascended, we descended—into time and space, into the world of Man—in our humble, lesser glory, the glory that only reflects heaven’s light. The glory of the Lamb and the Father is the wellspring and center of heaven’s light!

But even our humble reflection of eternity’s only Light struck and dazzled human eyes, and the disciples shielded their faces from us when, to their astonishment, we appeared beside them. 

What rapture to announce, as Gabriel earlier announced to Zachariah and Mary, the magnificent design of God to the subjects of His grace! “Men of Galilee!”, we cried. “Why are you standing here looking into the sky? This same Jesus who has been taken from you will come back in the same way you have seen him go into heaven!”

To know that our words became forever part of the holy scriptures and the gospel of Christ Jesus—to us, this is a divine gift impossible to deserve. Glory to the Most High!

The heavenly light that we reflected, full of the fragrance of divine holiness, pervaded the place where we stood, penetrated the hearts of those whom Jesus loved, stilled their souls and braced their spirits. They said nothing to us—we did not expect that they should—but between us passed  the knowledge of peace and immutable promise, the knowledge of eternal victory and the triumph to come.

And then, they walked away, the children of the resurrection. They walked quietly away, to embrace their calling, their sacrifice of love to the Heavenly King and Prince of Peace.

And we… returned. Returned to heaven’s joy at the revelation of the Conqueror, the Risen Son!

Do not fear, do not doubt. This same Jesus will return to the world, with the heavenly armies and clouds of His saints. Let us all serve Him, in heaven and on earth, now and forever—this is our entire joy, for this we exist! To Him the kingdom and the power! Amen!     

(Ken picks Acts 1:21-26, reads it and then chooses Volodya. About the pronunciations of Matthew’s name, please note carefully. The Hebrew version is pronounced ma-teet-YA-hu; the Greek version is mat-tha-YOS—and note especially that it is not ma-tha-yos but mat-tha-yos, with a real “t” before the “th”—and the short-form is ma-TAI, the “tai” rhyming with “tie”. The “ma-“ in all instances is of course a “mah”, as in “Say ahhh”, not “may” as in “May I?”!)

Volodya: I am Mattityahu. The Greeks call me Matthayos. My friends call me simply Matai. My name means "gift from Yahweh". Thus my parents named me because they had wanted a child for so long and had already lost hope—well, nearly—before I was born to them, when they were no longer young. Although my father was named Eliav, not Abraham, as it happened my mother's name was, yes, Sarah! So it is not surprising that my mother cherished a warm attachment to the wife of our patriarch and mother of our nation—especially because she likewise had to wait long before the Lord bestowed on her the blessing of motherhood.

You have heard that Simon Peter announced we must choose a man to replace Judas Iscariot among the Lord's Twelve, or rather that we must ask the Lord to show us who would replace Judas. Peter said that an apostle must be someone who was with the Lord from the very beginning. When I heard those words, my heart ached with both love and pain. Because I certainly was with Him from the beginning—in a unique way, different from all the others. You see… I was born in Bethlehem.

My father Eliav was a stonemason. His family had close relations with Joseph’s family for a long time. After the young couple came from Nazareth for the census (by the unfathomable foreknowledge of almighty God!), and after the holy Child was born (on that night of heavenly signs and angelic song!), Joseph and Mary decided not to return to Nazareth. In Nazareth, suspicion and gossip were waiting for them. But in Bethlehem, they were surrounded by awe and devotion. My father took Joseph on as a partner in stonemasonry. Joseph and the family settled in with their relatives, not far from my home. I was one year of age then….

Two years later there came another wonder, and then… the great horror.

The Persian caravan flooded without warning into Bethlehem. The villagers were astounded—apprehensive—at their sudden appearance. There were maybe fifty camels, as many slaves, great quantities of provisions and valuables, and of course the Persian dignitaries themselves: magi, astrologers, on a royal mission. They could never have come to the land of Israel if their own king hadn’t authorized it. They were mysterious, even frightening, with their rich exotic robes and their cold, remote bearing.

So I have been told. I myself don't remember. I was only three. Yes...three...for which… God be praised.

And I've been told that a terrible, tremendous radiance descended from Heaven and came to rest above the house. Night was turned into day. The… star emanated holiness, so overpowering that everyone, from common shepherds to the fearsome magi, fell to their knees with awe. The Persians, no longer so grand, entered the house, trembling.

And, as suddenly as they appeared, the Persians were gone. The heavenly light was gone. But everyone in Bethlehem sensed that, now, something must happen! Possibly the Kingdom of God will reveal itself?

Well... something certainly happened....

On that horrific morning three days later, screams and wailing came from all parts of Bethlehem, and in our own home a soldier of Herod held a sword to my throat, while my mother desperately begged for my life. The soldier snapped, "How old is he?" "Only three!", my mother cried, "He’s only three years old, my only child--I beg you, have mercy!" And, as if by a miracle, the soldier stopped, seemed unsure for a moment and then, without another word, left the house—and left me, alive.

Thank God my father had already left before sunrise to work in the next village; he would have been killed, surely, trying to save my life.

Later we found out why I was spared. I was more than two years of age.

Yes, I have, indeed, been with Jesus from the beginning.

By the time I was 25, both my parents had died,  joining our ancestors Abraham and Sarah in the expectation of resurrection. I… was left alone in the world. But I wasn't really alone, because from the very beginning I was with Jesus, in my heart. My parents deeply planted the story in my heart: how the King, the Son of David, was born in Bethlehem; how the day and time of His revealing was coming soon, how I must be ready. My parents could never lie to me. Their testimony penetrated to the depths of my spirit. They exhorted me with a burning passion to be ready, ready for the manifestation of His power.

So I lived, worked and waited.

And the day arrived, when news came from Galilee, about John the Baptist. I had to go find out: was this a prophet, a herald of the Messiah's revelation? I went and found John. I listened, and then... I saw: Jesus appeared. To me, it was as if He had returned home, after so many bitter years. I cannot describe my exultation. I abandoned everything to follow Him. He knew me; with Him my soul was at home, forgiven and embraced by God.

It saddened me when the Lord did not choose me to be one of His Twelve, but I trusted that His every decision was true and glorious. I had peace. And now, after all that has happened, I am one of the Twelve. But I do not boast in this. I boast only in the Risen Christ.

He came to Bethlehem, then He was gone. He appeared again, in Galilee, and then, through suffering and death, He was gone. He returned in resurrection, with majesty and splendor, and then, again, He was gone—restored to God the Father on high! One more time He will come, bringing the Kingdom with all the redeemed in His blood. Then there will be no more parting, ever again!

Something whispers within that my life’s lot is waiting in the north, in the countries beyond the Sea, in the lands under the shadow of the Caucasus. Even before His passion, the Lord received emissaries, with pleas to come and reveal His glory there. But it wasn’t time. Now His Spirit urges me there. I was with Jesus from the beginning. He will be with me to the ends of the earth, to the end of my days, and forever!

(Volodya reads Acts 2:4-8 and chooses Ira)

Ira: My name is Penelope. I came to Jerusalem with my husband Jason to observe the Jewish feast of Pentecost. My husband and I have been proselytes to Judaism for many years, probably 25 years already.

Jason and I are from Crete and we grew up near each other, in a region where there’s also a large Jewish population. Jason’s parents and mine collaborated in the fabrics and dye trade, and, so, that’s how he and I got to know each other. We knew when we were practically children that we would get married—thankfully, our families were completely in favor of the match. After we married, we combined the two family businesses into one. God has mercifully granted us with success. And with five children!

Even as a little girl I would puzzle and wonder about God. As long as I can remember, I had the deepest feeling that the true God couldn’t possibly be, in any way, like the gods and goddesses of our pantheon. Those gods were too much like me and the people around me: dishonest, unfaithful, cruel, greedy and shortsighted. I could easily point out their faults and weaknesses. So how then could they be gods, if I could judge their unrighteousness? No, I was sure that they were nothing—nothing but reflections of our own… human corruption.

My husband felt the same way. He and I often talked about these things with our Jewish neighbors and business associates, who eagerly told us about their God. The more I heard about this “Living God”—Who was invisible, and all-present, and holy, and righteous—the more my heart whispered to me that this was the true God—yes, the very God I had really believed in, in the depth of my soul, from earliest childhood! Jason and I spent many hours in fervent reflection together, and we realized we had to believe, we already believed, in the one true God, the One Who cannot be shaped from wood or stone, the One Who demands instead that we become His image, in lives of righteousness. Yes, we both came to believe.

But with belief came a dreadful new understanding. Yes, we had abandoned the unworthy gods of our people’s foolish, degraded myths, and in our hearts we had turned to the Eternal One— Whose holiness Man cannot approach. We learned what “the fear of God” means. For this fear we were glad, yet we begged of Him, with fear, the atonement of our sins and His everlasting embrace. It was by believing we learned how far we were from Him.  

Perhaps for this reason we remained proselytes, never fully converted… to Judaism. Yes, that is the reason. We knew the answer to our prayer wouldn’t come from calling ourselves “Jews”. We were waiting for something deeper, an answer from within. An answer in… spirit. So for many years we were “God-fearers”, cherishing a faith in the God of Abraham but not counted in the nation of Israel.

We came to Jerusalem this year for the feast of Pentecost, as so many times before. But this time it was different: for weeks before we left Crete, and for the whole journey to the holy city, I was plagued with a… premonition that something… overwhelming was waiting for us… this time… in Jerusalem. Something… to change everything. The sensation both terrified and… pulled me, as if, whatever was waiting for us, we had no choice but to meet it. All of this, that was going on within me, I hid from my husband. I was afraid to seem… foolish.

In Jerusalem we heard almost immediately about Jesus the Nazarene: about his power and holiness, that he had dared to forgive sins, that they had crucifed him, and that many had seen him resurrected! Certainly everybody knew that his tomb was empty, that even the Romans couldn’t keep him there.

Many were calling Jesus the Messiah. But, if so… where was he?

Then came the day of Pentecost. Jason and I were walking through the city when there was a huge, earthshaking noise, like a fierce wave about to sweep away earth and sky. I clutched my husband’s arm in terror. We heard shouting and yelling from another street—somehow we instantly knew we had go there and find out ourselves what… what was happening. We reached a place where people, a hundred or more, were pouring out of a house, ecstatically exclaiming about a great redemption accomplished by God—through Jesus the Messiah! With voices that seemed to be carried by the wind of Eternity, that penetrated to the center of my soul, they cried mightily about reconciliation with God, about the Kingdom of Christ open to all, about atonement… in the blood of the Lamb.

My spirit leaped. Heaven’s voice rang inside me. I saw in my husband’s eyes that we were caught together in this river of power!

A man standing next to us asked, “Why are they speaking in Elamite—they’re obviously not Elamites!” His question made no sense; we thought he was out of his mind. Jason said, “What are you talking about? They’re speaking our language!” The look on the man’s face showed clearly he thought we were out of our minds—and in the same instant it dawned on me that I was in fact hearing these Galilieans in my native language, the language of Crete, but how could that be? The man kept insisting they were speaking his language, but we heard them speaking ours. Finally we all realized that each one of us of, there on that square that day, heard Jesus’ people speaking our own language; it was a miracle of God!

Then I knew where the risen Messiah Jesus was! He was there, all around us, in that voice of power, the power of God, with arms open to receive me at the price of His own blood. What no earthly wisdom could impart became clear as the purest water in the rays of the sun. One of Jesus’ disciples began to proclaim the very thing God had already opened up to my spirit and… there in that holy place filled with the Spirit of God, I, and my husband with me, entered the salvation and the kingdom, the glorious life of the Messiah Jesus. Our long search for the Father’s unveiled, loving face was over. We aren’t uncertain seekers, trapped at the border of Life  anymore. Now, and forever, we are in the life of God Himself, in Christ!

(Ira chooses Acts 2:41-47 and then "picks" Marina--who is the only choice left, since she is last! Marina ponders the Bible text for a moment, then asks...) 

Marina: Can I use my character, Judith, from our play?  

(Everybody expresses full approval) 

Ken: Yes, I'd love to find out what else happened in her life! (the joke in this is that Ken is the author of the previous play)

Marina: All right….  (ponders a second more, then does her monologue)

Ken: Yes, I'd love to find out what else happened in her life! 

Marina: All right….  (ponders a second more, then does her monologue)

Marina: My name is Judith. I am a servant in the house of the Roman governor Pontius Pilate. I attend the governor’s wife Claudia.

We Jews in the governor’s service are despised and labeled “unclean sinners” by the Pharisees and the priests. It seems to me they would stone us to death at the first chance.

But Daniel served in the court of Nebuchadnezzar, and he didn’t betray the Lord God! And Esther—she was even the wife of a pagan king, and she saved our people from destruction! And the Jewish girl whose name we don’t even know, who was a slave in the house of Naaman and served his wife--she glorified the living God when she testified to Naaman about the power of God.

I didn’t choose to be a servant to the wife of the Roman governor. A woman rarely has choice in this world. My parents are Hellenists, Jews who love Greek culture and embrace Roman civilization. When Pilate came to rule Judea, my family were among the first to greet him warmly. And when his wife Claudia saw me, she… “hinted” that… “perhaps”… I would enjoy being her personal attendant. Of course, my parents were obligated to understand the hint. When they offered me as her servant, Claudia was pleasantly “surprised” and accepted. I never had a choice.  

Yet it seems to me, truly, that all this was the leading of God. So my heart whispers to me—yes, whispered to me even from the start, but all the more so now… after all that has happened….

I remember when I first heard talk about a certain Galilean and how he was proclaiming the kingdom of God. Though I hadn’t seen him, when others described his astounding miracles, and his irresistible word, and, most of all his forgiveness and compassion, my heart was deeply moved—even pierced. I longed to go and hear him, to see him myself. I yearned to ask… to ask… if he was the one we had waited for, for so long.

But a Jewish servant-girl in the house of Pilate is really a prisoner, though they treated me kindly enough. There wasn’t the slightest chance I could go out to find this Galilean, Jesus of Nazareth.

Then the terrible thing happened. 

I wasn’t aware of what was approaching before that morning—when my mistress Claudia woke up with a chilling scream. I heard her from my room and rushed to her side. She was white with fear and stammered confused things I couldn’t follow, about terrifying dreams and the governor Pilate and how he must stop before it was too late. I tried to soothe and comfort her, but she suddenly went still as stone—staring as if lost in her dreams again—and then, in a deathly quiet voice that frightened me even more than her cries, she said, “Leave me now, Judith.” I returned to my room, trembling.

Perhaps an hour later, I was startled to hear Claudia summon me back. As soon as I came she instructed me sternly—and yet, it seemed, out of concern, even… care for me—that  I should remain in my quarters, go nowhere, and talk to no one, until she called me. Now I was truly frightened, though I couldn’t imagine what it was all about. The very air around us was heavy and thick with a… a presence, with a foreboding of… of annihilation. I had no choice but to obey Claudia and I spent the whole day, and night, in my room, all alone. My only company was that terrifying premonition of catastrophe. It grew in strength till I thought it would destroy my mind. But, finally, very late that night, exhaustion forced me into a merciful sleep. That was the Sabbath eve.      

Early the next morning, the Sabbath day, my mistress rushed into my room, which shocked me—she would only ever summon me to her, never come to me herself! She ordered me to get up and bring her—to the disciples of Jesus the Galilean. I was dazed with confusion, but of course I could not question.

There were, I knew, people in the governor’s house secretly devoted to Jesus. With a pounding heart I dared to ask my mistress… that there be no consequences to them, if she found out who they were.

She agreed. 

And so I… obtained the information we needed: how to find those who belonged to the Galilean. My mistress and I set out in secret, walking veiled through the streets of Jerusalem. Only then did I learn what had happened to Jesus. Claudia told me everything. Her whispers in those dark, cold streets echoed in my ears like the wailing of a ghost from a tomb. But what she told me was… unimaginably more dreadful. 

We found Jesus’ friends. Yes, and his mother as well. I expected their hatred, but we met only mercy and compassion—at least from the women. The men… were suspicious. I cannot blame them. Even so no one threatened us.

My mistress Claudia poured out her heart—only then did I realize that she was on the edge of madness. Somehow this Galilean, Jesus, had invaded her mind and spirit. Mary, the mother of Jesus, was able to comfort Claudia, even to give her hope of something… wonderful. When we left the house, I had an unexplainable sense of… of expectation… and approaching light. 

But Claudia did, at just that moment, the completely unexpected. Before even we could get home—I mean, to her home—my mistress released me from service! She told me, suddenly, I should go home to my parents, and follow closely whatever happened in connection with Jesus, and communicate it to her.

I was flooded with joy. No, not because I wanted freedom from… from slavery. No. Because the single desire of my heart was: to meet Jesus… yes, the Lord Jesus. My heart already belonged to Him. Claudia was freeing me to go and find the Lord. And though he lay dead in a tomb, something whispered in my heart and soul that there would be—a meeting.

And a meeting there was! The Lord conquered death! He is alive—not only alive, glorified for eternity! Christ has risen! I saw the Lord, the Lord I longed to meet, with my own eyes! And not only I, but hundreds saw Him. Hundreds received again His life-giving word, again were filled with His grace. When I beheld the Resurrected Christ, none of the questions I had stored up for so long meant anything anymore—He was all the answer I ever needed, my Redeemer and Heavenly King, the Savior of the world!

After He ascended to the Father, the Lord sent the Holy Spirit to abide in our hearts always, while we serve Him and wait for His return. Now, I am a daughter of the living God, a free woman, a… a citizen of the holy nation of the Risen Christ!  

As for Claudia, I have constantly communicated to her the things God has done. In fact, I have returned as a servant to the house of Pontius Pilate! This time it was my choice—no, not my choice: it was God’s summons. Claudia was amazed but also delighted at my request to serve her again. Now she often questions me about my new life, and I witness to her in the Spirit of my Lord. Is it too much to hope that Claudia and her husband Pontius Pilate will repent and believe, that they too will receive Jesus, the King of kings and Son of God?

How can I not hope? With God all things are possible! 

(When the monologue is over, general compliments and applause)

Sylvia: And what happened to her after that?

Volodya: Nothing, of course! She’s a fictional character! 

Sylvia: Tch! No, not Judith, I mean Claudia—she was a real person, wasn’t she?

Volodya: Oh, sorry! Yes, she was real.

Sylvia: Did she finally believe? And her husband, Pilate—did he become a Christian?

Yulia: Well, nobody knows—

Nika: There are very ancient stories that say they both became Christians.  

Ira: Oh, that would be wonderful! 

Valya: But it’s such a strange thought: to meet Pontius Pilate in the Kingdom of God. 

Yan: There’s no doubt we’ll discover endless things in Heaven that we never expected.

Marina: "With God all things are possible!"

Volodya: "Eye has not seen, ear has not heard...." 

Yan: Ken, what are you smiling so mischievously about?

Ken: Huh? Me? Smiling mischievously?  

(General affirmation) 

Ken: Well, alright, I’ll tell you. My friends, it seems to me that… thanks to our improvisations this evening, we have just created our next play! 

(The thought takes a semi-second to strike everyone; they look at each other and with dawning realization laugh and clap with delight.)

                                                     LIGHTS DOWN