Meanwhile, the high priest questioned Jesus about his disciples and his teaching.
“I have spoken openly to the world,” Jesus replied. “I always taught in synagogues or at the temple, where all the Jews come together. I said nothing in secret. Why question me? Ask those who heard me. Surely they know what I said.”
When Jesus said this, one of the officials nearby slapped him in the face. “Is this the way you answer the high priest?” he demanded.
“If I said something wrong,” Jesus replied, “testify as to what is wrong. But if I spoke the truth, why did you strike me?” Then Annas sent him bound to Caiaphas the high priest.
MAGDALENE by Jen Schmidt, an excerpt from the play Marginalia written by Jen Schmidt and Ashley Mowers It's not as if he didn't tell us. Why, after time after time after time after—why are we still surprised-- at the moment of death, the last breath when life left and we wept and, bereft, in the depth of our lungs, we were rent like the sky! Like the curtain! Because oh, we were certain that he wouldn't die.
Is that why?
But it's not as if he didn't tell us. And I—so used to hiding my hair my face my eyes my gaze my shame my name my self-- 'LOOK AWAY ——' I should have seen. If it were the murmurings of a madman, the secrets of a silver-tongue, equally accustomed to the same glaze over their gazes in the face of confrontation-- I should have known.
It's not as if he didn't tell us.
Of course I feel it too—and you—Don't tell me otherwise. But eyes can know two things at once, even three, even mine: fine words lie if they shy from the shadows, so taut like a suffering string bringing forth ringing, resounding enshrouding pain, I sing—TRUTH. He knew. Yes, I know, I know—but he told me too, and lest you forget, he held my gaze. He spoke my name. When no one else would-- And so. What no one else could.
What if he lies asleep even now? It's not as if he didn't tell us.
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