Leaping Off the Page: Easter, Mother's and Father's Day Edition

  Narrator 1, 2: Rejoice!

  Congregation: He has declared us not guilty.

  Narrator 1, 2: Rejoice!

  Congregation: Rising, He justified, freely forever.

  Special Music: Any song that triumphantly celebrates the resurrection. Examples: Celebrate Jesus; He That Is In Us; I Believe In Jesus; I’ve Just Seen Jesus; Rise Again; The Easter Song; Thine Is the Glory

  READER: Luke 24:1-12

  Optional Testimony: This could be a meditation from the pastor

  Narrator 1: Rising, He justified, freely forever. One day He’s coming, O glorious day!

  Congregational Hymn: One Day When Heaven was Filled With His Praises, verse 5

  Narrator 2: One day He’s coming, O glorious day!

  Narrator 1: One day the trumpet will sound for His coming.

  Narrator 2: O what joy! O what hope! We stand together before our Lord Jesus when He returns.

  Narrator 1: One day the skies with His glory will shine.

  Narrator 2: May the Lord make our love for each other grow and expand. May our love for everyone overflow. When Jesus comes with all who belong to Him, He will make us strong, clean, and holy to stand before God.

  Narrator 1: Wonderful day, my beloved ones bringing.

  Narrator 2: Wait patiently for the coming of the Lord. Take courage, for that day, that glorious day is near.

  Narrator 1: Glorious Savior, this Jesus is mine!

  Narrator 2: One day He’s coming, O glorious day!

  Congregational Hymn: Suggestions: It May Be at Morn; Jesus May Come Today (Glad Day; Marvelous Message We Bring (Coming Again

 

  FINAL MUSIC: Sing the chorus of “One Day!” once more

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  Were You There?

  Program Builders for Good Friday and Easter

  This is a “two act” program, Act One:The Passion, and Act Two: The Resurrection, which revolves around the questions asked by the traditional spiritual, “Were You There When They Crucified My Lord?” The two acts may be produced separately on Good Friday and Easter, or together as one program. The program has several distinct elements that can be used to customize a program for each church. These elements include:

  * A number of monologues featuring biblical characters who answer the question: were you there?

  * Scriptural litanies that provide opportunity for responsive reading.

  * An audience participation element that will place the people “there” at the cross.

  * Poetry that opens up the theme to include the truth that God was there.

  * Music: Most of the songs I’ve mentioned are suggestions only. The spiritual, “Were You There?” may be sung by the congregation, by a choir, ensemble, or soloist.

  I will present the elements first, followed by a couple of different service order outlines which include suggestions for music and transitions.

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  MONOLOGS

  I suggest having the actors for the monologues sitting in the audience so that when they come forward to the front, they are coming out from amongst the people. This helps the audience feel that they are really “there.”

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  Were You There When They Crucified My Lord?

  Salome

  I was there. I was there with his mother and some of the other women. When we heard he’d been arrested, we went at once.

  I couldn’t believe it. How could this be? Only five days before he had ridden into the city on a donkey while the people waved palm branches and shouted, “Hosanna to the King!” I was so glad. At last, I thought, they know who he is. “Hosanna!” they sang. “Hosanna! Save us!” He is King!

  But the people—where were they now, the ones who called him King? Where were they? Were they with the mob that screamed those words, “Crucify him! Crucify him!”? How those words pierced me! They thundered into my soul, crushing my spirit.

  I followed with His mother and the other women as the soldiers took Jesus up to the place of execution. The Place of the Skull, we call it—out there, next to the garbage dump. He’d come out of the palace, his back shredded from the lash of the whip, blood still oozing from countless wounds, a circle of vicious thorns crammed on his head. Oh, the indignity! The outrage! As they marched him through the city streets, people mocked him, spat on him. Others turned their backs on him. He, who had healed their sick, fed their hungry, and raised their dead. They scorned and derided him. Such love He had for them and they reviled Him. Yes, I was there when they crucified my Lord. I was there.

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  Peter

  (If you don’t use the Salome monologue before this one, replace the “well” in the first sentence with “no.”) Well, I wasn’t there. Oh, I’d been there earlier. At supper—the Passover supper—he’d been so strange. “This is my body,” he’d said as he tore the bread. “This is my body, broken for you. This is my blood. This is my body.” So strange. I didn’t understand it. Now all I can think of is His broken body, His spilled blood.

  I was there in the garden. I tried to stay awake. I really did. Once, his deep groaning disturbed me and I sat up. “Father,” He was praying, “take this cup of suffering away from me.” His sweat looked like great drops of blood. I couldn’t bear to watch, but I heard him say, “But don’t do what I want, Father. Do your will.”

  To my shame, I fell asleep. We all did. “Can’t you stay awake?” Jesus asked us. “Get up and pray, or else temptation will be too much for you.”

  I tried. I failed. And the temptation was too much. When Judas—Judas! One of us! When Judas betrayed him with a kiss, I was there. When the high priest’s soldiers arrested him and took him away, I was there. But when they tried him, when they convicted him and sentenced him to death, I was not there. No, I wasn’t there. I even—after swearing I wouldn’t—denied knowing him. Was I there when they crucified my Lord? No. No, I wasn’t there. I was too scared. I wasn’t there. I wasn’t there.

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  Were You There When They Nailed Him to the Tree?

  Centurion

  I was there. I was there when they nailed Him to the tree. Oh, yes, I was there. My hands held the hammer.

  I had presided over many executions. You get used to it. Some of us harden ourselves, some even take a sadistic delight in the suffering of the criminals we crucify. Some of us throw out crude insults and gamble for their clothes. Me, I always tried to distance myself from it all, or it would become a corrosive acid, eating away at the very essence of who I was.

  This man—this Jesus of Nazareth—was so different from any of the others we’d taken up there. He did not plead or beg. He didn’t proclaim his innocence. He didn’t curse. I had known his reputation. I had met some people whose lives he’d touched. He’d even healed the servant of one of my fellow officers. He had done no one harm, but here he was. It wasn’t my job to question. It was my job to execute orders. So I did. I executed. Without question.

  But he was so different! Usually the criminals curse us and scream their pain. But not this man. What kind of man was he? Instead of cursing, he said, “Forgive them, Father” Forgive them! “They don’t know what they’re doing,” he said. How he found breath to speak, I don’t know. His weight on his arms caused his chest to collapse, cutting off his air. He had to push up on his legs in order to speak. Every time he said something, he would push up, his raw, bleeding back scraping against the rough bark of the tree. Instead of screaming, He asked one of the men there—I think he was a follower, the only one present—to look after his mother. He spoke to the two thieves hanging next to him. He even told one of them that he’d see him in paradise. What kind of man thinks of others in the midst of such torment? He was thirsty. They always are—a raging thirst that often turns them into mad men. But not this man. Not this man.

  His mental anguish exceeded his physical suffering. “My God!” he cried out. “My God, why have you abandoned me?” Never have I heard such despair, such overwhelming agony. Never. I woul
d have broken his legs to hasten his death and end his misery, but he gasped out, “It is finished,” and died. I know he died. I thrust my spear into his side to make sure. When water mixed with blood gushed out, I knew he was dead.

  I knew he was dead. And I wondered. I wondered. Was he more than a man? Was he more than an innocent man? Was he—was he the very Son of God?

  I was there. I was there when they nailed Him to the tree.

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  The Other Mary (Friday)

  (This monologue would be used primarily if you’re unable to get enough men for the other monologues.It would take the place of the Centurion’s monologue. If you’re really short on people, you could have the same actress do Salome and Mary and combine the two characters into one.) Every blow of the hammer pounded my heart. The other two—the thieves who were executed with Him, cursed and shrieked out. But Jesus—Jesus did not beg or plead. His thoughts, His heart—even as He endured such soul-destroying anguish—His thoughts were for others. They were for His mother. “Look after her,” He told John. They were for the thief who defended Him. “You’ll be in paradise with me today,” Jesus assured him. They were—oh, my Lord! He had mercy even for His tormentors! “Forgive them, Father,” He said, even as the pain racked His body and He fought for every breath. “Forgive them. They don’t know what they are doing.

  What kind of love was this?

  Oh, He said He was thirsty. Yes, that. But it wasn’t until the very end when the true nature of His agony burst out. “My God,” He cried, and His pain tore through my own heart. “My God, why have you forsaken Me?” This was a despair that went far, far beyond the torture of His poor body.

  I was there when they nailed Him to the tree.

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  Were You There When the Sun Refused to Shine?

  CHARACTER STATEMENTS

  (The following lines may be distributed to the various characters who had presented earlier monologues, or said by just one.)

  The sky turned black.

  The earth shook.

  All nature trembled.

  He died.

  The sun refused to shine.

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  Were You There When They Laid Him in the Tomb?

  Joseph of Arimethea

  Yes. I was there. I was a secret follower of Jesus. As a member of the Sanhedrin, I had been afraid of what the other Pharisees would do if they knew I trusted Jesus. When my fellow Pharisees attacked Him with trick questions, I stayed quiet. When they schemed and grumbled about Him, I removed myself from them, but said nothing. To publicly align myself with Jesus would cost me my position—something I did not, at the time, think I could sacrifice.

  I had so longed for the Kingdom of David to be re-established in Israel. I knew Jesus was the King—I knew he was the Messiah. My colleagues, however, enjoyed their present status too much to willingly accept a Messiah. They were hostile towards the carpenter from Nazareth, who boldly stood up to their ambitions and hypocrisy. There was only one other member of the Sanhedrin who thought as I did—Nicodemus—and he, too, stayed quiet about his beliefs. When the high priest’s soldiers brought Jesus before our council, neither of us was present. I wonder—would we have spoken out in His defense if we had been there?

  The trial was a mockery—hastily fashioned out of lies, fear and treachery. It was an illegal travesty of justice, but the elders were too incensed to wait. They quickly denounced Him. They had been jealous of his popularity, suspicious of his motives, skeptical about his miracles. They accused him of defiling our law, the law of Moses, and took him to the Roman governor for sentencing. Jesus! As pure and spotless as the Passover lamb, He was convicted as a dangerous criminal.

  Nicodemus and I were powerless. We could not stop the council. We could not stop the Romans. But we knew it was time to step out and declare ourselves. We could no longer remain silent. To do so would be a betrayal all that He had done, all that He was. When Jesus died, I went to the governor and asked for his body. I took that wasted, beaten, lacerated body down from the cross and wrapped it in a long linen cloth. Then I put him in the tomb—my own tomb, which I had recently purchased, and had carved out of rock.

  Was I there when they put him in the tomb? Oh, yes. I was there. It took me a while, but finally, finally, I was there.

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  Were You There When He Rose Up from the Grave?

  The Other Mary (Sunday)

  I was there! What an amazing, amazing day.

  I felt like my heart would leap from my breast. I had to leap and dance. I had to shout it. “Jesus is alive!” What wondrous truth was this? Jesus is alive! And I was there!

  I was there when they killed Him. The earth shook, the sun stopped shining. A crushing loneliness engulfed me. He was gone. I knew He was dead. I was there. I watched Him die. I watched Him die and I could do nothing.

  All I could do was buy the spices to anoint His body.

  We couldn’t do it the next day because it was the Sabbath. So we went early Sunday morning. I remember how brightly the sun shone as Joanna, Salome, Mary Magdalene, and I made our way to the garden. It mocked our grief, exposed our anguish to a cold, unfeeling world. I remember, early as it was, how the merchants were already setting up their stalls for the day’s business. I remember dogs barking in the distance. I remember children running by, intent on some game. I remember a Pharisee as he walked by, picking up his robes to avoid contact with any dirt. I remember a woman bumping into me and spilling water from the jug she carried. I remember thinking, don’t they realize what has happened? Don’t they realize that something died on Friday? Don’t they realize that hope died? That laughter, joy, and love died? Don’t they realize that Jesus died?

  When we got to the tomb, we found that the stone had been rolled away. We were puzzled, as we had not yet asked anyone to help us with it. We went inside and found it empty. We looked at each other. What was going on? We went back outside. Maybe we had the wrong tomb. But no, this was it. We stepped inside again, giving our eyes a chance to adapt to the dimness. The body of Jesus was not there. We did not know what to do. What had happened to it?

  Suddenly the darkness vanished as radiance filled the tomb. Two men, clothed in dazzling robes, appeared before us. We were terrified, and bowed low before them.

  “This is a graveyard,” they said. “Why are you looking for the living among the dead?”

  We looked at each other. What could they mean?

  “Jesus isn’t here!” they said. “He has risen from the dead.”

  But we didn’t understand. We were still deeply shocked and grieving. What they were saying was beyond belief.

  “Listen.” They spoke to us so gently. “Remember, He told you about this back in Galilee. He told you that He would be betrayed by a friend. He told you how He would be given into the hands of sinful men and be crucified. Remember?”

  Yes, we remembered.

  “That’s what happened, isn’t it?” they asked.

  We nodded, too overcome to speak.

  “Don’t you remember that He also said He would rise again on the third day?”

  We looked at each other. Our eyes met and slowly we nodded. We remembered. We remembered! Yes, we remembered! We remembered and we believed.

  We turned and looked at the two men—angels, they were—and they were smiling with a joy that blinded us. We remembered. He would rise again on the third day! This was the third day! He was alive!

  I am not a young woman, but I ran. How I ran! We all did. We ran and found the apostles and told them. We told everyone we could. Jesus was alive! Of course, they didn’t believe us at first. How could they? We were too excited to be coherent, and when they figured out what we were saying, it was too incredible to be believed. But it was true! He was alive! Soon, they, too believed. And over the next few days, Jesus appeared to many of us, so gloriously alive, so heart-stoppingly real.

  (If the actress can sing, insert a solo here: “I Believe In Jesus” by Marc Nelson.)


  You ask, was I there? Yes, yes, yes, I was there! Hallelujah! I was there and He was there, standing in our midst! Yes, I was there!

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  LITANIES

  The Suffering Servant

  Litany for Good Friday. Isaiah 53(paraphrased)

  Leader: Doesn’t anyone believe us? Hasn’t anyone seen God’s miraculous power in action? God’s servant grew. Like a sapling or a seed that takes root in dry ground, he grew up obeying God.

  Women: He wasn’t handsome. He was not majestic. There was nothing in his looks that made him attractive to us.

  Men: He was hated. He was rejected

  Women: He was a man of sorrows, filled with grief.

  Men: No one would look at him.

  Women: We turned our backs on him.

  All: We despised him and said, “He is a nobody!”

  Leader: It was our sorrow he endured, our weaknesses he bore. But we thought he deserved it. We thought God was punishing him.

  Men: He was wounded and crushed because of our sins.

  Women: He was beaten to give us peace.

  Men: He was whipped and made us well.

  Women: Completely well.

  All: We were all like sheep that had wandered off. We each went our own way—did our own thing.

  Men: We were the ones that deserved punishment, not him. He took our punishment.

  Women: He was harshly abused, but he never complained.

  Men: He was silent. As silent as a lamb being led to the slaughter, like a sheep being shorn.

  Women: He was condemned to death without a fair trial.

  Leader: Who among us could know what he was doing?

  All: Who could know he was taking our punishment?

  Women: He wasn’t dishonest.

  Men: He wasn’t violent.

  All: He never did any wrong, but he was buried like a criminal. He was put in a rich man’s tomb.