Category: christ

Tuesday.

Thomas is splashing water on his face, hair and back.  He opens his red-rimmed eyes, and stops, his hands frozen above the basin, water dripping back in. He stares, not at his own reflection but at the sparkling, rippling water.

“The blind man.” He slowly scoops up some water and methodically washes his eyes. “That blind man…we asked Him who sinned. He told us neither: that confused us for weeks…” he chuckles “but still, he told him to wash in Siloam but first…but first: what was it?” He closes his eyes and puts water once more, over his shut eyelids.

“We must work the works of Him who sent Me as long as it is day: night is coming when no one can work. While I am in the world, I am the Light of the world…”

“…did He know…? Is it possible?”

He looks at the water basin again, and stands up, staring at it, backing up against the wall. “That night, there was so much that happened: but when He washed our feet…I’ll never forget that. But…but…how could I have forgotten what He said afterwards.

“Not all of you are clean…from now on I am telling you before it comes to pass, so that when it occurs you may believe that I am He…

“…did he really know…?”

We all know the story about Doubting Thomas and how, in a flash his doubt was wiped away.  In John 20, Thomas demands proof for Christ’s resurrection and refuses to believe unless he puts his hand into His side. Well, 8 days later Jesus pops up into the room and next thing we know Thomas is answering the proof (which he hasn’t put his hands on, mind you) with “My Lord and my God!” Jesus’ response to that statement is probably the one some of us have asked: just because he saw Jesus, He believed? I mean what if it was a twin brother or a look-a-like? And really, what made Thomas go that far anyway to call Him God? Well, for a few days, I’m going to be posting a story, in almost screenplay format, called “Thomas’ Lonely Week”.

Sunday.

The small room is dark save for the soft light of the moon that drifts in through one of the nearby windows. The light falls gently onto a wooden table, pillows and finally the large, heavy door. The door swings open and in strides a medium height, curly haired figure, breathing heavily.

He drops a bag on the table, moves a chair and starts shuffling through something on the floor. The clapping of rocks is heard with the bright flash of flintstones (which illuminates his bearded face) until after two strikes an oil lamp is lit.

He sits heavily in the chair, his eyes fiery, daring the flickering flame.

“Oh come on.” he mumbles, then momentarily, laughs humorlessly. “Give me a break!” He reaches over to the bag and pulls out some flat wafers which he proceeds to crunch on. “He was right here. We saw Him.” his voice is mocking, unnaturally deep then he’s shaking his head. “Those guys will believe anything. It’s over…”

“…man, but Lazarus.” He pauses, sits back. “Laz is definitely alive…”

He shakes his head, blows out the candle and gets up and drops onto his mat on the floor.

It goes dark with a passing cloud and unknown amount of time.

The room illuminates slightly as clouds allow the moon to shine on the tossing and turning person on the mat.