And do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind, that you may prove what is that good and acceptable and perfect will of God. Romans 12:2 (MSG)
Eleven Days Ago – Part 6
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Eight days is a long time. Especially after a tragedy such as what happened eleven days ago. Or was it twelve? He wasn’t sure. Ever since that morning things had been a blur. The world wasn’t clear and vivid anymore. For eleven (or twelve) days now, life whirred by him in a mix of colours and shapes that taunted his faint grasp on reality, only further confirming that he had lost everything.
As he walked to meet the others, his thoughts drifted to the man he had followed for the last few years. He had changed everything. But now, he was done and dead and gone.
For eight days, he had been avoiding them. The claims they were making were ridiculous and painful, and might be considered dangerous by some. If HE really was missing, if his body couldn’t be found, someone must have taken him. And Rome would make them pay. Caiaphas would spare nothing to see to it. Even now the memories of that priest's face twisted in spiteful glee, made him shake involuntarily. Vomit rose to his mouth. He gagged and wiped the sickly stench from his chin and wished he could do the same for his soul. He thought about turning around, but he needed to see them. This time he was leaving for good.
He used to live a quiet life; predictable. Ordered. It had an even rhythm to it. Even though things around him were complicated, he was simple in loyalty and trust. What you see is what you get. That's what they used to say about him. Until that day when he met this Rabbi, who told him crazy things about kingdom and heaven and life. And these crazy words felt like home. The Rabbi’s eyes alone convinced him that things could not just be different, but that they should be.
However, his transformation from quiet man to revolution participant had stalled eleven (or twelve) days ago when his Rabbi was crucified on a Roman cross; a religious, political and public spectacle to send a message to all who would dare look. His world crumbled, his faith fled. And then eight days ago, his friends, the others, told him that their Rabbi had cheated death. They said they saw him. Alive. Breathing. John and Peter were delirious with their excitement and belief, so much so that their antics mirrored that of John the Baptists. All he could picture was that crazy man's head on a silver plate… And after what had happened eleven (or twelve… maybe it was thirteen, or perhaps only ten) days ago, the man walking down that lonely dirt road toward the people he had once called brothers, had given up on wild, crazy revolutions. And the men who led them.
It had cost him too much, and now he was bankrupt. Worse… overdrawn. Neck deep in a faith-debt he could never repay.
As he turned the final corner toward the house, he rehearsed his speech in his head. “I know we’ve been through a lot, and given up a lot. But why? What for? Why did he leave us? He made us look like fools! He said he was going to save us all!”
He was still rehearsing as he pushed the door open and walked in. They were all there, excited, talking… he slipped up the back, face to the ground, eyes on his feet, sorting out words…
“And I know you all think that he’s come back. But it can’t be him. Unless I… no… unless we all can see through his shredded hands the evidence of his torture and touch that spear hole in his side…”
Mid-thought a voice broke through the room.
One he never dreamed he would hear again.
“Here are my hands. Do you want to feel them? The skin is a bit looser than it used to be. And that spear hole in my side? You can touch that too. If that's what you need. Don’t be unbelieving. Believe.”
Thomas looked up, not into condemnation, but eyes of kindness and wonder. The same eyes he had looked into a few years ago as he was invited to follow. The same eyes that closed for the final time eleven (whatever) days ago. But here and now, right in front of him, they were bright and more alive than ever.
Things didn’t instantly clear up at that moment, but the light came back. The shapes and colours started making sense, and Thomas began to see (again) that things could change. Impossible things. Even dead things.
Not because they can, but because they should.
Go to Part 7 – Glory Story »
