Tag Archives: monologue

Mother Mary Easter Monologue…


I was there at the start. Jesus was my firstborn son. Before his blood was spilled for me mine spilled for him. Before his body broke for me, mine tore for him. My son. His life changed mine first. I was the first miracle.

And how could I be under the delusion that he was mine? Angels announced his birth to shepherds. A star led kings halfway around the world. He was for Israel, for the world.

But who would believe? Doesn’t every mother think her first-born walks on water? So I treasured these things in my heart, storing away the portents.

I was there when every prophecy came true, born of David, coming out of Egypt, of Nazareth in Galilee. Every truth buried here (heart).

And when we lost him in Jerusalem… For three days we misplaced the son of God. “Didn’t you know I would be in my father’s house”, the words of God from my son’s lips. “He is not yours precious Mary, he is mine. Remember he is mine.”

We waited thirty years for his time. And then it came in a flood. Miracle by miracle adding testimony to the years of evidence, here (heart).

Hadn’t I always believed, me, the first apostle? He was the Messiah.

Never mine, not from the beginning. He was God’s to spend.
But when they nailed him… When my son let them nail him to the cross…

I watched him die, in agony, under a criminal’s shame. If his father above, Creator of the heavens, feels a shadow of my pain why does he not save him? Why?! I cannot bear it! I’ve changed my mind, God, select another. Must I bear witness to this, too? My heart is full, Lord, my heart is full!

I spent three days in a mother’s grief. And then we went to dress my son’s body for the last time.

There’s nothing that gets old about seeing an angel. I’ve seen two in my life. The first told me I would have a son. The second told me I had a savior.

Would anything less than falling at his feet, feeling the warmth of his life, the strength in his hands, his glorious smell, would anything less prove my son’s living to me? My heart is full, Jehovah God, my heart is full!

I had a lifetime, my son’s lifetime, of proof giving testimony. The Messiah had come. Death had been conquered by one sacrifice for sin for all time. Israel’s need had nailed him to that cross. My need had nailed him to that cross.

He was my son, he was my savior. He was never mine. But he was for me.

As Far as Reviews Go, Ignorance is Bliss…


the real one

‘Tis the season to start checking my Kindle Direct Publishing and Create Space accounts!

A few years back I set up all of my church skits individually on KDP. So worship directors and such can download a script if they need. Since most of my skits are Christmas skits I also made a Kindle Book of just Christmas skits. And then I went over to Create Space, drew a cover, and made a hardcopy Christmas skit book that can be ordered from Amazon.

So, come September my skits start selling, peaking the few weeks before Christmas, and trailing off around Easter. I well remember my Dad’s search every year for new Christmas monologues to perform in church services, so I know they’re needed somewhere.

Last year I made about a hundred dollars, which isn’t bad considering I make 33 cents off a single skit (I can’t sell them for less than 99 cents). This also isn’t bad considering my reviews are simply awful!

Seriously, I made a plan long ago never to read my own reviews. But last Christmas I was so surprised when they started to sell again that I thought I’d go check it out.

The best one was from my friend, which was nice. (Bless you, Adam!) But they just go downhill from there. One says it was too short. One says it was uninspiring. One wonders if I am an atheist?!

And this is the worst one:

“This product wasn’t even worth the dollar I paid for it. Besides the poor writing this author was more concerned with advancing a political cause than portraying the spirit of the holiday season. I highly recommend that she give up writing dramas and labeling them as Christian when they are actually political commentary. It’s unfortunate that Amazon won’t let me rate this as zero stars because that’s what it deserves.”

I couldn’t help laughing, I mean, really laughing. That review was for my Three Wise Men skit. It makes you want to read it, doesn’t it? I mean, now you’re just a little curious, right? I reread that skit after I saw the review, but I still can’t tell what the heck they might’ve been referencing.

So, now I’m surprised when I sell any of them at all! But, sure enough, here it’s October and sales are ramping up.

It’s exciting to make money off of my writing, even if it’s just a little bit. I mean, that’s the dream, right?

I still get excited thinking about churches across the country performing my skits in December. But now I wonder the teeniest bit, how many purchasers are just too lazy to return my uninspired atheist propaganda?

An Easter Dialogue…


And a frenzied murmur began in the darkness. Come awake! Christ is risen! Come awake! He is risen indeed!

I wrote this for church a few years back. It’s a dialogue or, really, a mesh of two monologues of Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus. I was intrigued by their parallel stories in connection to the cross. Both of them were followers in secret, until the cross. And, then, when everyone else was hiding in fear the two who had been hidden came forward.

Happy Easter!

Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus Dialogue:

Nicodemus: It was Joseph here who went to Pilate for the body.

Joseph of Arimathea: I’m a Council member from Arimathea. Nicodemus helped.

N: I helped to prepare his body.

J: I’m a man of position, quite successful in what I do.

N: I’m a man of belief, and traditions, the rabbi of a nation.

J: Jesus came at an inconvenient time for me.

N: It was an inconvenient time.

J: If I had been younger…

N: In my more revolutionary days…

J: There would have been less at stake.

N: It would have been easier to seek him out.

J: But now I’m enmeshed. I have responsibilities; people depend on me for their livelihoods.

N: A people watches me for guidance, for surety of their faith.

J: His apostles were thought of as crazy fishermen.

N: My peers had already labeled him a heretic.

J: I feared, yes, I was afraid what that stigma might do to my situation.

N: I couldn’t lead others astray with my misplaced approval. I had to test his words for myself.

J: As it was, I followed his teachings in secret.

N: So it was, I looked for him in the night.

J: I believed in Him. He was the Messiah. He gave flesh to the law in his words, with his actions.

N: That conversation with Jesus, things that I had understood for so long became confusing. It was a
paradigm shift of the most severe kind.

J: I wondered if a time would come when I would have to stop hiding.

N: I wondered if there was a day when I would finally understand.

J: Then I heard the news that he’d been imprisoned.

N: They demanded his crucifixion. It was Passover.

J: Everyone was there. I was there. I have money. Some powerful people owe me favors. Surely there would be something I could do? Something somebody would do?

N: Then they lifted him up on the cross. And it all came clear. What he had said to me about Moses’s snake lifted up on a pole in the desert that those who looked upon it might be spared their certain death.

J: Why?

N: Because the Son of Man must be lifted up. I was being spared my certain death. I wanted to shout, “Look on him! Look on him!”

J: Look on him.

N: And I believed.

J: He died.

N: And I was born. Born again as he said, not by flesh but by spirit and into a life that has no end.

J: His friends feared. But someone had to take care of the arrangements. So I stepped forward.

N: This time in the daylight.

J: I claimed him.

N: I brought myrrh and aloe.

J: They were calling the cross his defeat.

N: My fellow council members were satisfied it was over.

J: But I had found boldness there.

N: It had made all things clear.

J: And the best news was still to come,

J&N: Three days later.

Peter’s Easter Monologue…


My name was different before I met Jesus. I was different. He gave me a new name, Peter, the rock.

We were preparing for Passover, the anniversary of the time where we were spared death, where death passed our people by.

It was a celebration. We knew who Jesus was and we were sure we knew why he had come. Didn’t the people echo my hope as we entered Jerusalem, “Hosanna hosanna!” It’s time, our victor is here. Another Moses to lead us out of our slavery to Rome, God’s own prophet to give us back our independence. We would once again be a nation of people under the living God.

I thought I understood that night as he washed our feet. “Not my feet alone, but all of me”, I said. And I ate the bread and drank the wine He gave me.

And I was the one who chopped off the ear of the soldier in the garden. I was so sure the time had come to fight. Mustn’t we fight for God’s plan? Hadn’t he come to soldier a new covenant?

But he rebuked me. Hadn’t I seen him master of nature? Hadn’t I seen him master of spirits? Hadn’t I seen him filled with zeal tossing the vile out of the temple, withering trees to death? This was my leader, a fire kindled to action and I was ready to follow. And then… rebuked?

And He let himself be taken away. Had I understood nothing? I thought he was the son of God. How could he be if he was in chains? Surely God would never allow his own son to be treated thus.

I didn’t realize how deep my doubt and confusion went until I heard the rooster’s crow. And then I remembered, a lifetime away at the dinner, where I had sworn to follow him wherever that meant.

Even as I stood in the crowd as they screamed, “Crucify him, crucify him!” I looked at the same faces who had hailed him with Hosanna just days ago! And there was I among them, Peter, the denier, the rock who had become as changing as the sand in the wind.

Amidst the horrible words, “Crucify him, crucify him”, I saw what it had all meant. This fight was not for our salvation from Rome, but from sin, not for the wholeness of a national kingdom but for His spiritual kingdom. And it was a fight that needed only one soldier, one sacrifice.

And I watched as He allowed his body to be broken and his blood spilled knowing that the Passover lamb must be made so for death to pass us by. For it is by his wounds that we are all healed.

And for death to spare me I must accept even this baptism and paint his blood on the door frame of my heart. And just as I accepted the bread and the wine so I must cry with sorrow and with the crowd, “Crucify him, crucify him.”