Friday.
Knocking on the heavy wooden door. No one is answering. Martha says something about the Disciples still being in Jerusalem and now we can see her walking away, sadly looking over her shoulder.
The table is still turned over. The pillows are still in disarray. A smear of dried liquid is on the wall. On the floor, staring up at the ceiling with tired yet active eyes is Thomas.
He raises his hands to his face, turns them upwards, then turns the palms back to himself.
“These hands performed miracles.” He squints at the dirty fingernails and the calluses “These hands cast out demons and yet they have no power.”
He sits up and continues to examine his hands then touches his lips “This mouth preached the Kingdom of God to the Jews and even” he smiles “the Samaritans. These lips.
“And yet they have no knowledge on their own.”
He reaches down to his feet, rubs the calluses and shakes his head “These feet walked about, preaching His Gospel and yet they have no reason to walk about if not for that Gospel.
Thomas’ head shoots up “We did all this because He was the one who told us to. We had no power, He gave it to us. We had no message, it was His words. We had no hope, it was all in Him.”
He smiles.
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