The Weaver
Stories
56 Stories For Preaching
It had started as one play, produced by the high school
students for a parish summer gathering. But the talents of that
particular group were gaining attention -- even outside the
congregation. John had watched his spouse, the congregation's
pastor, marvel at the imagination of the writers.
"You must come and see this production Sunday evening, John,"
said Karenza. And so he did.
The play was set in a single room. It was Pilate's
headquarters where he had addressed Jesus about his kingly
aspirations. The students had based the play primarily on the
exchange of Jesus and Pilate but another subplot was added and it
kept them all keenly attentive.
In a cottage near the soldiers' quarters sat a young soldier's
widow. Only two weeks before her husband had died in a raid on
one of the province's outlying areas. There had been a revolt
against the soldiers in a Jewish village, her husband had fallen,
striking his head against a well and had died.
The young woman wandered aimlessly around the small dwelling.
When she reached the corner where her loom stood, she suddenly
fell to the floor sobbing. She had woven a rich purple cloak for
her husband. On his return she had planned to present it to him.
She had anticipated his comments. He was very modest and gentle
considering the fact that he had to do his stint for the Roman
army. She knew he would demur at wearing such a rich-looking
robe.
"Julia! This is too fine a cloak for me! This is what the
wealthy and fine folks wear!"
And it was true. She had been given the materials by her aunt
in Rome, a wealthy matron. Julia had stood over the
baskets of fine wool reverentially. She knew what a beautiful
piece could be fashioned from the gift. It would be a robe fit
for a king and when she finished it she thought so herself.
As she listlessly dried her tears, she heard a knock on the
door. It was her husband's friend, a fellow soldier.
"Julia!" he cried painfully, "I need your help! The soldiers
are looking for a robe for some scoundrel in the prison. He
thinks he's a king and so they thought they'd play along. We'll
pay you for the robe you were working on. Please, help me. I'm in
a fix. I'll get in trouble if I don't bring something back."
Julia looked at him listlessly. In a fit of despair she went
to the loom and picked up the neatly folded robe and thrust it at
him. "Take it. I have no use for it."
He smiled at her gratefully and ran out.
Early that afternoon as she stood on a crowded roadside, she
found herself caught up in a mob urging crucifixion on the poor
soul who bore the weight of a cross. She was stunned by the look
he cast at her, one of compassion and knowledge and
simultaneously by a woman following him. The woman was sobbing
and in her arms she clutched the distinctive purple robe Julia
had woven.
Julia knew that she must follow the woman and find out what
this tumult was all about.
students for a parish summer gathering. But the talents of that
particular group were gaining attention -- even outside the
congregation. John had watched his spouse, the congregation's
pastor, marvel at the imagination of the writers.
"You must come and see this production Sunday evening, John,"
said Karenza. And so he did.
The play was set in a single room. It was Pilate's
headquarters where he had addressed Jesus about his kingly
aspirations. The students had based the play primarily on the
exchange of Jesus and Pilate but another subplot was added and it
kept them all keenly attentive.
In a cottage near the soldiers' quarters sat a young soldier's
widow. Only two weeks before her husband had died in a raid on
one of the province's outlying areas. There had been a revolt
against the soldiers in a Jewish village, her husband had fallen,
striking his head against a well and had died.
The young woman wandered aimlessly around the small dwelling.
When she reached the corner where her loom stood, she suddenly
fell to the floor sobbing. She had woven a rich purple cloak for
her husband. On his return she had planned to present it to him.
She had anticipated his comments. He was very modest and gentle
considering the fact that he had to do his stint for the Roman
army. She knew he would demur at wearing such a rich-looking
robe.
"Julia! This is too fine a cloak for me! This is what the
wealthy and fine folks wear!"
And it was true. She had been given the materials by her aunt
in Rome, a wealthy matron. Julia had stood over the
baskets of fine wool reverentially. She knew what a beautiful
piece could be fashioned from the gift. It would be a robe fit
for a king and when she finished it she thought so herself.
As she listlessly dried her tears, she heard a knock on the
door. It was her husband's friend, a fellow soldier.
"Julia!" he cried painfully, "I need your help! The soldiers
are looking for a robe for some scoundrel in the prison. He
thinks he's a king and so they thought they'd play along. We'll
pay you for the robe you were working on. Please, help me. I'm in
a fix. I'll get in trouble if I don't bring something back."
Julia looked at him listlessly. In a fit of despair she went
to the loom and picked up the neatly folded robe and thrust it at
him. "Take it. I have no use for it."
He smiled at her gratefully and ran out.
Early that afternoon as she stood on a crowded roadside, she
found herself caught up in a mob urging crucifixion on the poor
soul who bore the weight of a cross. She was stunned by the look
he cast at her, one of compassion and knowledge and
simultaneously by a woman following him. The woman was sobbing
and in her arms she clutched the distinctive purple robe Julia
had woven.
Julia knew that she must follow the woman and find out what
this tumult was all about.
