The Benefit of the Doubt

They’re saying they’ve seen him, and I don’t know what to make of it.  They say he “appeared” to them out of nowhere, that he spoke to them and even broke bread with them.  What in the world?

I want to believe so badly.  You know I do, God.  I love him so much, and I want it all to be real.  I’ve seen him do amazing things, things I never thought possible and wouldn’t have believed if I hadn’t seen with my own two eyes.

But dead is dead.

I can’t just blindly accept this.  It would be an insult to his memory to be fooled like this.  If this is real, you have to show me.  Please let it be true.  Oh God, let it be true.

The others are walking around like everything’s okay.  They think he’s going to finally do what we always thought he would do, this resurrected Jesus.  But I haven’t seen him, and I’m not going to dishonour his memory by following a delusional whim.

I refuse to make him a political martyr for the sake of another revolution.  He never wanted that.  He’s not just another dead revolutionary to be remade into what we want him to be.

He’s my friend.  He’s my friend and I miss him so much my heart is dying inside me. All I have inside is this aching emptiness, like I’ve been clamped open and forgotten on the operating table.  This sadness is hemorrhaging and I feel like I’m going to die from loss of blood. Please, God.  If any of this is real, show me.  I’ll kiss his wounds and wash his feet with my tears.  I’ll serve him with my very life.  But you have to show me.  Give me the benefit of this doubt.