Gospel

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Author's note: to get up to
speed, the reader might want to
go back to 'Paul Writes a Letter
Under House Arrest'.
___________________
To all God's
beloved
in Rome,
who are called
to be saints;
Grace to you
and peace
from God
our Father
and the
Lord Jesus Christ.
[Romans 1:7]
************************

Place: Somewhere, in the
countryside around the Holy Land.

Time: Sometime, maybe, 35 years, A.D.

Story: Out-of-work Pharisee,
and sometimes-tent-maker, named
Paul or Saul (depending on the
Mood of the Lord), is writing
to the newly formed church of Christ.
Right now,
he's under house arrest, and
trying to finish his letter to
'The Romans'. The problem is,
he's trying to cope with a whiny,
gossipy scribe, a brutish, cranky
and bored Roman guard.....and a
bad back. Oh; he's in chains, too.
______________________________________
(Scriblach, Paul/Saul's
whiny scribe, who's
even whinier, since he's
doin' this job for the
Lord's Kingdom........
and not for pay...
rubs his skinny hand,
dramatically and woefully,
and moans.)
"Hey, BOSS?
Are we DONE,
YET? I promised my
sister I was comin'
OVER, for DINNER,
TONIGHT!"

(Paul/Saul gives a deep
sigh, and continues to
rub the smelly goop
into his lower back,
that the doctor had brought
over, just a few minutes,
ago. The mumbling doctor
has just left, grumbling
about the 'IOU' gripped
in his leathery fingers.
Since Paul/Saul is out of
work right now, being that
he's under house arrest
and can't work in the tent-
making-business at the
moment: a hastily
scribbled 'IOU' is the
best he can do. Grumbling
some more, and dragging
the other hand through
his thick shock of white hair,
the doctor
mutters to himself, as he
makes his way up the
stony path back to town:
"He should'a stayed a
PHARISEE! He was makin'
good MONEY, back then!
What a NIMPCUMPOOP!")

(Paul/Saul stops rubbing
the Bengetlschmay into
his back for a moment.)
"Look, if you'd stop whinin'
for a minute or two....we
WOULD get DONE! Now...
where WERE we?"

(A very loud sneeze
and blowing of a nose,
suddenly ensues.)
"ECH! What's that
horrible STUFF,
that DOCTOR gave YOU?"

(Paul/Saul turns around,
as best he can, being he's
chained up, and gives a
woe-is-me look to his
Roman guard, Sputicus.)
"SORRY, Sputicus!
SORRY about that!
This Bengetlschmay,
the doc gave me, does
stink a little....huh?"

"STINK?
ARE you KIDDIN'?"
(Sputicus blows his
nose, again: this time,
even more loudly.)
"It makes me wanna'
BARF! Why didn't you
get a ROMAN doctor?
They're the best,
anyway!"

(Paul/Saul nods,
woefully. He pulls
up the big chain, a little,
on his right hand,
so that he can reach
the Bengetlschmay, even
further down his back.)
"Neah...UH!
The JEWISH doctors
are the BEST!"

(Sneeze!)
"Who SAYS?"

"ME!"
(Rub, rub.)
"Plus, Doc Danielitch
KNOWS me! I used
ta' be his neighborhood
PHARISEE! I've OFFICIATED
at all his kids' BRIS'S!"*

(Sputicus continues
blowing his nose.
He stops, for a moment,
to squint curiously down
at his prisoner, who's
lying on the floor,
since he claims it helps
his bad back.)
"So, what HAPPENED
with that, PAUL?
How come ya ain't no
PHARISEE, anymore?
Wasn't that, like,
a pretty cushy JOB?
With the big BUCKS?"

(Paul/Saul gives a
philosophical shrug,
as he continues to
rub some more of the
smelly schmere, into
his achy lower back.)
(Sigh.)
"It's a long story.
(Very deep sigh, indicating great tsoris**.)
Don't ASK."

(Scriblach, who's been
rewriting a paragraph
of Paul's letter, stops
for a moment, to squint
down at his boss [who's
laying on the stony floor.]
[Scriblach is, naturally,
sitting on the best chair,
in the tiny cottage.]
[Sputicus, as usual,
is laying, cross-legged,
across Paul/Saul's little
cot. He's got one, too,
but, his has got all his
dirty tunics, and food bowls,
all over it, and he's
too lazy to pick it up.
At the moment, Sputicus is
chewing on some fat, juicy
grapes, that his mom brought
over, during one of her daily walks
to the tiny cottage.])
"I thought you TOLD
Sputicus......all about
the Lord JESUS,
Paul?"

(Paul/Saul moans,
more with impatience,
than with back pain.)
"I DID!
I DID!"
(Impatient sigh.)
"I just haven't,
ya know.....GIVEN
him, all the DETAILS!"
(Paul/Saul shoots his
gossipy scribe, a quick
shake of the scruffy chin.
Then, he glares at
Scriblach with an eye
of warning, as if saying,
'QUIT it! I don't wanna
TALK about that stuff!'.)

(Scriblach smiles, and
chuckles, a little. Then,
he goes back to his rewriting:
most of Paul's dictated
paragraphs never made any
sense, or so Scriblach thought.)
"Yeah......I guess ya didn't
HEAR THAT PART,
Sputicus! How Paul got...."

"SCRIBLACH!
SHUT UP!"

(Sputicus laughs,
from the corner
where he's laying,
arms crossed beneath
his shaggy head, and
staring up at the little
ceiling, of the mud cottage.
The big bowl of his mom's
grapes, are sitting askew
on the scraggy coverlet.
The chain on Sputicus' wrist is
long enough, for him to
be comfortable with
his prisoner on the floor.
Still...it's a pain in the butt.)
"Aw, COME ON!
TELL me the STORY,
PAUL! I'm BORED!"

(Scriblach lifts his
stylus in the air,
and shakes it.)
"YEAH!
Come ON, Paul!
TELL him!
TELL him,
about that day...
you met the LORD!"

(Sputicus grabs a couple
grapes, and tosses them,
one by one,
into his mouth.)
"YEAH!
Hey....my RELIEF-guard
ain't coming,
for another couple HOURS!"

(Paul nods.)
"Okay.....but,
can ya toss me a GRAPE?
And, how 'about one
for my SCRIBE?"

(Sputicus shrugs his big shoulders.)
"Sure, what NOT....?"
________________
[AN HOUR AND HALF PASSES.]
[THE BOWL OF GRAPES
IS EMPTY, AND ALL 3
GUYS IN THE LITTLE
COTTAGE, HAVE A STOMACH ACHE.]

(Sputicus is shaking his scraggily
head, and just sitting up, on
the cot, and peering up at the ceiling.)
"Man....that is WEIRD!
Is all that stuff, TRUE....Paul?"

(Paul holds his
palms up, and just nods.)

"WEIRD!"

(Nod.)
"You better believe it."

(Scriblach interrupts.)
"Hey, PAUL?
Y'ur BACK feelin' BETTER?
Cuz, I'm just about finished
writin' today's draft.......
and, I need ya to proof this
part."

"Yeah.
Gimme the first page;
I can start rereading it,
and you can go on home..."

"Ya mean, to my SISTER'S
house! For one'a her
DINNERS!"

"Yeah, would ya mind bringin'
a doggie-bag, over, for ME...
TOMORROW?"

"Sure thing, BOSS!"

(Now, it's Sputicus,
who interrupts.)
"HEY!
What about ME?"

{Scriblach, who's busy
gathering his writing
stuff, together,
just nods vehemently,
and waves his hand,
in the air.)
"Don't worry....
I'll bring PLENTY!
Hey.......BOSS?"

(Paul, now totally absorbed
in his letter, looks up:
a bit startled.)
"Yeah?
What?
You forget somethin'?"

(Scriblach gives his long,
dark beard a scratch.)
"I was thinkin'.....
you've been doin' so
much writin',
lately......"

"Yeah?"

"Well....."
(Scratch. Scratch.)
"WHO d'ya think,
all's gonna READ 'em?"

"Well...."
(Paul thinks for a moment.
He frowns a little,
and then shrugs, nonchalantly.)
"Hm...probably,
just the Church elders...
WHY?"

"Well....suppose,
somebody ELSE got their
hands, on 'em?"

"WHO?"

"I dunno;
not many folks can READ......"

"SO?
What r'you GETTIN' at?"

(Scriblach just shrugs,
heaving his bulky scribe-traveling-sack
over one shoulder.)
"I DUNNO!
I'm just SAYIN'....
why would the LORD,
want ya to write these
long letters...
just for a couple PEOPLE?
It doesn't make any SENSE!"

(Paul shrugs.)
(He shakes his head,
and goes back to his reading,
and rubbing his back.)
"I dunno....
probably, the elders are gonna
read 'em, to the rest of the
church. That's all.."

"But, what if....
ya know, it's, like...
somebody from another
COUNTRY?
Or....like,
in the FUTURE?"

"HUH?"

"Well....maybe, ya oughta
take out that LAST part....
ya know: where ya
mention all your FRIENDS...."

"WHY?
Heck; it's MY LETTER!
Can't I say HI,
to a couple PEOPLE?"

"Yeah...I guess,
but...."

"But, WHAT?
WHO d'ya think's
gonna be READIN' this,
ANYWAY: some JEWISH
lady....from PHILADELPHIA***?"

(Scriblach shrugs.)
"Well.....I DOUBT it.....
but, ya never know..."

"SCRIBLACH?"

"Yeah, BOSS?"

"Go HOME!
You've been lookin'
at that SCROLL,
all AFTERNOON!
Go to you're SISTER'S
HOUSE! And, GET
some DINNER!"

"Sure thing,
boss. See ya,
tomorrow, boss."

(Paul just lifts up a chained
hand in salute,
once again absorbed in his
reading.)

(A loud snore can be heard
from the cot, behind Paul.)
**************************************
Greet Prisca
and Aquila,
my fellow workers
in Christ Jesus...
Greet my
beloved Epaenetus....
Greet Andronicus
and Junias,
my kinsmen
and
fellow prisoners.
[Romans 16:3-7]

____________________________
*The act and Jewish celebration,
usually in the parents'
home, of the circumcision
of a boy infant.
**Yiddish: 'bad, bad, BAD trouble.
***Double entendre, here:
Philadelphia was the name of
several ancient Greek cities.
It is also mentioned as one
of the Churches, of Christ,
in Revelation 3:7. It is
also the home city, in the
U.S.A., of the (Jewish) author.

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