A flickering light. Mary Magdalene walks slowly in front of the
congregation. She is stunned and at first takes no note of anything. She
stands several moments in silence, focusing on nothing, simply holding
her candle or lamp, flickering in front of us. Finally she speaks, to
herself, to the universe—it’s hard to tell. Softly . . . lost—trying
to find whatever it is she has lost, perhaps herself.
He is gone.
Long pause.
He is gone.
Another pause. Finally she seems to notice at least
some of the congregation.
My friend . . . (short pause) My friend is
gone. Gone. Dead. Murdered.
He is gone. (realizing) He is gone!
The sun will never shine again. We are lost in a world of darkness,
of blindness, and the sun will never shine again, even in its
ignorance.
How can we live? How can we even live, when life itself has died?
When the joy of life, the love of life, the life of life has died?
He saw the nadir of my life, the destitution of my days. He saw me
at my worst, and in that worst he was able to find my best. (straight
to the congregation) My life stumbled its way, seven devils in its
heart, each striving to dominate me, to corrode my soul, to defeat my
heart.
And he found me. He, who knew me better than ever I have been
known, he wrestled my devils and drove them from my heart. (short
pause) Or he guided me and strengthened me as I faced them. (short
pause) Or the love he lived for each of us poured into my soul. (pause)
Or . . .
The devils fled.
I don’t know—I don’t know what he did. I don’t know. But my
life before he did what he did and my life after are two separate
lives. My heart was no longer captured—my life no longer entangled.
I saw the sun once again. I lived in its light and its warmth. I
sang, and I danced, and I followed him.
Directly to the congregation.
Do you know what it is like finally to walk in the sunlight, when
you have only ever groped in the darkness of the night? Do you know—Do
you know what it is to awaken and open your eyes to health, when you
have slept through fevered night terrors? Do you know—Do you know
what it is to discover the new morning that is love, when all you have
ever known has been the dusk that is indifference and the midnight
that is despair?
Do you know?
Not even a week ago the temple walls sounded and echoed with the
shouts and hosannas of children who laid down palm fronds and the
clapping and cheering of their parents, sweeping out their cloaks so
the donkey he was riding would not misstep as he entered triumphantly
into Jerusalem!
And today!
Today they called for his death—for his crucifixion! As if
he were some criminal!
I tried. I tried with all I had to make my voice heard, to
call out his name. But I could not drown the voices of the
toadies of Caiaphas, who called out the name "Barabbas! Give us
Barabbas!"
That this murderer should live, would be freed, while the son of
life should be condemned to die upon a Roman cross, like some
run-of-the-mill thief!
Very brief pause.
(softly) Where is God? (Beat.* Loudly) Where is
God? How can the God of creation stand dumbly by while creation
itself turns in upon itself, watching the fall of darkness, the death
of the sun?
They ran away! They all ran away! Judas betrayed him, and Peter
denied he even knew who he was! Only John has dared show his face. (loudly)
What is this world coming to? He was whipped and mocked and forced to
carry the cross of his death to the place of his death!
Where has God gone?
(Very softly.)
Where has God gone?
As they hammered the spikes into his flesh, as they hoisted him up
into place, as they thrust the spear into his side, as they rolled
dice for his clothes and mocked him, daring him to come down from the
cross, as he prayed for us and it was finished—.
Where did the living God of Israel go?
My friend has died, and the sun will never rise again.
Directly to the congregation.
What will I do?
She looks at us, numb with grief, then blows out her lamp. She
leaves.
