Good hate and good righteous

If a bunch of women barely dressed, essentially in lingerie, came to an American school to entertain the children with a vulgar, lewd display of prancing and grinding, we'd all (well, all of us who still possess at least an ounce of gray matter) call it sick, warped, practically child abuse. 

At the very least most sentient humans would ask, "WHY?" 

But if the bunch of "women" are men in drag, suddenly it's progressive enlightenment and to utter a word in protest is "hate." 

Yeah well, hate is good. There's lots of things we've got to hate. If we hated nothing our civilization would crumble to dust. There's plenty I hate, among them seeing children used as the pawns for a pathological sociopolitical agenda. That's definitely worth hating. 

Hate what's hateful. It's the loving thing to do. 

Not sure you're hating the right thing? Here's a test: if it's right to hate A, there is absolutely a B out there somewhere, the polar opposite of A, that's supremely worthy of loving attention and promulgation. Go love it and promulgate it. Do good. If your hate is right, then your love will be right. 

If your hate was skewed, your love will probably short-circuit as well. But that will be a good lesson. And so we keep on learning and growing. 

But don't hate hate. Hate hateful things. And... prove it. With more than words, certainly more than cheap memes. 

Prove it by living it.

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It's just criminal that "righteous" has been degraded to an epithet.  But this is just more of the general dumbed-down pop-culture-drone illiteracy at work. 

Real righteousness is beautiful and magnificent, not to mention beneficent (note: that last word is NOT "ben-uh-FISH-int," a word that doesn't actually exist; "beneficent" is "be-NEH-fi-sent" and means "well-doing"). 

Try to be righteous. 

And try not to be self-righteous. 

It's the trying that counts.

What Does Our "Gut" Owe A Facebook Post?

 Something that helps you cope with Facebook's more annoying characteristics: always remember that anything anybody posts, they're posting on THEIR page, first and foremost. 

Their page is like their house, they run it, they feel at home there. What matters most to them is that what they post  makes sense to THEM. They don't need anybody's permission (except for when Facebook butts in, of course) to express themselves there for whatever reason, whether or not it makes the least sense to you or anybody else. 99 times out of 100, when they posted it you were absolutely nowhere on their mental radar, they never ever pondered for a moment whether you would see it or not. 

That's really hard to get used to, especially for any of us who lived most of our lives pre-cyber-age, pre-Internet, pre-social media. We're just hard-wired to assume a message is waiting for our response. It takes a lot of deep re-wiring to learn how to scroll by and ignore. 

Imagine it's 1975 and you're sitting at home watching television, let's say it's The Mary Tyler Moore Show. Suddenly the show fades out and in its place there's a message from somebody in your extended family, say 100 miles away: THIS IS JUST THE WORST, DON'T KNOW HOW I'M GOING TO COPE. 

How on earth did they get their message onto your television screen? And why? What's wrong, what's going on? You'd dash to the phone, expecting all kinds of terrible things. 

Imagine you phoned them and spluttered the moment they picked up, "Are you okay? What's wrong? Do you need help?" and they said, "Well, I got my hair done today and the color came out all wrong and it's totally mortifying, I don't know how I can go out in public!" 

😖

A lot of us are still wired, when we see these things on Facebook, to react as we would have, had somebody in our lives mysteriously managed to make the message pop up on our television screens in 1975. 

We take it immediately in a personal way, instinctively feeling the responsibility, the onus, even the guilt, to do something about it--at the very least (and, actually, this is the WORST) to "perform" viscerally, emotionally, to conjure up the expected feelings that prove we're decent, caring people. And that is perfectly corrosive psycho-viscerally, just pernicious. 

Yes, indeed, this marvelous cyberage of ours requires us to learn a new kind of callousness, unresponsiveness, precisely because Facebook, social media generally and the Internet have ratcheted up the boy-who-cried-wolf dynamic to stratospheric proportions. 

It's one thing when the bad hair job makes you look in the mirror and whine, "This is the worst, I just wanna die," but it's quite another if you trumpet it to the world without any explanation, and with no context. 

So when somebody's FB post shows up on my feed, and  I haven't the vaguest shred of a notion what it means or what it relates to, I remind myself: 

"This person isn't writing this to ME, this person is writing on his/her page, maybe for somebody else who really is in the know, maybe for nobody at all. The post is showing up on my news feed essentially by accident, and if the post is vague, enigmatic, evasive, contextless or simply outright gibberish, then it's nothing I bear the least emotive or moral relationship, much less duty, towards. Keep scrolling." 

Anybody who really needs to tell you something will contact you personally. Everything else on social media, including anything I post, is, when it comes to emotive or intellectual response, optional. None of it's from God, certainly. Least of all the stuff that claims to be.

Today's "Worship"—Where Did It Come From? Whaddya Think, ChatGPT?

Out of curiosity, I posed this question, or homework assignment, to ChatGPT: "Detail the genesis and evolution of today's predominant "worship style" (i.e. the use of music, physical postures, psycho-affective expectations) in "evangelical" (i.e., emphasizing the born-again experience and intimacy with Jesus) churches."

It produced the following historical survey. This paragraph, in particular, I found remarkably incisive: 

"Music: Worship music is now characterized by a "musical journey" structure, often with dynamic transitions, multiple "builds" or "climaxes," and a blend of genres such as rock, folk, electronic, and even rap. The music is produced to elicit emotional highs, and the use of repetition is a key feature. Songs like "How Great Is Our God" (Chris Tomlin) or "Reckless Love" (Cory Asbury) emphasize deep personal emotions and the love of God."

Yes, those "dynamic transitions, multiple 'builds' or 'climaxes'," (including the stultifyingly compulsive repetition of the final chorus in the obsessive pursuit of mass "never-want-it-to-stop" ecstasy)--that sums it up perfectly. It's precisely the thing that has me standing there feeling affectively numb, intellectually insulted and aesthetically appalled, because as a rule it's perfectly awful. And I know I'm being manipulated on all those levels--affectively, intellectually and aesthetically. Naturally I resist manipulation. 

This was ChatGPT's whole answer: 

The "worship style" prominent in many evangelical churches today, which blends contemporary music, physical postures, and a focus on emotional and spiritual intimacy, has evolved significantly over the past several decades. Its development is rooted in a combination of theological movements, cultural shifts, and technological innovations that have shaped how congregations experience and express their faith through music and liturgical practices. Below is a detailed examination of this evolution.

1. Historical Roots: Pre-20th Century Evangelical Worship

Before the 20th century, evangelical worship in Protestant churches was often formal and structured. Hymn-singing, based largely on the theological writings of people like Isaac Watts and Charles Wesley, was central. Music in worship was seen as a way to convey doctrinal truths, often in a relatively restrained manner, with an emphasis on reverence.

Evangelicalism, as a movement, emphasized personal conversion (the "born-again" experience) and a direct relationship with Jesus Christ. However, worship in the early stages of the movement, even in the revivals of the 18th and 19th centuries (e.g., the Great Awakenings), was still somewhat formal and centered around preaching, prayer, and scripture.

2. Early 20th Century: The Pentecostal and Charismatic Movements

The most significant shifts in evangelical worship began in the early 20th century, particularly with the rise of the Pentecostal and Charismatic movements. These movements, which emphasized the "baptism of the Holy Spirit," speaking in tongues, divine healing, and an experiential relationship with God, encouraged more expressive forms of worship.

• Music: Pentecostals began using gospel and spiritual songs in a more emotive, spontaneous way, moving away from the more formal hymns. This gave rise to the use of "choruses" (short, repetitive songs focusing on the presence of the Holy Spirit and praise to God).
• Physical Postures: During the same period, more expressive physical postures such as clapping, raising hands, dancing, and even spontaneous shouting became common in Pentecostal and Charismatic services. These practices were seen as natural responses to the presence of the Holy Spirit and an outward manifestation of an inner experience.
• Psycho-affective Expectations: The Charismatic movement emphasized the emotional experience of worship, with the expectation that congregants would encounter God in a personal, intimate, and transformative way during services. The worship experience was often framed as a "spiritual high" that was expected to evoke emotional responses ranging from tears to joy and ecstatic experiences.

3. 1960s–1970s: The Jesus Movement and the Emergence of Contemporary Christian Music

In the 1960s and 1970s, the Jesus Movement brought a new wave of young people into evangelicalism. They sought to express their faith in ways that were more aligned with their cultural context, and this included a new approach to worship. The music and worship styles of the counterculture (rock, folk, and pop) began to influence the church, resulting in the rise of contemporary Christian music (CCM).

• Music: The Jesus Movement led to the development of the "praise and worship" genre, which focused on simple, repetitive songs expressing devotion and a personal relationship with Jesus. This contrasted with older hymns that were often more doctrinally dense. Bands like Jesus People USA, and later Calvary Chapel and Hosanna! Music, began recording worship music that emphasized personal intimacy with God. The lyrics were often more direct and emotionally charged, expressing themes of personal devotion, love for Jesus, and spiritual renewal.
• Physical Postures: As the music became more informal and emotionally charged, physical expressions such as hand-raising, swaying, and clapping became even more common. These behaviors reflected a more participatory and expressive form of worship.
• Psycho-affective Expectations: The worship service became a key time for individual and collective emotional experiences, and the idea of worship as an encounter with God—marked by spiritual highs and deep personal moments—grew in importance. Services often encouraged attendees to expect to feel God's presence in tangible ways.

4. 1980s–1990s: The Rise of Modern Worship Movements and Megachurches

By the 1980s and 1990s, the fusion of contemporary music and evangelical worship reached its apex with the rise of the megachurches and the global spread of charismatic and Pentecostal theology. Worship became a central component of church life, with music designed to create an immersive spiritual experience.

• Music: The 1980s saw the emergence of worship leaders like Tommy Walker, Rick Founds, Darlene Zschech, and Paul Baloche. These leaders began crafting worship songs that were accessible, singable, and emotionally engaging. The worship service became more of a concert experience, with professional musicians leading the congregation in worship. This era also saw the creation of influential worship albums from churches like Hillsongin Australia, Bethel Church in Redding, CA, and Willow Creek Community Church in the U.S. The songs were simple and repetitive, often using repeated choruses and bridges to encourage emotional connection.
• Physical Postures: Physical expression in worship also evolved further, becoming more common and expected. The act of raising hands during worship became widespread, symbolizing both surrender and a desire to experience God's presence. Many churches began using stages, lighting, and other concert-style elements to enhance the sensory experience of worship, contributing to an atmosphere of emotional intensity.
• Psycho-affective Expectations: Worship was framed as an opportunity to "encounter" God in a real, immediate way. There was often an emphasis on a powerful, transformative experience of God's love, grace, and presence. The worship service was often viewed as a "catalyst" for emotional healing, personal renewal, and spiritual growth.

5. 2000s–Present: The Contemporary Worship Experience and the Influence of Technology

From the 2000s onward, the integration of technology and the professionalization of worship music led to the creation of highly polished, immersive worship experiences that resemble live concerts or theatrical productions. Churches like Elevation Church, Hillsong, Bethel Church, and Life.Church have popularized a style of worship that combines modern rock, pop, and electronic music with a focus on emotional connection.

• Music: Worship music is now characterized by a "musical journey" structure, often with dynamic transitions, multiple "builds" or "climaxes," and a blend of genres such as rock, folk, electronic, and even rap. The music is produced to elicit emotional highs, and the use of repetition is a key feature. Songs like "How Great Is Our God"(Chris Tomlin) or "Reckless Love" (Cory Asbury) emphasize deep personal emotions and the love of God.
• Physical Postures: The variety of physical expressions during worship has become more fluid. Raising hands, swaying, dancing, kneeling, and even laying prostrate before God are all common ways of engaging physically in worship. Some churches have even embraced spontaneous expressions such as "spiritual flagging" or the use of visual arts to engage congregants.
• Psycho-affective Expectations: The worship experience is now designed to be emotionally and spiritually transformative. The expectation is that worship will provide a sense of connection to God, an emotional encounter with His presence, and a communal sense of joy, peace, or healing. The use of technology—such as powerful lighting, visual effects, and high-quality sound systems—intensifies the emotional atmosphere and is aimed at facilitating a deeper connection to the divine.

6. Conclusion: The Intersection of Music, Emotions, and Theology

Today's predominant worship style in evangelical churches reflects a convergence of several cultural, theological, and technological factors. From the early 20th century's Pentecostal influences to the modern megachurch worship experience, music and emotional expression have become central to evangelical worship. There is an emphasis on intimacy with Jesus, personal transformation, and the communal experience of God's presence. Worship has evolved from a formal, doctrinally-driven exercise to a highly emotive, experiential practice that is designed to engage the heart, soul, and body in a transformative encounter with the divine. The "worship experience" is now a multifaceted phenomenon that combines music, physical postures, and emotional intensity to create a space where individuals expect to encounter God's presence in tangible ways.

Where is Time?

 Where is time? 

To me that's a more interesting, even efficient, question than the more common "What is time?" 

I'm in a kitchen right now. It's a space, an environment, an enclosure. I can stand at the sink, oven or fridge, or sit at the table and have my morning tea, but in all these spots I'm still enclosed by the kitchen, I'm *in* it. The kitchen is neatly defined by its four walls, so that I'm either in it or outside it. You might say that everything I do in the kitchen is happening "in kitchen," just like we say that absolutely everything that happens anywhere in the universe is happening "in time." 

But where *is* this thing called time? I know where the kitchen is, but where's the Time-room everything's supposed to be happening inside of? How is it enclosing us? 

Has anybody ever observed its walls, put them under a microscope? Maybe changed the wallpaper? 😏 Has anybody photographed it from the inside and out? It seems to me, not. 

What if there is no such room?  

Which is not to suggest that Time doesn't exist. Just that it's not the sort of enclosure-space we imagine. Perhaps it's not even remotely a place *in which* things happen, move, change, develop while the place itself statically remains an enclosure... like a kitchen. 

"Space-time" is famously recognized as the dimension that makes our 3D universe actually a 4D one. Isn't that an interesting term, space-time? The way that physics tantalizingly unites the two notions without committing to either their identity or distinction? The term is more a question than a definition, isn't it, i.e., what are space and time and how are they inextricable from each other yet different? Definitions have a way of revealing how much we don't know as much as what we do. 

In that vein it's telling how we use space to define (extrapolate, metaphorize) time. How long does it take for me to move the tip of my index finger from one ear to the other? Well, let's measure it--go get a watch. Okay, go. I'm moving my finger now a-a-and, stop! Ah, it took four seconds. 

But what are four seconds? Four seconds are the distance (space) covered by the watch's second hand. 

You may in fact, precisely as logically say that the second hand's movement was timed by my hand as vice versa. How long does it take for a second hand to move across four second marks on a watch face? Let's time it--go. Okay, I'm moving my finger from one ear toward the other--stop. It takes that long. 

Both are the same thing, the movement of an object between two points. One we arbitrarilty call "motion" and the other "time," when really both are just motion.  

Or... both are just time. 

By an arbitrary calibration of distance and speed, i.e., distance covered by the hands of a clock at a certain speed across a field of marks, we've standardized this phenomenon of distance and velocity as Time, or at least the closest thing to an "enclosure" as we can dream up. So that now we find ourselves "within" the space of one hour as opposed to the next. Moreover we extrapolate this sense of enclosure and objectify it as a Time-room,--say, a tunnel or corridor--inside which everything that ever happens happens. 

Yet, stil, nobody has ever seen the room. All we SEE is distance, velocity, motion, change, development. 

I have a compelling sense the room isn't there at all. What we call Time is indeed the combined manifestation of distance, velocity, motion, development, change. At root, Time is change. Change doesn't happen "in time," rather change spawns time. No change, no Time. What time is ever measured, anywhere ever, in isolation from motion/change? So what, then, are you really measuring? 

Which is why a watch is the perfect metaphor, since we look at the motion and change going on there and name it Time: "Oh, look at the time! I have no time! It's time to go!"  

Which is subtly humorous, isn't it: because nothing is happening there that we humans haven't rigged to happen by our own devices, this prosaic, rudimentary turning of gears compelling a tiny metal bar to rotate. Yet we gaze at this creation of our hands (*on* our hands 😏) and it's a kind of hierarch--if not a god itself then summoning us to the altar of a Power transcending yet enclosing us in a merciless, frequently suffocating embrace: Time. And we hop at its bark...even though we programmed it to bark at us. 😄

We've objectified the combined phenomenon of motion, distance, speed and development into a thing, a place, greater than the sum of its parts. But maybe the parts really are just "parts," not a place enclosing them.  

Perhaps "Time" isn't the "unknown god" conferring on the parts their ultimate instantiation. Perhaps the "unknown god" is Another. "Time" isn't our environment. Our environment is Another. 

"For in him we live and move and have our being...." 

"He is before all things, and in him all things hold together...."

"...sustaining all things by his powerful word...."

Cyberguilt and Cyberpatsies

 Here's a thought to maybe make your day (or life) a bit easier. 

Do you suffer from guilt at not replying instantly when an SMS comes through from a friend or acquaintance? "How are you today?" "What's up?" 

And you're, maybe, washing the dishes, or reading a book, or eating breakfast, or just "chilling," or... "otherwise indisposed" (😏). Or ya just plain don't feel like chatting with nobody. 

And you feel like a heel for it. 

We never had this problem, at least not as much, before the advent of the cyber-age, did we. Oh the glories of new guilt gifted to us by the miracles of technology. They enable us to do sooooo many more things we could never have dreamed of before. And sooooo much new guilt for not doing them! 

None of us ever expected instant response, or presumed the sovereign right to break in unannounced any time on whatever somebody else was doing, back in the civilized days pre-internet. Somehow the internet and all its spawn have de-civilized us. 

All this came to me...yet again... as I was sitting here having breakfast, in the wee pre-dawn jet-lagged hours, when an SMS came in from somebody asking "How are you today?" I really didn't feel like talking to anybody. 

In a more "primitive" era (sooo much wiser than the present one) there never would have been even the least expectation of obligation to start chatting at 5AM with somebody on the other side of the world. Unless it was an end-of-the-world emergency. 

But our pre-internet visceral-psychic conditioning to leap at the ring of a telephone ("It could be an emergency!") has segued organically into our visceral response to a "message" coming through. The despotism of the SMS, the primacy of the beep. All else yields and bows to its dictates. 

And then the person on the other side of the world adds, "Nothing's going on here, so I thought I'd say hello." 

Well, it's heartening to know how I compete with "nothing" and come out at least a little bit better. And... THAT'S what making me feel guilty for not hopping to respond? Because you had nothing to do? 

It reminds me of the time, a bit before SMS's but after cellphones had pervaded the culture, I was riding a bus in Zaporozhye and a few seats ahead of me was a girl talking on her phone. I couldn't help hearing her end of the conversation: "Mmm, yeah...uh, huh...oh, nothing...just riding the bus...yeah, nothing much...mmm." And then from her bag came the ring of another phone. So she told the first phone-friend to hold on a moment, there was a call coming in, she reached into the bag, answered the other phone, and proceeded to chat: "Oh, hi...uh, huh...oh, nothing, just riding the bus...yeah...mm, hmm." 

So there she was, a phone at each ear, not one but two conversations at once...about how she's doing nothing. 

Why? 

Because we can. And if we can, we must. Because you'd be a heel not to answer. 

The culture of compulsive innocuousness, obsessive vapidity, despotic mediocrity. 

Wait, did I start this by saying it could make your day (or life) a bit easier? Well, yes, it can. If you care to ponder it. 

Don't become the patsy for people who know that when they have nothing better to do they can always text you because you'll always answer. 

Say no. And DO "no," whenever you really want or need to. And if you've forgotten how, then you are the person (yeah, you're the one, there you are, we found you) who most of all in the world needs to find out how again.

Marx, Intolerance and Dog Whistles

"Burn It Down"

By Karl Marx: 

Worlds I would destroy forever,

Since I can create no world;

Since my call they notice never …

Then I will be able to walk triumphantly,

Like a god, through the ruins of their kingdom.

Every word of mine is fire and action.

My breast is equal to that of the Creator.

I shall howl gigantic curses on mankind:

Ha! Eternity! She is an eternal grief …

Ourselves being clockwork, blindly mechanical,

Made to be the foul-calendars of Time and Space,

Having no purpose save to happen, to be ruined,

So that there shall be something to ruin …

If there is a something which devours,

I’ll leap within it, though I bring the world to ruins-

The world which bulks between me and the Abyss

I will smash to pieces with my enduring curses.

I’ll throw my arms around its harsh reality:

Embracing me, the world will dumbly pass away,

And then sink down to utter nothingness,

Perished, with no existence — that would be really living!

By one of the two Columbine high school shooters: 

 "I will sooner die than betray my own thoughts, but before I leave this worthless place, I will kill whoever I deem unfit..."  (Think Marx's "...that would be really living!") 

"I want to burn the world, I want to kill everyone except about 5 people...if we get busted any time, we start killing then and there...I ain't going out without a fight."

"You know what I hate? .....MANKIND!!!!...kill everything...kill everything..."

And in the eeriest echo of Marx's juvenile whine about how nobody ever notices his call: 

"I hate you people for leaving me out of so many fun things." 

Marx was no "economist," not even a coherent social philosopher. He never bothered to do field research among the "proletariat" he purportedly loved. From a cozy library he penned his demented manifestos against the existence that dared to exist without his permission, making the fantastical "proletariat" the pawns of his obsession of ultimate self-immolation. 

Marx was a template for a Columbine shooter and all others  possessed by a hatred of whatever dares to exist without submitting to their dictates. It's a spirit that today screams, "Burn it all down and start again!" Of course, what they mean is, "Make me king." They never mean "Burn down me."

PS: What really happens is, the head "Burn it all down!" cheerleaders who blackmail the desperate-to-be-stroked virtue-signallers for cash go on to buy themselves fancy houses (think "Cullors") that they'll never let anybody burn down. "All are equal but some are more equal than others."

"Dog Whistles"

There is an old joke from Soviet days--typical dark humor, naturally. A plumber was called to check the pipes in a family's house. After his inspection he said, "The whole system has to be changed." 

25 years in Siberia. 

Ha, ha. 

In the language of 21st-century American sociopolitical polemic the poor plumber would be accused (by the rabidly-religiously fanatic ideologues) of having used a "dog whistle." Sure, on the surface he was talking about the house's plumbing system, but "We all knooow what system he reaaaally meant." 

Especially in a system that thrives on snitching and the identification of "oppressors," "counter-revolutionaries" and other public enemies in its inquisitorial zeal to scramble to the heap of the Virtue Pile and all its perks. 

In a a spiritually and intellectually bankrupt environment like that, "Dog whistle!" is the free kick, the ace up the sleeve, the gratuitous club to wield over the head of anybody who doesn't sign up to your orthodoxy. 

It doesn't MATTER anymore what they really say or (hmph!) mean--you'll call it "a dog whistle" concealing every fiendish, malignant intention your fevered imagination can conjure up. Even before they say it. 'Cause you always knew your crusade demanded it. The verdict was in before the case opened. 

And why not. No skin off your nose. It gets you your cult's brownie points. And it's so easy. And fun. If, that is, you've successfully switched off your human soul.  Which is what Solzhenitsyn's work is all about: the appalling degree to which whole societies succeed in switching that off. 

"Intolerance"

No civilization can cohere or, finally, survive without exercising intolerance. 

We all know this, though perhaps we're unaccustomed to putting it that way.

We do not (or try not to) tolerate theft, murder, vandalism, extortion, embezzlement, human trafficking, sexual assault/abuse, etc.

So, yes, this is something we all know. 

The question is not therefore whether we must be intolerant. We know we must. 

The questions are "Of what?" and "To what degree?" 

Sometimes "degree" is a non-starter. It's absurd to speak of tolerating just a wee bit of human trafficking or murder. 

On more innocuous levels, perhaps we can tolerate a degree of jaywalking or under-the-table employment, like paying your neighbor kid $5 to mow your lawn (that's what the rate was last time I checked, in the 1970s). 

The social pact, coherence and survival are inextricable from intolerance. Arriving at that pact is, of course, the devilishly difficult thing.  But without the pact there is, first, no society, then no civilization. 

The Machine, Authenticity and the Kingdom

A pastor friend shared this with me: 

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From a book I’m reading:

“I’m not a believer in the idea that unhealthy pastors get themselves into leadership looking for opportunities like this; rather, I think that the leadership model we have in our evangelical world incentivizes grandiosity.”

— Land of My Sojourn: The Landscape of a Faith Lost and Found by Mike Cosper

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I wrote him back: 

Yes, very much so. One way or another each of us is part of a "machine," an ultimately impenetrable psycho-social complex of learned values, postures, signals, rituals, taboos and, most broadly speaking, "performances" that shape everything from the tones of our voices (far more culturally-imprinted than most people would care to imagine) to the overall public persona we may well believe is "the real me." 

The machine takes on an infinite number of forms, from the world's broadest national "cultures" to all their subcultures right down to every local community, workplace, religious and family construct

(Even a culture that prizes "authenticity" above all else is a machine prompting people to certain performances of "authenticity" that are nonetheless machine-prompted performances). 

Now, is all of that unqualifiedly bad, dooming us to existence as either mindless automatons or perpetual hypocrites? Of course not. I'd have long ago despaired of life if I believed that. 

Most of us sincerely try to do the best we can, given the psycho-social machine we've been "stuck" with, just as we do given the body and mind we've been "stuck" with, for better or worse. 

The healthiest thing we can do is admit there's a "machine" there and to approach the constellation of machines each of us is inevitably part of on the premise of choice. You might say, sovereignly deigning to choose which of the patterns we will go along with, and to what extent and to what purpose, and which simply do not interest us and, so, we will not be part of. 

That is perhaps the greatest taboo, one that is so implicit that most dare not allow themselves even to conceive of it, i.e., that we have any other option than to live in unreflective conformity to the "pattern" that engulfs us. But it's a taboo that is psycho-spiritually toxic; for real authenticity we must summon up the courage to break it, and break it where it counts first and foremost: in the sacred privacy of our own consciousness.

And I haven't even touched upon the sin question--perhaps, though, I have, just without using the word. 

The Kingdom of God is, ultimately, the realm of unbearably (at least, to us now) unfiltered, unadulterated divine-human authenticity. Where the "machine" is so essential, genuine and intrinsic to unimpeded, unimpinged Life that it is not a machine but the antithesis of everything "machine" means. There is no machine, only Love. 

Machines are complicated, but Love is infinitely, eternally complex. 

I recently heard an explanation of the difference between complicated and complex systems that was brilliant. A complicated system is predictable but a complex one isn't. A car engine is complicated, a computer is complicated, the Hubble telescope is complicated, and they're all produced to perform predictably. But the human mind is complex. Creation itself, down to the "quark" level, turns out to be complex beyond comprehension and terrifyingly unpredictable. God is Infinite Complexity, in the simplicity of Love. 

He is also terrifying. And holy. 

The ultimate divine-human complexity of authentic Love in the flesh was crucified by a world horrified at how He shattered our sacred taboos. He was too holy to be endured. His holiness insulted our Machine. His Sovereign Choice, lived out in moment-to-moment purpose and intention, violated the machine's requisite of unconscious conformity. "You're not allowed to think about these things, as if you're somebody special with some right to choose; no, you go along with the program because you have to. Who do you think you are, after all?" 

The world's crucifixion of Christ was its collective scream, "Who do you think you are?!" By rising, He said, "This is who I am." And He knew that all along. Never needed the machine's affirmation. 

His freedom and prerogative are the pattern, the spirit, of the kingdom, of authentic life and love. None of us will ever in the space of our earthly lives attain the perfection of that authenticity, but we can, in Christ, travel light-years, as it were, in its direction, on the wings of His Spirit. If we're willing to pay the price.

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Closing "tag":

Maybe one of a pastor's most daunting challenges is to live out, and pastorally (teachingly) live out the example of, genuine authenticity. Sorry if that last phrase seems tautological, but isn't there so much "authenticity" prized in our culture that is really quite pre-packaged, pre-digested, clichéd and formulaic? So I qualify "authenticity" with "genuine," attempting to get past the clichés. 

Of course, to attain such authenticity isn't only a pastor's calling. It's every Christian's. But a pastor takes on the immense duty to teach, and that's not just speaking from a pulpit on Sunday. No wonder Scripture says, "Let not many of you be teachers." 

Some Greek philosopher, wasn't it, said "The unexamined life isn't worth living." Seismically true. To which I must add the good Christian  news: "But we have the mind of Christ." So...examine away, in the freedom, hope and power of the Risen Lord. 

Christ's Substitutionary Death

At the core of both the "Trinity" (as revealed via the Incarnation, so that God the Son presupposes God the Father and God the Spirit is then the inevitable procession as manifested in the divine life Personally present where neither the Father nor the Son is to be understood as "localized"--consider Christ's promise to His disciples that He and the Father will come and make their abode with(in) the believer)--as I was saying, at the core of both the "Trinity," as the Church formalized this intrinsic biblical revelation, and of the Cross/Propitiation (yes, the hotly controversial teaching proclaimed universally by Christianity until, oh, about five minutes ago that Christ in His death embodied a "substitution" for us, taking the "punishment" for our sins)--let me start afresh after all that necessary preamble: at the core of both the Trinity and the Cross/Propitiation lies the essential question what it means to forgive. 

And the essence of this question actually requires the deity of Christ. 

Because forgiveness, if it really is forgiveness (and not a milquetoast "excusing" on the lines that "it's alright, no harm done, you didn't mean it"), means the one wronged has to swallow the brunt, the pain, of the evil done to him, and in some way die. That's the alternative to forcing...as if one could...the wrongdoer to make it all okay again. When you come right down to it no wrongdoer can ever do that, because ideally the undoing of a wrong means turning time itself back to make it so that the evil was never done. Impossible!

Thus, rather than wait, desperately, bitterly, forever, for the wrongdoer to make it right (impossible!), the one wronged makes it right within himself by killing the wrong, all its power and weight, its guilt and debt, within himself. He very nearly (or perhaps even literally) dies a death in the process. He dies to the entire life that would have been possible in the absence of that wrong. He swallows its reality and, if the digestive metaphor isn't too indelicate, expels it. Kills it within himself rather than either killing the wrongdoer or demanding the wrongdoer kill himself for it. 

Thus, only the one wronged can do authentic forgiveness. 

Thus, Christ must be the Wronged God swallowing all the wrong done to Him and so dying with it, killing it in his own dying, so that it is entirely expiated--the Propitiation. 

On that level (infinitely beyond our penetration), one cannot fine-comb rather precious human distinctions between the "righteous judgment of God" and "the agony of the victim." They instantiate each other, are a single act. If God is the willing victim of all the wrongs done Him, then His suffering is the righteous propitiation of the selfsame wrongs. It is the suffering that itself judges sin as sin, committing at once both the judgment intrinsic to all forgiveness (since forgiveness is a verdict that evil has been done) and its remission (catharsis, putting away, propitation).  The expiation is the expiation, however you cut it.  

The ostensible scandal of "substitutionary theory" derives from a myopic theology that forgets for the moment, or perhaps entirely, the deity of Christ. It's a theology that might pay lip service to the Incarnation but, suddenly, when the subject is Christ and the Cross, ALL the indignant, morally superior talk is about how, no!, we could never tolerate any such primitive and inhuman (!) notion of... (major run-on sentence alert)...a God Who's so seething with rage at our human foibles that He just needs somebody to vent it all at and Jesus was the one kind enough to let a brutal Heavenly Father blast Him with unspeakably transcendent physical and, more so, spiritual agony, in order to mollify Him and, as it were, make Him look at us more kindly after getting over His divine bad mood. (Whew.) 

Such is the derisive caricature of "substitution" that flows from a sullenly puerile obstinacy that, first, God MUST be reduced to the level of our political correctness and, secondly, the nature of Christ must be so compartmentalized as to exclude His deity when excluding it best serves one's theological aims. 

It's all very simple to pooh-pooh the Substitution when the Christ on the cross is ONLY a man. But "Substitution" means transcendently more when the Christ on the cross is integrally and always both Man and God Incarnate. His death is the ACT of forgiveness, the materialization of God's "swallowing" the evil done Him and getting rid of it, in His Own Body ("...for the remission of sins"), rather than holding us forever hopelessly to an impossible debt. 

When we ourselves forgive, REALLY forgive, it is a mini-Golgotha, because we too undergo a death, a grief, a swallowing of the thing that should never have happened but did, the loss of what we never should have lost. 

We fully become one with that death so that it emerges into new life, the life after release, the life after the ultimate loss of the loss itself. 

Forgiveness is death, in some way or another, but because of Christ after death comes...Resurrection. The Risen Life of Christ is the life and power in communion with which we now may enact mini-Golgothas when we too forgive. ("Forgiving one another just as God in Christ has forgiven you.") After we taste that death, for all its worth, we likewise emerge into the newness of the Third Day, the abandoned tomb, imperishable life, victory, freedom.

Jesus Loves You

 Acts 23:6--Then Paul, knowing that some of them were Sadducees and the others Pharisees, called out in the Sanhedrin, “My brothers, I am a Pharisee, descended from Pharisees. I stand on trial because of the hope of the resurrection of the dead.”

Paul didn't cry out, "I stand on trial because Jesus loves you!" 

Acts 2:29-39 (excerpts)--"God has raised this Jesus to life, and we are all witnesses of it. Exalted to the right hand of God, he has received from the Father the promised Holy Spirit and has poured out what you now see and hear." 

...

“Therefore let all Israel be assured of this: God has made this Jesus, whom you crucified, both Lord and Messiah."

When the people heard this, they were cut to the heart and said to Peter and the other apostles, “Brothers, what shall we do?”

Peter replied, “Repent and be baptized, every one of you, in the name of Jesus Christ for the forgiveness of your sins. And you will receive the gift of the Holy Spirit. The promise is for you and your children and for all who are far off—for all whom the Lord our God will call.”

Peter didn't reply, "Believe that Jesus loves you!" 

And Stephen, before the Sanhedrin, on trial for his life, didn't exclaim, "Jesus loves you!" 

With Good Friday and Easter upon us, reflecting on the cross and resurrection, I'm reminded that the cosmos-transmuting power of the Gospel is One Death, by which a whole world that needed to die died in Him Who didn't, and One Resurrection, through which the Promise of Ages, a new world of life in union with God's Spirit, burst into reality for whoever receives. 

Jesus is never recorded as saying "I love you," but He is recorded as saying, "I am the resurrection and the life; whoever believes in me will never die."  If one can't find the love of God in that, a million I-love-you's will never be enough. 

The Knowledge of Good and Evil

 There was reality in what the serpent said to Eve, "On the day you taste of it, you will be like God, knowing the difference between good and evil." 

Half a reality is easily a lie, of course. 

The sneaky loophole in the proposition was, knowing the difference between good and evil is nowhere near understanding the difference. 

And for that lack of understanding mankind goes on committing evil, thinking it's good. 

Simply to know two different things exist is no guarantee you'll know which is which.

Especially when your ego is all wrapped up in it. 

It's why, as the old saying goes (a saying not as old as the Garden, but the truth of it is) that "a little knowledge is a dangerous thing." 

History's greatest atrocities have sprung from the passionate zeal of human beings to attain the "good" their souls were consumed with, no matter the cost (to others, of course). And their "good" was an evil straight from the pit of hell. 

The guards of Auschwitz and Dachau didn't spend their days thinking, "I'm so glad I'm doing evil." 

It is enormously safe, comforting and ego-boosting, if self-deceiving,  to think, "I would never have done those evil things they did." 

Better to think, "The good I'm driven to do right now--is it really?" 

The words are not enough, nor are the feelings, even passion. 

What is vital is an understanding. An understanding that transcends the inescapable foolishness of ego. 

Within and Without: Owning Your Interior

SUBTITLE: "Don't Let The Hivemind In"

Some thoughts that came to me today, as I was walking home from the supermarket. This is my daily jaunt, by the way, as there is no such thing for me, here where I live, as driving to the supermarket, stocking up for the week, loading it into the car and driving home. I very much like my excuse for a good brisk walk every day. I look forward to it. Sometime it's only for a bottle of milk and loaf of bread--sometimes I'm not even sure what it's for--but the point isn't how much to get, it's the motion and air and break from whatever project I happen to be working on. And the spring blossoms are getting really beautiful now. (Today was blustery and cold, though!)

So, the thoughts that came to me walking home today. This may be too abstract, I don't know, but let's try....

In one sentence? Okay, here it is: 

You never have to perform on the inside for those on the outside. 

NEVER. 

Okay, what does that mean? 

It means you are absolutely never beholden, morally indebted, emotionally bound, or ethically obligated to conjure up an interior psycho-emotional state, of any kind, at the command (overt or implicit) of somebody who's on the outside (hint: that means everybody who's not you--they're all on the outside). 

What do I mean? I mean the way we respond to cues like, "Are you outraged at that? You should be outraged at that. Why aren't you outraged at that?!" (Cue: conjure up an "outraged" feeling on the inside to make that person on the outside happy.)  

Or, "If you don't hate/love/want/long for...XYZ, there's something wrong with you." (Cue: conjure up the requisite love, hate, longing, etc., to prove to yourself there's nothing wrong with you.) 

Or, "Tell me how you really feel about this, come on, open up, share your true feelings, let it out, don't be bottled up..." when in fact you understand the other person is implicitly demanding that a) you must have a feeling (and you know which one they mean), and, b) you must tell them, as if it's their sovereign right to know.  (Hint: it's not.) 

I take note of so much of this going on all around us all the time, in just about every group setting. Somebody tries to dictate what everybody should be feeling ("Are ya feelin'' it?"). And everyone sure does feel it--what they feel is the pressure to show they're "feelin' it," to conform to the hive, the de rigueur emotion of the moment, both to reassure themselves of their own normalcy and to keep fitting in. Because the alternative is simply too horrible. (It's really not, but the Great Delusion says it is.) 

Because at such moments just about the greatest crime against humanity anybody could commit, so it would seem, is to not "resonate." The even worse one would be to say, "No, I'm not feeling it. And not interested in feeling it either, thanks." 

This investment that the "hive" makes in assuring itself all the "bees" are operating on exactly the same emotional wavelength--it's an impenetrable mystery to me. 

It is, too, of course, a very dangerous thing in any number of ways.

One way that immediately comes to mind is "personality cult."  

That can be an actual cult-y group or organization where the leader (a narcissist, of course) succeeds in browbeating (by charm or otherwise; usually charm first, then otherwise) all the drones into constant, slavish imitation of the leader's moods. 

Laugh when he laughs, be mad when he's mad, grave when he's grave, carefree when he's carefree, but always be one thing he never is: afraid. Afraid of the danger that, at some weak moment of inattention you will be, feel, want, think, something on your "inside" that isn't in his. And he'll know. That's a cult. 

(The personality-cult "guru" is, of course, under the veneer, always afraid; it is the operative dirty-little-secret of all such pathological group dynamics.) 

This dynamic can be "official," in some kind of collective (I'm thinking Scientology, for instance), but it can also operate in a personal, one-on-one relationship. (Hint: a relationship to flee to the hills from, pronto.) 

And, too, there are ways it can and, I'm convinced, does operate on the massive sociocultural plane, where it is telegraphed to us in an infinite number of ways, every day, that we should, if we're at all worth the air we're breathing, be inwardly experiencing the program's prescribed excitement, repulsion, longing, outrage, zeal, disgust, fascination. It is the recipe for "culture-drone." 

Even apathy can be imposed on us!  ("Oh, you still like that?! How funny. nobody cares about that anymore, so why do you?" To which the best answer is, "Why would I tell you? Who are you?"). 

When you take a step back from the entire dynamic--not just some little quadrant or sector of it, but a giant step back to see the whole picture--you suddenly see what a monstrosity it is. And what wreckage it sadistically wreaks in the psyches of untold millions, billions, of people. 

I suppose this relentless mutual "comparing" and interior recalibrating to satisfy exterior cues—a kind of psychoemotional territory-marking—is the language of the "hive." I have increasingly come to realize that it's not mine. I'm pretty good at multiple languages, but not that one.

WORDS AND CONCEPTS (AND "AGE")

Words are, first, sounds, and then they are written marks, a code we use to "telegraph" the sounds we want our readers to hear in their brains. The marks represent the word-sounds, while the word-sounds represent concepts. 

Concepts aren't words. We use words to try and express them. But the concepts themselves aren't sounds, and they are certainly not marks on paper (or screens). They are impressions, images, feelings, associations, connections, instincts, learned patterns and assumptions. 

Learning another language is like learning how to get to work in the morning, not in your accustomed Honda Civic but suddenly on a motorcycle instead--yes, one would say, "a whole different language!" The goal is precisely the same but the approach is radically different. Concepts are like the goal. Every infant in the world knows, sub-verbally, that it wants to be fed. That's the concept. The words it will learn for that will vary with the country and language-space it occupies. The words and their sounds will vary wildly, too. Moreover, those sounds will be of a sort, no matter the language, including English, that the amazingly plastic, adaptable mind of a baby adapts itself to, but they will seem downright humanly impossible to pronounce to an adult non-speaker of that language. Which creates the illusion that the speakers of another language, right down to the two-year-olds, are trafficking in exotic, esoteric concepts inaccessible to our own language and, indeed, our own minds. 

Which is nonsense. It's just the sounds that are hard, not the concepts. 

Do I mean one language cannot have a concept that another language doesn't? Well, no and yes. No earthly language contains an extraterrestrial concept inaccessible to all humanity apart from the speakers of that language. We all come from basically the same stuff and all our concepts are quite Earth-bound. None of us is starting from "out there somewhere." Milk is milk no matter what sound you convey the notion with. Whether you drive a Honda Civic or ride a motorcyle, you still have to punch the same time-clock at work. 

So why do we so often hear things like "this is a Russian concept there's no English word for," or "this Hebrew word expresses a concept with no equivalent in English"? 

Actually, this shouldn't be in the least mystifying. 

Just think how often (sometimes as a kind of game) people mention something like, say, "that feeling you get when you told yourself to do something and then can't remember whether you actually did it or only told yourself to do it," and ask, "Is there a word for that?" (Answer: no.) 

Or how about, "that cold, heartless enjoyment of someone else's misfortune"? What's a single word that captures just that and nothing more or less than that? We don't have a word for it. But guess what: German does. Schadenfreude. 

Does that mean Germans are capable of conceiving concepts we're incapable of? Well, don't be silly. After all,  I just expressed it in English didn't I? "That cold, heartless enjoyment of someone else's misfortune." 

So it doesn't mean English-speakers can't comprehend the concept. All it means is, the German language invented a word to sum it up in one word, and English didn't. Happens all the time. 

We have single words in English that sum up a sentence-long description of something where a language like Russian will simply have to say it in a sentence. Does that make English a uniquely exotic language possessed of concepts transcending the consciousness of all non-English-speakers? Again, don't be silly. It just means that, in a take-your-pick sort of way, you could do a survey (if you had the time and were interested) and produce a huge list of words from languages all over the world that uniquely summed up more or less complicated concepts that other languages had no single words for. And I doubt any one language would come out remarkably at the top for Champion One-Word Conceptual Summarizer. It's probably a fairly equal distribution. 

Yes, some languages "cheat" in that their "single word for a concept" is really just a bunch of words smushed together. German especially loves doing that. English, not very much. I could make up a new single-word-concept in English like "coldbloodmisfortunejoy" but all that demonstrates is my talent for skipping the space button. It's not a new concept. 

That, by the way, is the secret in learning "those really long, hard words" in other languages like German and Russian--you know, the words that look a mile long and you think, good grief, how could anybody think in words like that, in concepts like that? 

Well, the dirty little secret behind which they snicker at the outsiders is, those mile-long words are just a bunch of words smushed together, and they are no more difficult to pronounce than "coldbloodmisfortunejoy." When you know the parts you can say the whole thing. It's no harder to say "coldbloodmisfortunejoy" than it is to say "cold blood misfortune joy." Not only is it no harder, it's no different.  It's just that to non-speakers of the language such long words present as intimidating an exotic aspect as uiraoiuawiogjnawea or ppahiuaenegahxjsw. Or anti-dis-establish-ment-arian-ism.  

Our mistake, and intimidation, upon seeing "long words" in other languages stems from the notion that those words are arbitrary compilations of letters expressing in exactly the same way something we express with a single syllable, like "love". If we see that another language says "love" like rujjidpowwengweolkzew, we recoil and shout, "Why do they make 'love' so complicated?! Why can't they just say 'love' like we do?" But the reality may very simply be that they express the concept with a smushed-sentence-word and rujji-dpo-wweng-we-olk-zew might mean "feeling-that-warmly-to-another-draws." It's the way they convey it and it works for them. Okay, so it's more like a sentence than our idea of a "word," but so what? 

So the mental posture I learned early on for coping with these things was, "Look, I'm going to say a sentence anyway. The sounds aren't on paper, they're coming from my mind and my mouth. So what difference does it make whether on paper they look like this: 'Today I'm going to the shoes and socks store to hunt around diligently for the ideal pair of sneakers that will perfectly suit my jogging needs' or like this: 'Today I'mgoing tothe shoesandsocksstore tohuntarounddiligently forthe idealpair ofsneakers that willperfectlysuit my joggingneeds'?" The second is still going to sound exactly like the first, at quite the same relaxed pace and with precisely the same intelligibility. And, yes, I smushed words together to show exactly how these concepts might be "smushed" in some languages. 

What set me off on this train of thought was my encountering the Polish word for "age" which is "wiek" (vyek). It immediately caused a short-circuit among my language neurons, in a sort of matter-antimatter reaction with Russian. But to the rescue came none other than our old friend English. 

Now forget the word "age" for a moment and consider three concepts in English (which I cannot express with anything other than words, but what can you do...). Think of that era or period in which Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers tapped and whirled themselves about on the silver screen--what kind of time was that for Hollywood? Right: the Golden Age of Hollywood. Now think about a bunch of eight-year-olds in the school playground--what stage of life and status in society has their childhood reached? Right: School age. Now think about a time when, having passed through many life experiences, you begin to understand things more clearly, more wisely. What is it that has brought you to this plateau? Right: with age you have learned very much. Three concepts, one word: age. We'll leave aside for the moment what a cheese does in the cave. Three's enough for now. 

Hollywood's Golden Age, a child's age, and the wisdom of age. Quite different notions. One word. 

In Russian the word for your age, say 66 like me, is vózrast, from a prefix "voz--" somewhat similar to English "up," and the root "-rast/rost" meaning "grow." So the Russian concept of one's age is one's degree of grown-up-ness, whether a little bit like a three-year-old or a lot like American presidential candidates. Russian has another word "vyek" (look familiar?) which means "age" as in "from age to age amen" and it also means "century"! So we talk about the twentieth "vyek" in Russian. Now there is another, much more literal word for "century" in Russian, stoletiye, meaning "hundred-yearth," but in most conversations we use "vyek." 

So imagine my sudden confusion when on a Polish document, where it asked for "age," I saw the word "wiek"! What?! Like, what, you're asking what century I was born in? Or if I'm going to live forever ("from age to age amen")? What are you talking about? I puzzled this over. "Wiek? What could they possibly mean? 'Vyek' in Russian is a century, or, like, an...er...waitaminnit...age." Duh. Only "age" in a completely different sense in Russian, not in the...er, English sense. Well, whaddya know. 

So Polish decided to use one word for both a person's age and an era-age. I mean, what kind of crazy language would think of that! Except for Polish. And English. But not Russian, definitely. 

Concepts and word-sounds. Different languages mix and match them in their own funny ways. Even close cousin languages choose to go in different directions with them. But whether we're driving Honda Civics or motorcycles, we're all trying to get to work on time. 

Ghost-Killing and Freedom

 I was having a conversation by e-mail recently with somebody coping with a narcissistic figure in his life. A big part of it was how the narcissist's influence made my friend feel terrible about himself--terrible if he blew up at the narcissist, and terrible if he gave in to the narcissist. A narcissist will always make sure it's your fault: either your fault for getting emotional and blowing up ("What's WRONG with you?!") or your fault for not dancing to the narcissist's tune ("What's WRONG with you?!") Funny enough, somehow it's always "what's wrong with you," isn't it....

This friend had recently made a brave attempt to put the narcissist in his place, which of course evoked wrath and ire from the narcissist, and my friend was doubting himself (of course--that's how the game-plan goes, that's what the narcissist wants). 

Here is what I wrote my friend: with names and pronouns deleted. The narcissist is just X. 

******************************

I think that was very constructive, your setting that boundary with X. Especially since you are apparently not the first to confront X about such outbursts. It is always helpful when you have external, objective confirmation of your impression, indicating that it's not simply your inability to relate to somebody (whether X or somebody else). 

It's not about "chemistry." 

Let that objective assurance be your guide and peace in this: the problem is in X and your getting interiorly agitated or personally offended at it makes it neither better nor worse, but is perfectly irrelevant. To put it this way, X's behavior has no more to do with you than it does with me (and X doesn't even know me!). 

Mind you, I'm not underplaying how X's behaviors have indeed affected you personally over the years, because you do have interaction with X that I don't have. 

But what I DO mean is, the source of that behavior within X has nothing more to do with you than it does with a person X doesn't even know, like me. 

Setting your boundary is about freeing yourself not only from X's behaviors but also from "the specter of X" inside your psyche, which is the far more important issue. 

Distinguish between the person X and X's "ghost" in your mind. Setting your boundary with the person is wise, and your absolute, mature, grown-up right. But as for the "ghost," i.e., the accumulation of memories, feelings, emotional triggers, that can be harder. 

The first step is, I find, to realize that there are never any "ghosts" in my psyche that are really "that person." All our interior "ghosts" are us. My memories of, say, a kid who bullied me in junior high aren't that kid. They're ME...in the act of REMEMBERING. The real kid (pushing 70 now, like me) is who-knows-where doing who-knows-what today. But the mental "package" dressed up as a memory of that kid is a psycho-emotional issue, a "ghost," entirely inside of me, that I'm wrestling with--really, with myself. The kid no longer has anything to do with it, really. 

That realization brings a stunning liberation. I suddenly realize I have no emotional or moral debt to that "ghost." Because it's part of me I have an absolute right--an actual, sovereign, "royal" sort of right--to do whatever I want with it. I can crush it up like a used Pepsi can and toss it into the trash heap of oblivion forever. I don't need that thing inside me, so it's gone, done, liquidated for good. Kill the ghost. And life rolls forward like it was never there. It's wonderful. 

As for the real live person, whoever it is, whether or not they're still in your life, or for that matter even still alive, they become, in a manner of speaking, an "option." That is, "my relationship with that person is entirely optional, depending on that person's behavior." 

Perhaps this sounds un-Christian, but is it really? If there's a cashier at the supermarket who spits in your face every time you check out, are you going to keep going to that checkout line, or even to that supermarket? That's just common sense. You might even "forgive" them but you're not going to shop there anymore. It's just plain common sense. 

Sometimes it's simply inevitable that you cut off interaction with a person who simply will not interact with you in any workable way. Forgiveness and the possibility of a continuing workable relationship are actually two different things, and the one doesn't always mean the other. 

Sometimes, though, it's inescapable (like in family or work situations) that you will have occasional interactions with that person, but you can make a decision to keep it "all business." That means being physically present when you have no other choice, being socially polite and cordial, like passing the salt when asked and saying "Thank you" when they pass the salt to you, but beyond that being a blank wall, a "dead" resonating board that doesn't resonate anymore. If they try to press buttons or hit triggers it doesn't work because you have no more buttons or triggers inside for them. The most they can get out of you if they insist on trying is, "I'm not interested in that," or simply total silence, not out of fear but out of utter non-interest. They have zero right of entré to your inner world. Certainly not to suggest the least thing to you about how you understand yourself. That's not their place or right any more than it's the place or right of the philodendron on the kitchen counter to do that. 

A good analogy: when you hear a dog bark, you think "Well, that's what a dog does," but you don't take it as a personal challenge or comment on your human worth. 

That's how I have learned to cope with difficult people in my life, and it's hugely liberating. That mindset will even help you manage things like your tone of voice and inner agitation when you find yourself in inescapable situations, like X directly challenging you on your behavior or how you're relating to X (which in such instances really means, "How dare you not dance when I fire at your feet!").  If need be, we can drily reply, "I'm relating to you just fine, X. It works for me. You do what works for you." It takes sticking to it and not giving up at the first pushback, 'cause there WILL be pushback. This type doesn't give up right away. But they do give up, because the need for an ego-fix is more compelling than the need to keep trying it with you. 

Ultimately nobody really has the power to shape your inner psyche beyond the influence you allow them. If you don't allow them, then eventually they learn and adjust to the new reality (and  go looking for easier victims).

The Day of Quietness, Readers' Theater version

 Easter Play: The Day of Quietness by Ken Sears

Narrator: Sabbath day, the day of rest. But this Sabbath is a day of quietness like no other. For with a cry “It is finished!” a Voice like no other has fallen  silent. In this silence the souls of those who loved Him are permeated with grief, guilt, helplessness. They can do nothing, say nothing, to bring an answer or hope. What can be done, what can be said, when there is no future? At the door of a grief-filled house, there is a knock. Some in the house are sleeping, but one, a mother who has witnessed what no mother should see, has not ceased her vigil. She opens the door to her visitors.

Mary: (whispering) Lazarus! Thomas! Come in, come in!

Lazarus: Mary… Mary….

Thomas: Who is that over there?  

Mary: Shh, Thomas. That’s Salome, and Mary of Magdala. They only just fell asleep this past hour. Thank God they're sleeping. It was a terrible night… terrible. 

Thomas: Terrible nights are all that is left to us now. And days—  oh, God, days without life at all. 

Mary: And are you a prophet now, Thomas? No. There will be no more nights like this one. There will be no more days like yesterday. Everything changes, Thomas.  Always. 

Lazarus: And "the mercies of the Lord are new every morning." Even death cannot change that. The new day comes even when your heart lies in the grave. 

Mary: Hope is a very severe master, Thomas. She doesn't let us lie long in our grief. She calls us early to rise and go to work. 

[Mary Magdalene and Salome are awake. We hear Magdalene's voice as if from a short distance]

Magdalene: "Are there not twelve hours in a day? Must we not do the work of the Father while there is light?" 

Mary: Oh, Mary, Salome, we woke you up. I'm so sorry. I wanted you to sleep. 

Magdalene: It was enough. I will not sleep again till I have fulfilled my duty to my Lord. 

Salome: Nor I. We'll go today and…anoint the body. 

Thomas: Today? Salome, it’s the Sabbath! You mustn’t! 

Magdalene: "Is not the Son of Man also Lord of the Sabbath?" How can you even speak that way, Thomas? Can anything we do for him defile us, or break God's holy law? Didn't the Lord heal on the Sabbath? 

Thomas: But… to enter a grave, to touch… the dead on the Sabbath day….

Magdalene: Didn't he touch the dead? Didn't he touch them and raise them back to life? Did that make him unclean, Thomas? Did it?

Mary: And are you going to raise my son back to life, my dear? 

Magdalene: (shaken) Oh… no, I didn't mean—…  Oh, my dear one, I only wanted—… I need to do something for him. (She weeps)

Mary: I know. I don't blame you, but… today is not the day. Today is the day of quietness. He is quiet, where he lies, today. We too must be quiet. None of us can do anything for him now. Even to think that we can is, somehow, terribly wrong—perhaps even sin…. I feel this, I know it in my heart. Hasn't he shown us all – you, brothers, and you, my sisters, and… me – that we never really knew his purpose? Even when he told us, we refused to hear him; we said he must be wrong. "The Son of man will be delivered into the hands of sinners and be crucified, and on the third day, he will rise again." On the third day, the third day—[We hear Mary Magdalene and Salome approaching Mary, their voices louder, the rustle of their clothes and footsteps can be heard as they whisper comforting words.]—oh, whatever happens tomorrow, let my son rest quiet today.

[Mary sighs sadly, even the slightest weeping, Mary Magdalene and Salome quietly whispering comforting words; then there is a knock at the door] 

Narrator: The small circle freezes in fear, Mary gives a nod to Lazarus.  Lazarus opens the door.

Lazarus: (with relief) Nicodemus!

Nicodemus: Lazarus, dear brother.  

Narrator: This is Nicodemus, the Jewish nobleman who came to Jesus by night and was forever transformed by this encounter. It was Nicodemus who, with Joseph of Arimethea, asked Pilate for the body of Jesus, then placed the Lord in Joseph’s newly hewed tomb. Entering the house, Nicodemus recognizes Mary, the mother of Jesus.

Nicodemus: I saw you before… with Him. You are His mother. 

Mary: Yes.

Nicodemus: I–

Mary: I know who you are. And I know that he loved you. I also know what you and Joseph have done for my… for the Lord. How can I thank you?

Nicodemus: Please don’t speak of thanking me. I feel I have failed him utterly, I feel…a criminal, a murderer. 

Magdalene: Perhaps you are. 

Thomas, Lazarus, Salome: ("Mary!" "How dare you?" "What are you saying?") 

Magdalene: Perhaps we all are! I heard him cry from the cross—never, never can I forget the sound of his cry: "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" Instantly the answer pierced my heart like a sword. I knew. I knew why he was abandoned—by his own Father in heaven! It was me. What my sins deserved, the Lord was suffering there. He brought it all… there… I never asked him to, I never wanted him to. But it was always what he…what he knew he would do.

Salome: If he had asked me, I'd have told him no— no—not for me, Lord, no! You're… holy, I'm unworthy; it's not right, you don't deserve to suffer—

Nicodemus: Glory to the Most High, Jesus never asked any of us for… permission to fulfill the Father's will…as if we'd have ever understood. (recalling, reciting the words of Scripture) "Who has believed our message, and to whom has the arm of the Lord been revealed?" Now, as blind as I am, I begin to see… glory to the God of Israel…. "He was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities… by his wounds we are healed… the Lord has laid on him the iniquity of us all… for the transgression of my people he was stricken… he bore the sin of many, and made intercession for the transgressors." 

Thomas: "This is my blood which is shed for you, for the forgiveness of sins"… 

Mary: All of it is what had to be—yes, and the sword that has pierced my own heart, too. It's terrible—it has always been terrible: we are in the hands of the living God and are undone… the world is undone. It's the end of the world. …I don't know what world tomorrow brings, but it must be a different one, a new one. There's no other possibility. (resolutely to the others…) So no more talk about which of us would "permit" my son to do… what he's done. It's… it’s blasphemy. The whole world… all of heaven…  expects nothing from us, today. …Today the world is silent, silent—while He is silent in the grave….

Nicodemus: (as if seeing a vision)"Be still before the Lord, all mankind, because he has roused himself from his holy dwelling." Oh, Lord… and when he rouses himself…what then? (snaps back to the present moment)  But I have forgotten the reason I came here. Lazarus, I came to tell you you must leave the city immediately. The Pharisees have dispatched men to kill you. You're the greatest threat to them now after… after Jesus. And in your case they won't bother with a trial. Who can charge them with killing a man who was already dead?

Lazarus: How do you know this? 

Nicodemus: You know I sit in the Sanhedrin. I have friends, Lazarus, who aren't as full of hate, or under the power of darkness, as the rest. They tell me things they hear…. But we're wasting time. You must leave quickly. You are a living sign of Jesus' power. The Pharisees are intent on eliminating that sign. And this time, my friend, Jesus won't be there to stand in front of your grave and call you out. 

Lazarus: Oh no Nicodemus, the next time he will call me from my grave. 

Magdalene: And me.

Salome: And me. 

Nicodemus: (accepting the sense in which they speak) And me, Lazarus. And me. Yes. I believe. He is the savior of the world. 

Thomas: "I am the resurrection and the life. Who believes in me will never die…."

Magdalene: "And I will raise him up on the last day…." 

Salome: "The dead will hear the voice of the Son of man, and—" 

Nicodemus: But how? …How? Now he is dead. Who'll stand before his grave? Who'll call him to come out, Lazarus? 

Mary: (fiercely) No one. … No one, Nicodemus. "Destroy this temple, and I will raise it up in three days…." 

Nicodemus: But, but he was talking about the temple—

Mary: No. He wasn't.

Lazarus: In the grave of death, I heard his voice telling me to live, and–I had to live. I know who he is, Nicodemus: the Prince of Life. And you ask who will call him out of the grave? Why don't you ask who counseled the Lord God when He made heaven and earth? 

Nicodemus: Oh, I believe, I believe… but I can't understand—I am an old man—

Lazarus: You're a teacher of Israel.

Nicodemus: …. No, I was a teacher, but I knew nothing. I realized that when—

Thomas: When he spoke to you.

Nicodemus: Yes. 

Thomas: Nicodemus… dear brother… none of us understands. We're  devastated and heartbroken. …I thought I understood when the Lord said, "Let's return to Judea." I said, "Let's go back and die with him." Oh, I was so brave, Nicodemus, so sure of myself. But I understood nothing. He knew… everything: that we would all leave him; that he would die alone, there, on the cross; that my courage was just empty, meaningless words. He knew, and we knew… nothing.

Salome: You're wrong, Thomas. We knew he had the words of life—

Magdalene: And the power of life—

Lazarus: The power of God. 

Thomas: …Yes, we did, and we believed. 

Nicodemus: And we'll continue believing. It's all we can do. Our brother Lazarus could do nothing in the grave until the Lord spoke. Now we're like Lazarus in the grave. We're—dead with grief. Yet hope does live in us, all the same. We will hear his voice again. 

Lazarus: And now I must go to Bethany. My sisters need me. They're surely in danger, too.  

Thomas: I'll go with you. And whatever happens, I'll stand by you, Lazarus, and Martha and Mary. 

Nicodemus: Come, I have friends waiting to help us to get out of the city unseen. 

Lazarus: Us? 

Nicodemus: I'm going with you. I don't know what tomorrow will bring, but when it comes I want to be with the one who heard Messiah's voice call him from the grave to life. 

Thomas: But, the sisters… who'll take care of them?

Salome: (in bitter irony) When you disciples ran away in fear, we women continued to follow the Lord, and now you worry who'll take care of us? 

Mary: Salome, don't. Go, brothers, we'll be alright. John and Mark are coming soon. They went out to find Peter. I'm worried for him. I hope soon we'll all be together again. Lazarus, when you can, when it's safe, come back to us with your sisters. I… I know that he will bring us together again—for His purpose. 

[As Narrator reads the following, they softly, as background sounds, uttering parting phrases like "Go with God," "Go in peace"]

Narrator: They say goodbye to each other, preparing to leave, when there is another knock at the door. [we hear the knocking as soon as the narrator reads the word "knock"] Thomas goes and opens it. A young Jewish woman enters. She is unknown to them. She is trembling with apprehension.

Judith: My name is Judith. I am a servant in the house of Governor Pontius Pilate. 

(The next three lines are quite spontaneous, slightly overlapping)

Magdalene: Pilate!

Nicodemus: How dare you come here!

Salome: Like Judas, she'll bring the Romans here to arrest us!

Mary: No – let her speak! (everyone goes quiet) Please, my dear, why have you come?

Judith: I… I… I have a message for the mother of Jesus. It was forbidden to me to tell it to any man, only … to you? 

Mary: Yes, I am his mother. So then, you cannot tell me while these friends of ours are standing here? (slight pause, as Judith nods silently in agreement) Well then, dear brothers, once more: peace, go with God. 

Thomas: But—

Mary: It's all right. Go. (we hear their footsteps and the door closing behind them) Now, Judith, there are only we women here. Tell us your message. 

Judith: There is no message. 

Magdalene: You lied?!

Salome: Just as I said, she's a traitor!

Judith: No, no! I beg you, listen! I couldn't tell you why I came while they were here. My mistress would have punished me severely. I had to make them leave.

Mary: If you serve in the house of Pilate, then your mistress is Claudia, his wife. 

Judith: Yes.

Mary: Why did she send you to us?

Judith: She didn't send me.

Mary: (her weariness and the strain are breaking through) Oh… dear, now you make my head spin. There's a message, there isn't a message, your mistress sent you, she didn’t send you—please… we've borne enough these last hours…. I'm listening, Judith: why are you here?

Judith: Forgive me, I didn't mean to torment you, truly. I'll speak plainly: My mistress didn't send me here with a message. I've brought my mistress here to see you.

Salome: The governor's wife— you led her here?!

Magdalene: Why?!

Judith: She's suffering terribly. She's desperate to know more about this Nazarene, the one that Pilate—. (she sees the grief on the women's faces) I'm sorry. 

Mary: How did you know where we were?

Judith: Jesus the Nazarene had followers even in the house of Pilate. It wasn't difficult for me to find out. 

Salome: But you were not one of his followers? 

Judith: No… not yet—though word about him had come to me: reports that sounded wonderful, but frightening, too. A strange hope began to rise in my heart… But now it's too late. 

Mary: No, Judith, not too late, not too late. …But where is your mistress? 

Judith: She's waiting, hiding in a side street, till I come and let her know it's safe. She feared Jesus' followers would take revenge on her for Pilate's deed. 

Mary: Revenge? That is not the Way Jesus taught, Judith. 

Judith: I know that. But my mistress doesn't know.

Mary: Go, bring her here. Tell her that we receive her… (determinedly) with love. 

Magdalen: (forcing herself) Yes. With love. 

Salome: (with grief in her tone) …With love. 

Narrator: Judith exits, quietly closing the door behind her. Mary, Mary Magdalene and Salome wait in suspense, wondering what this could mean.

[We hear a soft knock on the door]

Mary: (gently, steadily) Come in.  

[The sound of a door quietly opening, then a moment’s silence]

Mary: We receive you in peace, Claudia, wife of the governor Pontius Pilate.

Claudia: You are the mother of the man Jesus, the one they crucified yesterday? 

Mary: Yes. 

Claudia: And now he's… dead?

Mary: Yes. 

Claudia: Truly dead? 

Mary: …His body is lying cold, without breath or heartbeat, in the tomb. If, dear lady, that's what you mean by "truly dead", then… yes. 

Magdalene: What—are you afraid he's not dead?

Claudia: (with nervousness, indecision) I'm… afraid. Of what, I don't know, I don't understand. 

Mary: Come, please sit. Tell us. We'll help you. And you, Judith— come, sit. 

Judith: No, no. I may not sit in my mistress' presence. 

Salome: In this house, she is not your mistress. We are free women here. 

Magdalene: No, not "free". We're the slaves of another Lord, the only Lord… and he is not Caesar, he is not Pilate. 

Narrator: The ruler's wife is shocked at such words. In her distress she does not know whether to be angry, but the thirst for truth in her heart, and the sense of love in this house, mixed with the deepest grief, calm her soul. Claudia nods gently to Judith. 

Claudia: Yes… Judith? Come and sit with us.

Narrator: Judith hesitates

Claudia: Please. [A rustle of movement is heard as Judith sits down, Claudia continues...] I don't know how to begin…  Please receive my… deepest… sorrow for your grief.

Mary: I receive it. 

Narrator: Suddenly Claudia jumps to her feet, unable to contain herself.  Judith starts to rise with her mistress, but Claudia gestures to stop her.

Claudia: I cannot sit! No, Judith, stay there. But… Who is He? Who is your Son? What is he going to do? Will he destroy us—me, my husband, the empire—for the… the sin we've done? Please tell me. I'm losing my mind, I can't stand it anymore! 

(There is a moment’s silence, as you can imagine the women absorbing this sudden outburst and what it means. Finally Mary Magdalene asks with a quiet but deep intensity)  

Magdalene:  How do…you know of His power? 

Claudia: Then it's so. Your faces tell me. My visions were true. What have we done? Oh, my husband, my husband…!

Mary: Please, whatever you've done, the Lord's power is greater—not only to destroy but to save… to forgive. 

Claudia: (this word strikes Claudia, stuns her; no Jew ever talks to a Roman noble like this) Forgive?  Forgive… is this not truly the highest treason, the worst insult? Who dares to forgive Pilate? To forgive the imperial power of Rome? 

(The young women respond defiantly, with “pluck”)

Salome: The King of kings, God's Anointed.

Magdalene: The Son of God!

(a moment’s pause, in which we can imagine Claudia’s stunned, terrified bewilderment; Mary steps in with calm control…)

Mary: Tell us what you saw. What were these visions?

Claudia: (pulling herself together to speak) That night ... before they brought ... Him to my husband, I had nightmares all night. No. It was visions. There was a Power there, not a person to be seen, but a living power, the beginning of all power. And…Life. Then I saw a hand, just a hand, reaching toward the Living Power to touch what…what no one must ever touch. With horror I realized the hand was my husband's. Terror seized me, in the vision I screamed "Leave it! Don’t touch it!,” but too late. Pilate struck the Presence and, all at once, everything, the whole world, my own soul, became a whirlwind and chaos, torn up, disintegrating, flying away to nothingness.  And all the time there was... no, not a sound but a voice–so strong it shattered chaos itself. An endless roaring voice, as if mountains were crumbling, crying out, "The kingdom of this world has come to an end! The kingdom of this world has come to an end!" And in this chaos, this everlasting thunder, my own annihilation was taking place. It was a madness from which I thought I would never escape.

Judith: (overwhelmed with emotion, realizing in fear ...) He is the Son of God. He truly is the Son of God! 

Claudia: When day came, it was a… a miracle that I survived such a night. But then they brought him, the Nazarene, and I knew. What I had seen was happening. That Living Power had come! It was all real. Again, as in the vision, I tried to stop him, my husband: "Don't touch him!" But he—he— Oh-h-h, what will happen now? 

Mary: Now you must sit, dear lady. (pause as we imagine Mary is helping Claudia to a chair; then Mary continues, drawing on her deepest memories with quiet, firm certainty) Listen, please, to what I say. A messenger from heaven announced to me that I would bear the Son of God. He told me, "Don't fear." Now, dear lady, I tell you: don't fear. With God all things are possible. What you must do now is believe, hope for the mercy of the living God. And… wait. This is what we’re all doing now, today. Today we can do nothing else. 

Claudia: Wait? For what?

Mary: (with quiet certainty, directly) For the kingdom of God that comes when the kingdom of this world is fallen. He will bring it soon. Death won't stop Him. 

Narrator: Suddenly three men burst into the room without knocking. They look wild, exhausted, on the verge of madness. The man in the lead throws Claudia a fierce, hostile look. Claudia rises in panic, clutching Judith to her.

Claudia: Judith—Judith!

Judith: Yes, my lady! 

Claudia: We’re going!

Mary: (with urgency in her voice)  Trust, and wait. He has power to save… and forgive. 

Magdalene: You have His followers in your household, including Judith here. Be assured: when the time comes, we will send word to you. 

Salome: One thing more, Lady Claudia. Before you can gain everything—everything: his Life, his kingdom—you'll have to lose … everything. 

Narrator: Claudia meets Salome's gaze thoughtfully, nods meekly, then she and Judith walk out quietly, avoiding the gaze of the three unknown men. When they’re gone, the first of the men speaks. He is Peter.

Peter: (with irritation, a tone of rebuke in his voice) The Roman – who was she? 

Magdalene: (defiantly) Claudia, wife of the governor Pontius Pilate.

Peter: (Magdalene’s defiance worked; Peter is stunned) What? What are you—? Have you lost your minds? She'll turn you over to Pilate, and they'll kill you all! What were you thinking? You can't—

Magdalene: Is this what you've come back for, Peter? To give orders?

Peter: Clearly someone must. Oh, you foolish women—

Salome: How dare you—!

Mary: (like a thunderclap) Simon Peter son of Jonah! (total silence, then Mary speaks with a supernal strength just managing to subdue her violent emotion)  There will be a day, Peter… when the Lord makes you… a shepherd of His people. Of His people, Peter... yes, there will be a day. …But today, Peter: (the intensity of her emotion is expressed by speaking even more quietly) Be. Quiet. 

Peter: (a pause in which we can imagine Peter suddenly coming to his senses; when he speaks he is entirely changed, ashamed, his voice utterly sincere) Forgive me. Oh–forgive me!  

Narrator: Peter suddenly bolts for the door, but his companions, John and Mark, block his path.

John: Where are you going? 

Mark: Peter! 

Peter: I'm leaving. It’s over.  Forgive me, all of you,  the pain I brought you. I only came back, at all—to say goodbye. 

Magdalene: No!

Salome: What are you saying? 

Mark: No, Peter! You can't betray Jesus like this! (sudden silence, as if Mark has uttered the unspeakable; but Mark persists....) You can't. 

Peter: (with a desperate urgency, half in anger, half in despair, but mostly to  terminate this dangerous line of thought immediately) Mark–oh, Mark, you don't know what you're talking about. 

Mark: (determinedly) Yes. I do. You've already denied Him. 

(a moment’s pause; we know Peter is appalled) 

Mary: …We all know, Peter. 

John: I told them.  

Peter: John, why? How could you?!

John: (with a tender exasperation) Oh…my dearest brother… "Nothing is hidden that will not be known". It wasn’t to shame you, but—Peter,  it's not my fault. I won't answer for anything I said. When we came to the house, we were all of us out of our mind with grief and horror. And it all came pouring out of me like it was happening all over again. Everything: what they did to Him… what He went through… and when you said you didn't know Him—  

Narrator: Peter rushes for the door again, but John blocks his way.

John: No! Mark is right. You can't leave us. The Lord won't let you. 

Peter: The Lord? Or you, John? 

John: "But I have prayed for you, Peter… and when you've returned, strengthen your brothers…."  The Lord told you this would happen, and you didn't believe it. You wanted to be the one who loved Him more than any of us. “Even if they all leave you, I won’t,” you said. And you never stopped to think how you insulted us, Peter. You were so sure that we… that I…would leave Him but you wouldn't. Oh, Peter, how foolish your pride is….  But, still, how great your love.  

Magdalene: "To him who loves much, much will be forgiven." 

Mark: Peter, I'm waiting. I don’t know what it means, but I’m waiting…for Jesus. And you’re going to wait with me. You begged him once to leave you because you were a sinful man and unworthy, remember? Well, look—what’s changed? Nothing! …"The Good Shepherd will give up his life for his sheep." It's done, Peter: he did it—he's given up His life. Whether you wanted him to or not. It was never up to you. Peter, Peter… You thought you were the greatest disciple, and now you think you're the worst traitor….  Whatever it is, you always have to be the most. No, Peter. You're nothing. I'm nothing.  And you and I are going to wait for him–together. … You begged him to leave you once and he said "No." Now you can't leave…. Peter, he promised to come back for us….  

Peter: (quietly, almost to himself, almost in prayer; he’s making a choice; we are not quite sure what his “No” means at first….) No… no… I'll never… I’ll never… deny him again… If only he’ll, if the Lord will only…. 

Mary: (knowing what he means) Peter, yes. He will. 

Peter: (Peter is coming back to himself, thinking out loud, in spite of himself taking charge again, but with a much gentler spirit) The others…all the others… we've got to find them!  

John: Yes, brother. 

Mark: Let's gather them all, quickly. 

Peter: John, you know where they must have gone….

John: I think so. The cave, under the Garden. On the Mount of Olives. 

Peter: Yes. 

Mary: Go, bring them. We must be together, and ready.  

Peter: (shaken at the thought of needing to be "ready" again; in quiet intensity…) Ready…  Yes… Lord, make us ready…. Let’s go, brothers. 

Mark: Peter, John, wait!  (a moment’s pause, as if Mark is collecting himself to say the worst) What if…what if we… find Judas? 

[another pause, finally Salome breaks it]

Salome: If you find him, then—it's God's will. And if not, then… it’s God's will. 

Narrator: Still in grief and anguish, still in fear and doubt, but with renewed purpose and intention, the disciples go out into the night in search of their brothers. The house is quiet again. The three women are together, yet each alone in her soul with her memories and grief.

Mary: "Enough for today are today's troubles."  I feel in my heart, sisters, we've survived today's troubles. There's time now to rest, time to gather strength for tomorrow. 

Magdalene: Tomorrow Salome and I will fulfill our duty to the Lord, and nothing will stop us. 

Mary: (pensively, with a slight smile and a slight weariness) Maybe… and maybe not. Or perhaps, dear Mary, you cannot yet know what your duty to the Lord will be… tomorrow. But come, we'll prepare something for the brothers to eat… when Peter brings them back. 

[As the narrator reads the following line, the players playing Mary and Magdalene can walk away from their microphones, so that only Salome remains standing at her microphone. When Mary says her last line, she can do so from some distance from the microphone, as if from the next room]

Narrator: Mary and the Magdalene retire to the next room to begin preparations. Salome lingers, collecting cups and plates from the table, then stops as a fervent prayer springs from her soul.

Salome:  Oh Jesus, Lord Jesus. See how your flock needs you. There's no way ahead for us without you. You must return to us.  

… Oh "Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world,” rest now: it is finished.

… Oh Son of the Living God, we are waiting for your glory…. 

Mary: (as if from the next room) Salome?

Salome: (softly) Yes, I'm coming. 

["Salome" leaves the microphone. There is a brief pause. Narrator speaks again]

Narrator: This Sabbath day, a day of quietness, helplessness and grief, yet a day also of rest and expectation, comes to an end, whispering of hope. Hope is a stern teacher indeed, allowing no surrender. There, outside the city gates, in the silence of a cold tomb, the Beginning of all power, the Life of all life, does not surrender, but gathers Himself for the victory of all victories. The day of quietness quietly draws to an end. The morning star approaches, whispers to hopeful hearts, “Yes, I will come as I promised. Believe.” 

***