Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction

John: A Good Friday Reflection

I am John....the beloved. And I am as confused by this week as the rest of you. I'm not even sure I can explain all of what took place this week... On Sunday, Jesus was the new hero--welcomed into Jerusalem on a "red carpet" of cloaks and palm branches. The crowds, as though with one voice, shouted out words from Messianic prophecies--seeming to declare that Jesus was the Christ--the Messiah, come to save the world.

Could he be the Messiah? I thought so. I think so, even now. At least... I want to think so. But how could the Messiah die? How can he deliver us while he's lying in a tomb?

And yet, we watched him heal people. We heard him teach with authority--not the sort of authority that comes from another Rabbi, but the authority that comes from God. He showed us that authority on Monday when he drove out the merchants in the temple. That's the sort of thing that you might have expected from one of the ancient judges--like Samson, or Gideon. And then, last night, he washed our feet. But that didn't make him any less our Rabbi and Teacher--if anything, it only added to his authority. And then, he prophesied--just like one of the prophets of old--that one of us would betray him.

Who is he? A healer? A teacher? A judge? A prophet?

Surely, he could have stopped what happened last night and earlier today. Peter was ready to fight (well... I think we all were ready to fight... but Peter was just the first one to draw his sword). He'd escaped crowds before, I'm sure he could have gotten away. But he told Peter to put his sword away, and he willingly went with the soldiers. He could have calmed the crowds that cheered for his death--he'd spoken to them before, surely they would have listened. He could have used his great logic and rhetoric to escape the careful questions of the Sanhedrin, and Herod, and Pilate.... but he didn't. If he was really the Messiah, surely he could have called down angels from Heaven to take him off the cross... but he didn't.

Who is He? Could He be the Messiah? Could He be the Son of God?

Martha: A Good Friday Reflection

It was many months ago that Jesus first came to our house for a visit. I was so nervous--I wanted everything to be just right for this great teacher. I worked for days to clean the house... and then, as the day of his arrival approached, I worked from dawn to dusk preparing food and making sure that everything was ready. While I was busy working in the kitchen, my sister Mary was sitting with the men--sitting at his feet and listening to his teaching. Here I was, trying to make sure the stew didn't boil over while I was cooking bread over the fire--but could Mary be bothered to help me? No.

When I said something to Jesus about it, he chided me... and told me that Mary had chosen the better thing. Despite all the hard work I had done, all the preparations, all the things I had tried to do for Jesus, he would have preferred that I sit at his feet and listen to him talk. I guess I learned that day that Jesus cared more about me as a person, than simply what I could do for him. He'd rather have friends--than have good food. He loved me for who I was... not for what I could do.

Well, you know what happened a couple of weeks ago... our brother Lazarus was sick. We called Jesus to come quickly, but he didn't come in time. Now it was my turn to chastise him--"Jesus, if you'd been here," I said, "he wouldn't have died." Well, of course, you know the rest of the story--Jesus had them roll back the stone and called Lazarus to come out. But not before he asked me that tough question, "Do YOU believe this?" he said.

Do I believe that Jesus is the resurrection and the life? Sure. But I still didn't understand. Lazarus was in that tomb for four days already--he was really dead...he had probably started to smell bad. I couldn't believe that Jesus wanted them to roll back the stone. But sure enough, Jesus not only said that he was the resurrection and the life, he really was.

In the midst of that whole thing, there's one thing that sticks in my mind so vividly: Jesus wept...more sincerely and more violently than I'd ever seen anyone weep before. Since that day, I've often wondered why he was so upset... but I wonder--perhaps it is because too often we loved him--not for who he was--but for what he could do for us.

A Man Born Blind: A Good Friday Reflection

When I first met Jesus, all I heard were his followers--probably some of you--asking (rather rudely, I might add) who had sinned...me, or my parents...that caused me to be born blind? I suppose you thought I was deaf too?

Well... don't feel badly. I'm used to that sort of treatment. I've been a rather hot topic of conversation during most of my life. If the weather isn't interesting enough... if Rome hasn't offended us in some new way... if the Pharisees don't have some new sin to condemn-- then I always make for a good topic of conversation.

But Jesus wasn't quite like that. I heard something different in his voice than I heard in most voices. He was kind, and caring. And he spoke with authority--something about being the light of the world. Well... all my life, I'd felt the heat from the sun... but had never understood what it meant to live in the light. Until Jesus smeared that mud on my face and told me to go wash.

At first I thought he was just a nice man. But then, as the Pharisees continued to push me for answers, I realized that he was more than that--a prophet? a healer? a great teacher? a man from God? After all, no one had ever opened the eyes of one born blind.... He must have come from God.

Later that day, after I'd been kicked out of the synagogue, Jesus found me. He asked me, "Do you believe in the Son of Man?" Certainly, I wanted to believe--so I asked Jesus who he was--and he said that he was the Son of Man. I don't know much. I'm not smart... I haven't read the great books. I never went to school, and certainly never studied under one of the great Rabbis. But this one thing I do know--I once was blind, but now I see! And so I bowed down and worshipped him.

I know what some of you are thinking tonight--could he really be the Messiah? After all that happened yesterday and today, are you still willing to stake your life on the possibility that he's from God? You're afraid that you might be next--and so it might just be easier to disown him and go back to the way life was before Jesus came. Well... I'm not so smart... and I certainly don't understand much about Messiahs. But this one thing I do know... I once was blind, but now I see!

A Samaritan Woman: A Good Friday Reflection

Who is Jesus?

Well, that's a great question! When I first met him, I was just a woman drawing water at the well. At first, I just thought he was another man. Then, I realized that he was a Jewish man. And he was speaking to me, which was odd, because I am a Samaritan. That he, a Jewish man, would ask me, a Samaritan woman, for water was an uncommon occurence--to say the least.

It was hot that day, and when I asked him how he could ask me, a Samaritan for water, he said something about being able to provide water that would keep me from being thirsty ever again. And so, I thought...he must be a great man--greater than our father Jacob who provided this well. When I asked him to give me some of that water, he told me to go get my husband and come back.

Well, you see... that was a problem... for I don't really have a husband. It's kind of a long story... one that I don't really like to tell, so I simply said "I have no husband." And then, he amazed me... he knew that I had no husband. And he knew the whole complicated story--that I had already been married five times, and that the man I'm living with isn't my husband. I realized that he must be more than just a great Jewish man...he must be a prophet.

But before we finished talking that day, he told me that he was the Messiah. And I believed him. I believed him so strongly that I left my waterjug by the well and went running back into town to find anyone I could--so they could meet him too.

I don't understand everything that happened yesterday and today--but I never felt so accepted... so loved... as I did that day when the Rabbi asked me for a drink of water.

Peter: A Good Friday Reflection

Our friend who spoke a moment ago is not the only one who has been blind... for the fact is, we've all followed Jesus, we've all given him part of our life, and we've all missed the point. We've all tried to make him into the Messiah we've wanted him to be, instead of simply learning who he really is. We've all tried to keep him from going back to Jerusalem--we've all tried to get him to stop talking about his death.

I was the most blind last night and this morning. He told me it would happen-- but I didn't believe him. I thought I would follow him to the end. I thought I would go with him to the cross. But I couldn't even admit that I was one of his followers. Three times they asked me if I was a disciple... and three times I lied to them in order to save my own skin.

But I haven't been blind the entire time I was with Jesus. There was one time--up at Caesarea Phillippi--when, for one brief moment, my eyes were truly opened and I saw Jesus for who he really was. You remember that night? We sat around the fire, and Jesus asked "Who do people say that I am?" Well, the answer was pretty easy-- some people were saying that he was a prophet--maybe John the Baptist, maybe Elijah, maybe Jeremiah. But then, he asked the question that has rung in my ears ever since, "Who do you say that I am?"

I don't know where the answer came from. I don't even know that I had ever strung those particular words together in a sentence before. But it was as though, for one brief moment, my eyes were opened and I could truly see. And before I knew what I was saying, the words tumbled out--"You are the Christ, the Son of the living God!" And as quickly as it had happened, it was gone again...for just a couple of minutes later, Jesus was talking about his death. I pulled him aside and tried to talk some sense into him--and he told me to "get behind him," as though I was tempting him to do something awful.

Oh how I wish I could have a moment of clarity right now... in the midst of all this. Oh that I could have that same confidence I did that night at Caesarea Philippi. If only I hadn't denied him. If only he were alive and with us right now. If only...

More writing by this author

Blogs on This Site