A Costly Gift
You ask my opinion? I'm sorry, I didn't quite get you –
My ears are quite healed, I think, but attention wanders –
Oh, about my sister. A very emotional lady.
She's so happy about me, you see, so grateful –
Yes, maybe she shouldn't have done it, that box, that ointment.
Yes, a terrible waste – as He said, the poor are waiting –
What's that? He said she was right? Oh. I guess He knows best –
He must know best, or else He wouldn't, in my case –
I beg your pardon? She did it for the burial?
But the burial is over, isn't it? I mean, I'm here.
They're not going to put me back – not just yet, at least,
I hope they wouldn't – What's that? You say, for His burial?
I don't get that at all. You must be mistaken.
He doesn't die. He's always there in the background,
The Master. His ways are beyond us… Now I remember –
That time I got ill – the pain in my belly, the fear –
He was with us, He saw it all, and yet He said nothing.
He went off on a journey, perhaps it was preaching –
No, curing people, I think. He knew I was frightened,
And with a word He could have – at least, that's what Martha said,
And she's the sensible one of the three of us. Poor Martha!
She was so brave, so good. She nursed me all through my illness,
Held my hand till the last, when He was absent.
That's the time, you know – but of course you don't know yet –
How foolish of me – but when it happens, you will know –
It's the person who stays with you then who is your true friend.
Yes, it was Martha – Mary was crying, I think,
In the next room; but Martha's face I remember.
I wonder if it will be the same the next time,
Or will she go first; in which case, she'll see my face…
And then, afterwards, why? Why did He bring me back,
To face it all again!… No, not a bit of it;
Yes, all of you think like that, you all ask those questions!
But I don't know a thing, neither Abraham's bosom nor the other place.
I tell you I was dead, dead and gone completely!
It was nothing. I mean, I don't remember.
One moment Martha's face, and the room blurring,
And the next thing the black tomb, bound limbs and smelly wrappings.
When I realized, I screamed. No, I knew I was perfectly cured,
Knew it in an instant; and the next instant I guessed,
Even before He shouted, I knew I'd be rescued,
But still I was screaming inside as I stumbled out.
It wasn't the fear of the tomb, the fear of past death –
It was this, having to face it all again. What you call life.
The first day I was back, when I shook off the crowd,
I went to the stable, and rigged up a rope, a noose –
That's the best method, I think, if ever you have to do it.
But Martha found me, just as I placed the stool,
And that was the end of that. I gave her my promise.
So I've got to go through it once more. I won't be so frightened,
I hope, next time; but next time, I hope it's not cancer.
Maybe I'll just get old, and lose my faculties
Slowly, very slowly. Oh God, how terrible life is!
I tell you, death is nothing. Why ever did He bring me back?
Surely it wasn't for the show, the glory of the miracle?
That would be – almost – cruel. But His ways are not our ways.
What's that? You're disillusioned, you've had enough of Him also?
And the Sadducees are right, my story proves it?
I don't get that at all – but pardon me, I'm so muddled.
I just know we shouldn't be bitter, we've got to endure it;
In my case, twice. Well, let's hope at least that next time
Death is the end.
There's Martha picking up the pieces;
And as for the cost of the box, why, that is a small thing;
Everything like that is a very small thing, really,
As you'll find out, when your hour comes to you, Judas.