0327 LONGEST DAY-AND-A-HALF

LONGEST DAY-ANBD-A-HALF

that last twany-four hours had been the longest a my life to that point. But the next therety-six hours was even longer. By twelve hours. But what I mean is, time seemed to stand still from Friday nite all the way to Sonrise on Sunday.

 

from Thursday to Friday evenin, there was a turn a plot n a new activity ever few minutes, it seemed. But after Jesus was laid in the tomb, almost nothin happent. Nothin, except inside our confused heads.

 

soon as Jesus was laid in the tomb, the last of us boys was long gone. Run away n hide, was our bold strategy. The Marys stayed around to be shore Jesus was taken care of, n them rich men laid him in the tomb. I had to be polite n wait for Mother Mary. But otherwise, all of us had taken off, scared a some roundup by the Romans or something. 

 

meantime, the Phar’sees go to Pilate n urge him to guard the tomb, so’s the eleven of us scaredy-cats wont steal the body. That’s about the most humorous thing that happent during that weekend, considerin how brave n bold we was long about then. We didnt even stick around to see him buried, we’s so scared n outa sorts.

 

so, there’s a squad a sixteen highly-trained Jew-killin Roman soldiers standin guard over the grave of a Man who never hurt a flea in His lifetime, to keep his body from bein stole by eleven men who’re hidin for their own skins. That’d be funny if it weren’t so pathetic.

 

you know, all them Sabbaths when Jesus was workin, in the eyes of some folks. I guess He more’n made up for all them on this partic’lar Sabbath. He was definitely takin His well-deserved rest at last.

 

all day long on Saturday, none of us talked to one anuther. Still in shock, we didn’t know whether we was at a memorial service to talk about the past, or a planning session to work on the future. So each of us just sat, starin into nothin, with our own set a thoughts.

 

here’s some of that conversation we wuzn’t havin:

 

me:  I can’t believe He’s gone.

 

Pete:  it’s all my fault.

 

Boomer Jim:  if I could get my hands on Judas, i’d kill ‘im myself!

 

Andy:  I think . . . Hey, look!  a chicken!

 

me:  I miss Him so much.

 

Pete:  I was so sure of myself.

 

Boomer Jim:  except’n Judas alreddy done that to himself.

 

Andy:  I ought to . . . Sumthin smells like waffles . . ..

 

me:  His words. His healin. His gentle ways.

 

Pete:  three times I denied that I even knew Him!

 

Boomer Jim:  serves him right, the traitor.

 

me:  so, do I become John Fulagrace? or does she become Mother Boomer Mary?

 

Pete:  I ain’t never gonna use the name Pete again. 

 

Zealous Sy:  it’s them Romans that done this. Bloodthirsty barbarians.

 

Thomas:  we’re all gonna die.

 

Pete:  I don’t deserve to be called Pete. I is only Sy Johnson, a lousy fisherman.

 

Zealous Sy:  maybe I was right all along to rise up again em all.

 

Thomas:  they’ll be comin for us any time now.

 

Pete:  how’d they figger out I was from Gal’lee County, anyhoo?

 

Zealous Sy:  the militia’d prob’ly take me back. 

 

Thomas:  when they take me, I ain’t gonna beg for mercy.

 

Zealous Sy:  we’ll start by takin out Pilate. Wonder if Barabbas’ll be up for it?

 

Thomas:  this is the end of it all.

 

Andy:  if only we had . . . I wonder what time it is?

 

Nate:  how is this gonna affect poor Phil?

 

Phil:  Jesus was a nice man.

 

Nate:  should I carry on His work?

 

Phil:  Jesus shore was nice.

 

Nate:  what exactly was His work, I wonder?

 

Phil:  I liked Jesus.

 

Nate:  if I do His work, should I let myself be killed like that?

 

Phil:  Jesus was my friend.

 

Little Jimmy:  I’m gonna go right up to them guards at the tomb n punch one right in the kneecap.

 

Little Jimmy:  no, I ain’t.

 

Andy:  what we could do is . . . Somebody’s playin a harp over yonder. Or is it over that way? lemme check . . ..